Retracing Roots in Bunclody

So just to puzzle any potential readers, I’m jumping ahead (I actually went to Paris between Provence and Ireland, but we’ll get to that in the next post. I’m behind in both this blog and my real-life journal, and I want to get my Bunclody info down! My scrappy little notes won’t make it!)

Bunclody in County Wexford was the destination, and it was quite a bit bigger than I expected (after being told it was such a small village for such a while!). I guess even villages of 2,300 people need all the amenities if they aren’t 10 to 15 minutes away from a big city (like they would be in Southern Ontario!). Although whether having 4 Chinese restaurants is really necessary, I don’t know. (The large number of pubs I can understand in Irish culture though, since they are apparently like “living rooms”).

Bunclody is where the rivers Clody and Slaney come together – and where the Clody ends as it flows into the Slaney. I would discover later that “bun” is end in Irish. Therefore… Bunclody = the end of the Clody (River!).

My first night I rolled in after dark (on the bus, so it was literally rolling in), and got situated at Meadowside B&B a lovely old stone house right in town with Phil as my hostess, where I was the only guest. I started up on my quest for the past right away, and headed down to Redmond’s pub. Unfortunately, the older Redmond’s were busy for the evening, so I had a drink with some older local men (I got my second Guinnes bought for me, which I would repeatedly discover just happens in Ireland, because – yes – the people are so friendly), and the “barwoman” (as they say here), who is apparently Andy Redmond’s great-niece (and therefore, though I didn’t know it at the time, also a distant relative).

The next morning I hit the town. I went to the charity shops (AKA thrift stores), and wandered a bit, even going out further from the town centre to some more rural areas. Saw some cows, and sheep.. and stumbled on what the Bunclodians call “the old graveyard” (just because there is also a new one). I though it may be a good place to find some relatives that aren’t with us anymore… but I was all alone, and was too afraid to leave the path, so a lot of the gravestones were unreadable to me (curse my fear of cemeteries!).

After a quick lunch at a place called Doyle’s something [Mill maybe?] (a new place, with a Doyle from out of town – no relation), I got up  the guts to go visit Nell and Andy Redmond at the back of Redmond’s pub. Andy had been sick for the last year, so though he was there, it was Nell who I chatted with and had a cup of tea with while getting some stories.

What I discovered: My great grandparents (otherwise known as Ma and Da) were not “Michael and Anne Doyle” like I thought they were. To the people of Bunclody, they were Mick the Merchant (sometimes called Mack) and Nan.

The reason there is the Redmond relation is that Mick’s sister Molly Doyle married a Redmond. My great great grandfather (Mick’s father) owned the pub that is now called Redmond’s – it was then called The Merchant Doyle’s (which is where “the merchant” part of Mick’s nickname comes in. The pub was also a shop that sold corn and such things). However, his sons were both “into the drink” as they say in Ireland, so he passed on the pub to his daughter (Molly, who married into the Redmond’s, if you remember).

Since the back of the pub is the house, many of my descendents lived there and were even born there (including Mick, and perhaps others as well…).

As for Ma – otherwise known as Nan,  well she was born and raised – as a Handrick – behind a shop that is nearly across the street from the pub. At the moment, there is still a shop there, though the Handrick’s no longer own it.. it’s called The Price is Right (I bought a facecloth there, since I had lost mine).

And that’s where the next part of my story comes in. Nell had some contact information for some remaining Handrick’s, since they are used to visitors from this section of the family (and, yep, they knew each other since it was a small town!)). So I went over to what people in town call “the Handricks of Ballinstraw” (one of Nell & Andy’s 9 kids, Dermot, gave me a ride over!), and I met Thomas and Kathleen, as well as one of their daughters (around my age!), Marian, and one of their other daughter’s little son.

Though it was a working day for Thomas (on his farm), and he was getting ready to go back to tend the sheep, he was quite pleased to have a relative to show around, so he got changed and decided to give me a tour around of sights of family significance! He kept asking me , though, if I was really interested in what he was telling me and showing me because he said that his 5 kids (all around my age) would not be into that stuff. I had to keep insisting that I was of a different sort for sure! (Dermot put it very well when he said that it’s only the immigrated families to Canada or the US that need to come find their roots… the ones still in Ireland are still trying to get away from their relatives!)

