Category: Holidays (Page 6 of 20)

The Adventures of Chris and Terry

Alice Springs to Melbourne and Back to Dowerin

October 18, 2018 /

Thursday 4th  to Friday 5th October – The main task over the next couple of days revolved around driving as far south as possible each to reach Mornington, Victoria. We were very keen to get down to see new baby Evie, and her parents Azba and Mike of course. We researched flying from Adelaide but by the time a hire car and accommodation was factored in, doing the big drive made sense.

Between us and Port Augusta lay Coober Pedy and Woomera, both of which we have visited before. A count of our remaining days before we must be back in Perth told us that there was a definite need to put in some long hauls so there would be limited time for sight seeing beyond what was available from the drive. A long haul drive is often an experience in itself. In times past we were capable of 800-900km days but now we find that 650km is a good enough target if successive days of driving are involved.

As one travels south from Alice, the population of the majestic desert oaks steadily dwindles and so the country takes on a more open desert-like appearance. The roadhouses are the major attraction and any plot of land that rises more than 100 metres above its surrounds suddenly becomes a mountain. We really struggled for points of interest. To keep up a routine, we always run a 100km driver swap pattern, meaning that the driver does not get fatigued and the passenger does not get too bored.

The first night, we overnighted off the road at the Pootnoura Creek 2nd Channel. We were nestled up against the Ghan rail line and expected some night interruptions but all was quiet.

The approach to Coober Pedy is always fun. The surreal landscape dotted with what look like large anthills makes one question man’s sanity. To see the sheer industry and effort that has gone into digging little holes in search of little chunks of colourful silicate rock is almost laughable. However, a day or so in Coober Pedy and the opal fever starts to strike everyone and the insanity of the place fades. This time, we by-passed one of Australia’s great frontier towns, apart from refuelling, and pushed on.

Not far south of Coober Pedy is an area of Defence Dept land that has a restricted status. Currently, all access along the Stuart Highway is stopped between 3pm and 11pm on a daily basis up until between 1st October and 10th November. It is quite a large stretch of highway that one does not want to get held up in. It mystifies me that an area of land set aside for the defence forces to test out weapons actually lies across a major national highway but there it is. National security and all that. We have to do our bit eh chaps?

Woomera was also bypassed and we crossed the large flat and treeless area  south of Pimba until the beautiful Flinders ranges come into view near Port Augusta. The large expanse of the salt lake chain provides some spectacular views along the way. Lake Hart is relatively small but accessible from the highway. The Island Lagoon is much bigger and a few good lookouts present along the road. The size and grandeur of these flat expanses of glistening white makes me wonder just what a spectacle the vastness of Lake Torrens or Ayres Lake must be. We haven’t got out there yet but it is on the big list.

From Top Left – The Ghan railway, A night camp, The Murray River at Mannum, Approaching the Grampians, Horsham CBD.

We made Port Augusta in good time and pushed through to check out a camp site in the Horrocks Pass, 30kms south. The worth of the camp proved to be grossly exaggerated in Wikicamps and we decided to drive to the top of Horrocks Pass and stay at a caravan park in Wilmington, a cute little village just over the Flinders Range. An older type guy greeted us, cricket bat in hand, threatening to smash his computer to pieces out of frustration at trying to pay some bills. However, he managed to book us in with a laugh and a smile and we settled down for a pleasant night in bush surroundings. This is a really charming little place and with all the wonderful walking trails and gorges to explore in the Flinders it would make a wonderful cheap base to stay for a few days.

Saturday 6th October – On a previous trip, we had been through Wilmington on a Sunday morning, hoping (but failing) to find a nice little cafe serving breakfast. We can now attest that Wilmington is no livelier on a Saturday morning.

The road south took us through the beautiful Clare Valley. A couple of standout looking little towns grabbed our attention, including Melrose, with a gorgeous little pub, a lovely stream and numerous walk trails into the Mt Remarkable National Park. Could be worth investigating at a later date. There were some markets on in Clare that prompted us to stop and partake in a sausage sizzle, although Christine’s Eagles shirt nearly got her barred.  Fortunately, the guys running the Lions stall hated Collingwood more than the Eagles so we still got served. Christine managed to get her eyebrows done (threading) in the markets (apparently a priority after a couple of weeks in the desert) and I picked up some homemade fig jam (always a priority).

At Tarlee, we left the A32 and cut across to Kapunda and on into the Barossa Valley. At this time of year, the valley is covered in green. As we headed south, the crops gradually improved, from poor pathetic things up around Wilmington that already had been given over to the sheep, to lush fields of wheat, barley and canola. The vines are just starting to sprout their spring coats and the many deciduous fruit trees around the area still bear the flush of flowering. It was a very pretty drive.

We finally settled in for the night on the Murray at Mannum. We have never been to Mannum before and were very taken with both its setting and its streetscape. There is no bridge nearby so a ferry service carries cars across the river. The town, unlike many Murray towns, is built down near the river rather than higher up to escape flooding. Although this has meant some problems for the port in past years, it makes for a very picturesque setting. The caravan park is right on the river itself and there were a good number of water skiers and families fishing. We only saw carp caught.

Sunday 7th October – We packed up the camper and walked down the road to the Mannum Sunday markets. There was the usual craft and potpourri type stuff and an excellent range and variety of street foods, although it was still a bit early for us to indulge. A gadget man sold us a wonderful 12V double fan for the camper. It would have been useful back in the hot weather.

From Mannum, we drove through Murray Bridge, Tailem Bend and picked up the Dukes Highway to go east all the way to Horsham in the Victorian Wimmera District. The roads by now are either full dual carriageway or single lanes with passing lanes every 5 kms so driving is easy. The country continued to be green, with hay cutting starting into the Mallee Region. Some crops in the Wimmera had obviously got off to a poor start and it was by no means a good season. However, the dams appear full and the stock fat so the Victorians have not suffered like the NSW and Qld farmers.

The caravan park in Horsham is a small council affair on the banks of the Wimmera River, an interesting river that flows out of the Grampians and into a series of swamps and lakes. It is said to hold good stocks of fish and I found myself wishing I had packed a rod. Horsham itself is a decent sized city with around 17,000 people and all amenities, yet still easy enough to move around in. We went for a walk into the CBD to find a supermarket and found all the shopping that one would expect anywhere.

Monday 8th October – After a leisurely rise and a spot of shopping, we drove on to the Grampians and Halls Gap. The map indicated two ways to Halls Gap, the short way along C222 and a longer way on C216 through Stawell. Naturally, we chose the short way. As the road began to enter the National Park, a sign indicated that the road was unsuitable for caravans beyond Zumsteins (wherever that was). Mmm? We pressed on and the road looked fine. Zumsteins proved to be a quaint little picnic area so we stopped to read the information boards. No mention of caravans or road conditions. Four people sat having a picnic and we enquired with them