What I saw: first of all, we went to the old cemetery again, but this time I had a newly earned boldness because I was being accompanied by Tom Handrick. They had just restored the gravestone over the grave of several Handrick relatives (the tradition was that many members of the same family were buried together, even at different times – because the land cost money!). The direct descendents of me being John Handrick, my great great great grandfather (Ma’s grandfather), and then Thomas Handrick, my great great grandfather (Ma’s father).

Afterwards, to complete the cemetery tour of Bunclody, we visited the new cemetery. Here was the grave of Tom’s father and his uncle… otherwise known as Ma’s 2 brothers.

Then, it was houses. We saw the house in Kilmyshall where Grandma and her family lived just before they left for Canada (which was a delightful little white cottage that had had a recent addition – that still looked very much like the original). This was also probably the house Grandma was born in, and Ma had a little shop out the front for a while.

Then, we saw an even more extreme house site to a Canadian girl like me: looking out on the vista of Mount Leinster, we saw the white farmhouse (and surrounding farm) in Craan where my great great great grandfather lived – and probably more generations before him. That is pretty intense.

We also some some general Bunclody sites like the old schoolhouse (though my descendents went there too!), the new schoolhouse, the GAA pitch (that’s neat, because we don’t even have a sport like GAA – which is the Gaelic Athletic Association, which mainly sponsors the “Irish football”, which is more like American football than soccer, but even more like rugby than either…. and they sometimes play the Australian football teams, which apparently becomes rule-less, because they are pretty much different sports. Hm. I foudn the whole thing curious), and the government sponsored “Irish traveller” encampment (AKA welfare housing for gypsys… but not the same gypsies that are on the continent… ) – complete with low bars so the “caravans” (trailers) can’t come in, and sketchy looking dogs – “the most dangerous place in Bunclody, most people wouldn’t coem at night”!

My last little tidbit of information was finding out my distant relation to the owners of Meadowside B&B where I was staying. Though Phil was the only one I saw, she isn’t the only owner – her sister and brother-in-law co-own it too. And that brother-in-law is a Foley (no one in town  recognizes the name “Meadowside B&B” ; they call it “Foley’s place”)…. which is the same Foley family as my great great grandmother (Ma’s mother). Phew!

2 Walls… Part Deux

Well it took me long enough! But the secon part of my south of France… was Provence!

The two walls part, referring to both Carcassonne (see previous post) and Avignon, which I made my home base in Provence for 4 days. Famous for its bridge (“le pont d’Avignon”… like in the song), which really has only gone halfway across the water since a storm in the 1600′s, and its one-time home of the Popes (which is where that tricky Pope situation came about where there were 2 at once.. it got figured out. I think).

Day 1: I ended up on the same train as American Will, and we decide to taxi it over to the (same) hostel once more, but not before collecting another backpacker, Jorgen from Norway.  I arrive later in the day and relax on the balcony of my hostel-in-a-campsite overlooking the Rhone River before making my way into town for some much needed Internet, and a dinner (pizza… French style – including an egg that was apparently just cracked on top of the hot pizza, raw) on a lovely square – I later discovered it was Place D’Horloge, the central Place (square) of the city.

Day 2: After changing rooms, which my hostel will make me do every morning I stay here (punishment for not booking in advance or something? Either way, it was bizarre), I decide to “do” Avignon. This consists of wandering mostly. I checked out the Palais des Papes (Pope’s Palace) and the Petit Palais (you can get this one), as well as a lot of lovely little squares… before taking a mini train up to a hilltop garden (in my defence, I was still protecting my delicate ankle… and didn’t want to walk up!). Awesome views over the city, especially of the famous Bridge – Pont Saint Benezet.

Next up  I walked on the bit of remaining ramparts of the old wall towards the bridge itself. *Insert thrilling music here*. I did the whole audioguide tour, which included the story of St Benezet who lifted a giant block to start the bridge (way too giant for any person to lift), as well as a mini museum dedicated to the “Sur le Pont D’Avignon, On y danse, tous le ronde” song. Interesting fact: The song was bastardized a bit… no one danced ON the bridge – “sur” (it was risky! some people even died crossing it when it was all wintery), they danced UNDER the bridge – “sous” (pronounced pretty much the same in French.) There was a little dance hall on the island under the bridge (which stretched a long way inland) at the turn of the 20th Century.

And then… I continued to wander, check out the Provencal shops, and maybe even eat. Including some ice cream.

That evening I met the roommates in my new room – 2 girls from Hamilton! (Or, rather, Waterdown and Carlisle. Which are now included in the GHA, as I may as well call it). So we had a nice long chat, and had dinner in the hostel restaurant (joined again by Jorgen!)

Day 3: Today was Aix-en-Provence. I had fallen in love with the city BEFORE going there, through a book called Ysabel (urban fantasy by Guy Gavriel Kay -  who had planned to write an “other world” fantasy a la Lord of the Rings, but ended up setting it in Aix – say “X” – because he himself fell in love with the city…..). Because of that, I allotted maybe a bit too much time to a city with very few actual touristy places – it was the city of Cezanne as well, but not too much was there about that other than his studio (which I didn’t do). I did  do Cathedral Saint Sauveur, which was very interesting. It was built over a period of hundreds and hundreds of years… all at different stages! So the central section is gothic, one side is baroque, other bits are neo-Gothic, there’s a baptistry from the 6th century… and it’s built on Roman ruins. Very hodgepodge, but to great effect.

I also… ate some crepes, did some wandering… that sort of thing. I found the shops all a little too… high end, and not so delightfully Provencal. Later on in the trip (probably my next entry! I’m a bit behind!), I would talk to some French people in Paris who would complain about Aix, with a nose in the air gesture. And that’s exactly the problem I had with it: the beautiful city of fountains and Cezanne was simply too snooty for my tastes!

Day 4: Today was Arles day, and boy am I glad I didn’t skip my third “A” city in Provence. I started up at the market (every Wednesday and Saturday), and the fruits & veggies, nuts, meats & cheeses, and other food areas had such a delighful atmosphere that it took me a long time to get through! The flea market-y place was a bit tacky, but I managed to get some new undies out of a bin at a cheap price!

Afterwards I picked up a little guide of the sites of Arles at the Tourist Information. Arles biggest site it its Roman Amphitheatre, but I mean I had just been at the Colosseum a week or so beforehand! The neat thing is that they still do bullfights in the Colosseum – mostly Provencal style rather than Spanish style, where the bulls don’t get killed – the “fighters” just have to get a ribbon off one of their horns. I also heard about one in the summer called “taureau piscine” (“bull pool”), where the bull apparently ends up in a swimming pool. I can’t understand the logistics, but I’d like to. Other Roman bits and pieces are scattered through the city, including a theatre (also still in use for performances!).

The real reason I picked up the flyer though was to find the Van Gogh “easels”. Van Gogh lived in Arles through many of the last years of his life (it was also where he was committed to an asylum), and di dmany paintings there. The lovely city of Arles has set up about 6 “easels” which show a painting by Van Gogh in the place it is of! It was very neat to see a painting that Van Gogh did in the 1880′s and then look up, and see nearly the same view over a hundred years later.

I was overall the most impressed with Arles than any of my other Provencal cities! Next time for Provence (you know, some day), it will be by car! Many of the smaller towns are very difficult to reach by public transportation.

2 Walls Don’t Make a Right – My Version of the South of France

So whenever I told anyone I was going to the South of France, they would talk to me excitedly about Nice, Cannes, and the entire French Riviera…. well, since I didn’t really have much of an interest in watching rich people do rich things (okay okay, I’m sure it’s still beautiful there; but still!)…… when I went to the “South of France” I started in Carcassonne, and then made it to the Provence region.

Carcassonne was my negotiation with myself because I was hoping to stay in one of the castle hostels of Europe… but they are all really out of the way (at least for this trip!). So, I decided to stay not in a castle hostel, but in a hostel in a castle. Sort of. Do you follow me?

The explanation: the “Cité” of Carcassonne is a tiny medieval walled city on a hilltop. In short, it looks a lot like a castle, and the rambling alleys of the town with their big stone blocks didn’t really make me think anyway otherwise!

My first night I met an American guy on the train (Will, who was Virginian of some sort but had been posted – in the arly way – to Germany for a few years. He also told me that only…. 8 percent… I think… of American soldiers had not been to Iraq or Afghanistan. He was of one of the lucky ones who hadn’t!) who was headed to the same hostel (there is really only one hostel worth staying in in Carcassonne – the one in the walls!), and then we promptly met a British girl as well (Debbie, or Debs, who had left her desk job in Manchester for a while and had just come off 3 weeks of WWOOFing in a tiny French village [Willing Workers on Organic Farms... you volunteer at an organic farm and get food and lodging in return])…. so we split a taxi and were treated to awesome views of the Cité on the hill all lit up for nighttime. Wow.

It was apparently firmly off season though, because when Debs and I tried to get a drink of some sort at any bar, no one was still serving! And this was a Friday night, and only about 11:30! We did end up getting one at, of all places, the front desk of out hostel, and sat and chatted.

The next day was perfect for me. It was beautifully sunny, and I could barely wipe the smile off my face all day ( did I mention I really really like castles? Not so much palaces…. but castles, oh yes). First I walked out the big stone gate and all the way around the walled part from the outside. It was lovely, I was the only one out there, and it smelled really field-y.

Afterwards, I wandered in the Cité, and checked out all the delightful shops: plenty of typical South of France stuff (like soaps, wine, paté), and then lots of shops selling medieval themed goodies – everything from real metal swords to kids’ shops (this was the first place I thought was actually really good for younger kids! I saw lots fighting with their new wooden swords or wearing their helmets or princess crowns). I was tempted to buy something ridiculous like a chain maille helmet… or bustier; or a floor length sweeping cape. But I restrained myself.

After the cheesiest pizza ever for lunch, I did the actual Castle (almost a castle within a castle), Chateau Comtal. I got the audioguide and was very interested in the stories of the Albigensian Crusade against the “heretical” Christian sect the Cathars (the first and I think only time a Crusade was called by Christians – Catholics to be specific – against Christians, in  Christian lands). Carcassonne was very tolerant at that time, and where the Crusaders really focused on. Béziers, a town nearby (which I had passed through on the train), had been burned to the ground just before the assault on Carcassonne…. and the Catholic Church leader in charge apparently spoke the famous line when asked how to tell whether the inhabitants were heretics or good Catholics….. “Kill them all, God will know his own” And so the enitre city was massacred by the Crusaders, even the priest saying Mass and the group of people huddled in the church listening. (All of this was made even more real to me by the book I had just finished that the Kiwi guy back in Barcelona gave me – Labyrinth  by Kate Mosse – which; though a bit Da Vinci Code tacky, was on just this time in Carcassonne’s history!)

The evening I made it out for a drink with Will (Debs had taken a flight home), and we made it in time to actually get served!

And… the rest of the South of France will continue in another post! (I’m running low on Internet time!)

4 Days in Space… I mean Spain

So Barcelona was perhaps my favourite of the cities I had vistied thus far. And it was hardly about sites either!

I spent great amounts of time rambling on Las Ramblas, which is the main street for walking (with only skinny little spots for driving, and a big grand tree lined alley for strolling). Other than the tons of people, there were also plenty of little souvenir booths, and the most impressive collection of “living statues” I’ve seen yet (those would be the people acting like statues…. if you aren’t familiar with the term). My personal favourite was the robot Michael Jackson statue who would spring into action with metallic sounding “he hee” and “Ow!” s if you put a coin in his pot.

There was also one section that they call the Ramblas of the Little Birds, which is apparently THE place to buy pets (and I heard Sundays are pet-buying days). No cats and dogs (many peopel are apartment dwellers, and these ARE just for sale in booths on the street!), but plenty of the usual little animals – mice, hampsters, rabbits, more chinchillas than I’m used to….. but then some different ones too. Like chipmunks! I pet one for the first time – the ones I have fed never let me pet them – very soft. I also tried to pet a chinchilla but it turned around really quickly and gave me a death stare, so I moved away really quickly); Another odd one was chicks…. because they turn into chickens! (Which are probably not good apartment pets).

I visited the Placa Real (where my awesome hostel, Kabul, was located) as well as the Placa Catalunya, where I fed some pigeons my bread crust. I also spent several mornings navigating La Boqueria, the fabulously colourful market (lots of very fresh seafood and fruit, among lots of other things); and even made my lunch there a couple of times.

On the day after I sprained my ankle, I thought it would be a good idea to go to the beach. The laying down part and the swimming parts were fine… but getting out was nearly impossible! The tiny pebbly slope to get out was hard enough to navigate with my weak ankle… but light waves kept coming and knocking me back before I could get to the top! I eventually had to turn around, sit down, and shuffle backwards out of the water on my bum to get out. People were probably wondering what in the world I was doing. Although once I got out of the water it was probably pretty evident, as at this point it looked like my one foot had the elephant man disease, and was very “colourful”.

I also enjoyed some nightlife with increasingly large groups of people  I had met at the hostel…. or earlier cities too (mostly solo travellers, strangely!). One night was a not-as-good-as-others organized pubcrawl, another was just chilling in the hostel pub, and another was pub hopping on our own (including one place, El Bosc de les Fades – the fairy woods – a super creepy place that apparently used to be the horror section of the wax museum, and is in a haunted-looking castle area, abandoned mine-looking area, and haunted woods area – where all the trees had faces. Definitely different,)

And… the sites I did see were the Gaudi sites. (The modernist architect!). First I hit his famous – and still famously unfinished – cathedral, La Sagrada Familia with its towers that look like they are melting. Then it was to Casa Mila, a housing complex he did in the 20′s. I actually went in this one (that looks like waves and seaweed from the outside)…. one apartment was set up as it would have been in the days after it was built, and then there were some fantastic art deco pieces (and some for sale in the shop!) as well as a museul on Gaudi’s pieces. The grand finale was the roof, which is as wavy as the sides…. unfortunately, it had just started to rain, and it was a bit slippery – combined with the fact that my stair climbing skills were still sub-par (due to the ankle!) and that the roof is ALL stairs; up and down…. well; needless to say; my appreciation of the giant helmet like protrusions was less than it usually would have been (because I thought I was going to die).

Anyway; the next day I was walking better, and made it to Casa Battlo, another Gaudi house (with animal-skull looking balconies, bone-looking railings, waves, and colourful mosaic walls). The bonus is that this is on the “Block of Discord”, so named because there are 2 other modernist houses on the same block other than Casa Battlo, which was lovely for my viewing pleasure.

 

So my last day of Spain wasn’t spent in Barcelona, but partially in travel…. and partially in Figueres, a town about an hour and a half (by train) up the coast. Why Figueres, you ask? Well, it is the location of the “Theater Museum” of my very favourite (and surrealist) painter; Salvador Dali. The Dali Teatro Museo also says it is the largest surrealist structure in the world. I believe it. It is situated in an old theater; which on one end is bright red and gold and lined with giant eggs. Near the entrance; there is a statue bust with…. a statue bust on his head. And if you were able to see my pictures from Florence with the many groaning lion statues with pigeons on their heads, you would know how much I appreciate that sort of thing (you can’ see them now, because I burned them onto a CD).

And inside…. ah. A great deal of Dali’s paintings; some of his installations and sculptures (including the room that looks like Mae West’s face – the lips are a big leather couch; the eyes are paintings….); and a good deal of random surrealism. Oh, and Dali’s imposing tomb in the basement!

So my Spain…. was modernism, surrealism, markets…. and warmth (palm trees and all).

When in Rome…

Oh yeah, nearly forgot about Rome. Hm.

Well my first evening was not so great. I decided I’d head to the Coliseum which I’m into, and I did, and I was amazed by it… but then I realized I had no other plans, I didn’t like my pizza dinner, and then was followed by a somewhat creepy Albanian (but Italian speaking) guy who wouldn’t leave me alone. Sigh.

The next day was a bit better, as I headed to the Vatican City, did the city sights – St Peter’s Basilica (with the remains of that Peter, as in the one who knew Jesus type Peter. Which is pretty intense.), St Peter’s Square, the Vatican Museums – including the Sistine Chapel (very cool, but different than I expected somehow!), and – maybe my favourite because it added especially well to my travel collection – the post office (I’m collecting stamps from all of the countries I go to, to stick in my travel journal. A nice souvenir).

That night I did a pub crawl (er… I followed a pub crawl with one of my roommates without actually joining and paying the 20 Euro. That’s a lot!) with a bunch of cool people who were also all fired up about Rome, and got fired up myself.

The next day I tried to do the walking tour… but had another money incident, and decided against it. Since it was pricey. Instead I did my own walking tour (out of my Rick Steves again), is “night walk” which was my “afternoon walk”, and I visited sites like the Trevi Fountain and the Spanish Steps. Nice walk, which when it started raining I ended in the Spanish Steps Mcdonald’s, which was apparently one of the most glorious and big in the world.. hm.. And, yes, it was basically decorated as a Roman temple, with all marble and statues of people in togas, and fresh plants growing everywhere. Interesting.

The next day…. I went to Florence for the afternoon. Surprise! (I was picking up my Mastercard from a friend I had sent it to there)… but I chatted with him a bit, and hit the big German festival for some crepes (yep, random). I also checked out the fake David and other statues in one main square, checked out the Duomo and its bell tower, and the Ponte Vecchio (famous “old bridge” lined with ridiculously expensive jewellery shops)…. and then… I fell off the sidewalk (a regular occurrence for me), but I was unlucky and landed with the side of my foot between 2 cobblestones, and CRACK. My ankle was sprained. Deadly.

I made it back to Rome for the night somehow (after a dinner), and figured out that my ankle was really and truly sprained. The next day I did my planned walking tour of the Coliseum anyway because I’m crazy… (slowly, with my special sock brace, and painkillers) – but skipped the other archaeological sites of the Palatine Hill and Roman Forum (I had already seen them from the railings at least!).

And,… yep, that was Rome. I think.

The beautiful Cinque Terre…. and a few other catch up items!

So I wanted to start this post by commenting on a few things I missed, and a few things that keep cropping up around my trip.

First of all, I rambled on and on about what I did at Oktoberfest, but forgot to set a scene for peopel who have never been there. Picture this: one massive “tent” (the top is thin material, but supported by massive wooden beams), with a wooden floor, long wooden tables (and some thin standing room tables), packed with thousands of people. Many of the people are in dirndls and lederhosen (despite the fact that many of these people don’t speak a word of German). There’s a big band full of brass instruments playing on a raised platform – about every 10-15 minutes they play “Ein Prosit mit gemuetlichkeit”, and everybody stands and Cheers everybody in Cheers-ing distance with a hearty “Prost” – swinging the giant heavy 1 litre beer steins. (Some end up broken later on). And then the band, all in their lederhosen, also play a selection of other things – songs from 50 years ago seem to be popular, including New York New York, Will You Be My Girl, and – my personal favourite – Country Roads. Sitting with non-English speaking Germans belting out “Take me home, to a place, I belong!! West Virginia…..” is a surreal experience.

Anyway. Besides that I missed, a few of the constants. Every place has its own sort of beggers, (kids with notes that say they are from Bulgaria, old woman with scarves on their heads, men with one shrivelled arm… ), and I’ve figured out a system for dealing with them and not feeling guilty. I will rid my pockets of my under 50-Eurocent coins up to once a day to beggers. It works I think.

And the other… chains. I’ve been keeping up with my Mcdonald’s survey around Europe, and have found some interesting switches. Prague had the McCountry, which was the breaded fried cheese on a bun they call Smazny Syr (or something similar) – as well as an extensive menu including breaded shrimp. Italy has the McToast, as “toast” is actually toasted bread with ham and cheese… and that’s what it is. And then.. I think it was Germany… that had a whole line of “America” Burgers (Los Angeles Burger, Chicago Burger… and so on.) As for other chains, I didn’t realize Pizza Hut and Burger King were so international, as well as Claire’s (the accessories shop).

So if you were waiting for my report on the Cinque Terre… here it is!

The first day I arrived late, got situated in my room, and grabbed some pesto spaghetti to go (pesto was invented in this region), and tried to locate a place to sit. I walked down the the harbour of “my” little town of the CInque Terre, Riomaggiore, and found a lot of other people already set up on rocks to watch the sunset. Perfect. It was precarious climbing on the rocks with my spaghetti, but I made it, and watched. I toured Riomaggiore a bit… and, tired out, headed back to the room.

The room (“Affitacamere Patrizia”)  was almost like a self-contained hostel – 11 beds, sitting area, full kitchen, and bathroom all in a little apartment. Snug, but didn’t feel cramped. Jan, a 50-something Tasmanian (aka Australian) who was on the 3-month trip she wanted to go on her whole life, was already in the room, and offered to share her bottle of wine with me. Naturally, I accepted, and we went on to meet other roommates (Joseph, a sheep shearer from New Zealand working in England; Emma Jane who I thougth was “Imogen” because of our competing accents – and she didn’t notice a difference also from New Zealand, and Shawn, a girl from Seattle). We planned on a “pasta party” for the next night!

The next day I tackled the trails in the rain. The first trail, from Riomaggiore to Manarola is the “Via Dell Amore”, and just an easy path. So I decided to continue, from Manarola to Corniglia – I had some tricky parts, but I made it in the 45 minutes it said it was (and used my guidebook’s advice to take the shuttle to the hilltop town of Corniglia, rather than walking up the deadly stairs!). I browsed a bit in the tiny town (only 200 people actually live there), checked out a couple cute shops, grabbed a gelato, and tried to use the public women’s washroom. But it was a pit in the ground with railings for propping yourself up…. and someone had already used it for a “number two”. Since I didn’t want to crouch over a poop to pee in a pit, I located a wheelchair washroom – with a toilet.

By this point it was actually spitting, but I went for the next hike (90 minute, “the wildest and most rewarding”) to beautiful (but very touristy) Vernazza. As I awkwardly shambled up rocky steps that were hardly steps and all, and huffed and puffed and took numerous breaks (while.. um.. regretting it a bit at some points)….. seniors (especially Germans) with alpine walking sticks and little dogs barrelled on past me. Phew. But it was really beautiful views and everything, and I did feel very accomplished when I made it to Vernazza! I wanted to check out the little town, but it immediately started pouring so I headed back to Riomaggiore to get some dry clothes!

The pasta party was that evening (I brought the vegetables), and Emma Jane, Jan, Shawn and I had been joined by Dennis, a middle-aged American with a motormouth…. who also happened to be a very good cook. So we had our pasta (cooked by Dennis), and his soup as well, with some wine, and dessert! Nice evening.

The next day I decided to tackle towns. Or, you know, browse and stuff. I started with Vernazza, browsed little shops and grabbed a slice of pizza to eat sitting on the breakwater facing the harbour town. Gorgeous. Also very touristy.

Then I headed to Monterosso, the “beach town”, which was relaly so much like many other beach towns I have been in, that it felt very familiar! I wandered this town a bit too, before rolling up my pant legs and wading at the beach for a while (I would have swam, but the waves were deadly – too deadly for me to be alone swimming in them, I thought!), and then laying on my towel on the sand to dry off. Ah.

It wasn’t until the evening that I decided I still needed to check out Manarola. I followed my Rick Steves tour (again the best guidebook for the Cinque Terre!), which led me up to a vineyard path overlooking the town (the hills are covered in terraces full of grape vines!). It was also just about sunset, so I watched once more. It was beautiful.

Heading back down into town I realized I hadn’t had dinner, so I tried to locate a decent restaurant. I ran into Shawn, who was doing the same thing, so we found a place together and even split a bottle of the Cinque Terre white wine. (Nice wine too!).

All together, the five little villages of the Cinque Terre were beautiful – shambled pastel coloured buildings (some with peeling paint, which actually added to the charm), with plenty of laundry drying out the windows…. all perched on rocky coasts with lush greens in the background and great views of the Mediterranean. Wow.

Venetian Blinds – Venice

Well Venice was… beautiful really! Alas, I was stressed about my monetary situation for a great deal of my time there… (therefore I was a bit “blind” to the city… Venetian Blinds, get it?)

Anyway. The first night I spent at my tidy little campground, which was a world of difference from my last campground. Instead of 200 roommates, I had…. 0. I had my own nice little hut (I had booked a 3-bed “dorm” cabin, but ended up in a 2-bed private – with just me in it – for the same price!), which was a welcome change really to sleep in a room by myself! The campground also had a handy bar, restaurant, supermarket… as well as a pool & hot tub (which I never got down to using). I ate a couple meals at the restaurant (Spaghetti carbonara – really different than at home – and a nice lasagna, before heading into Venice on the hourly shuttle bus into town the next afternoon).

Saturday afternoon I made it IN to Venice, and started on the Vaporetto (AKA water bus) “tour” from my Rick Steves guide (which again proved to be my favourite guidebook). IT basically just told me what buildings to keep an eye out for at which stops. I was entirely impressed by the mansions along the Grand Canal, especially the fact that pretty much none of the first floors were in use, due to the fact that Venice is sinking, and they are probably all damp and mossy.

I took the Vaporetto all the way to St Mark’s Square, where I watched the people, watched the pigeons (and even attracted one onto my arm), and got some great views of St Mark’s Basilica (from the outside, as it was closed for a special service on the inside).

Then, I decided to wander back to the bus station, following the signs and the hordes of tourists, at a leisurely pace. This was deceivingly easy, so I stopped for some dinner at one of the many squares. I had a full “menu”, or fixed price several course meal – with primi piatti (a big plate of pasta is their starter), secondi piatti (a piece of chicken), and a big juicy salad. With wine, of course. Alas, there was a problem with my mastercard, so I had to use up all the cash I had on me to pay… leaving me with very little money. So I decided I’d keep walking home… but it was now dark, and all the daytrippers and cruise ship traffic (people traffic, not car traffic) had disappeared, and I couldn’t find any of the signs pointing me to the bus station!

I walked and walk.. and it was getting dark, until I found a vaporetto stop. But alas once more, I now didn’t have enough money for a ticket! So I used my sad little maps from my guidebooks and the location of the stop to try to find my way back… and pretty much failed. I walked for a good hour, until I found myself entirely lost, and in the entirely non-tourist district, with no shops, restaurants, or hotels to pop in to to see where I was. I finally ended up seeing… a gap… behind a wall (a gap that was NOT filled with  houses), so I worked my way over… and found a cruise ship, on a real street, with buses and everything! I asked a guy at a random checkpoint where the Piazzale Roma (the bus station) was, and he pointed me in the right direction. Which was down this sketchy area of Venice – empty warehouses and abandoned train tracks, for about another half hour. Phew. But I made it!

The next day went a lot more smoothly. I walked from the train station to the same square I had eaten dinner in in a very short time, before continuing the tourist trail to the Rialto Bridge (and its market!). Then I continued on to St Marks Square once more, and was horrifed at the line of people waiting to get into the (free) basilica. I decided instead to check out the Doge’s Palace, which I had heard (from my guidebook), also usually has a big line. Apparently everyone had decided to just go to the Basilica, because I just walked right into the Doge’s Palace and bought my ticket.

It was a grand old palace, but for me, the real thrill were in 2 things: 1) the art! The walls were pretty much entirely covered with the Venetian Renaissance Masters’ paintings (Tintoretto, Titian… others… including the Rape of Europa, which was probably the most famous), and I do enjoy the Venetian Renaissance style! 2) The Bridge of Sighs and the Prison (aka dungeon). It was entirely the most dungeon-y dungeon I’ve ever seen. Very neat.)

I also visited the Correr Museum (because the ticket was included with the Doge’s Palace), which had a lot of art from the Venetian Renaissance and prior to that. Seemed to be a great deal of Madonna and Child where at least one of them – either Mary or Baby Jesus – looked like they had something wrong with them. And always in gold leaf. Like… Mary with a giant unibrow and crazy eyes, or Baby Jesus with a giant head, one big eye and one small eye, and a tiny body… etcetera. I don’t really know when that style was popular….

And then.. I did some more eating. Pasta… and some pizza off of a street vendor (very very thin, and probably the best pizza I have ever tasted in my life, despite the fact that it was only cheese – “Margherita”)… and gelato a couple of times. I find I prefer the fruit flavours best (Pecha and Frugalo.. I think I have those wrong, but Peach and Strawberry were fantastic! The chocolate is a bit much for me…)

And… Yep. I think that was pretty much Venice!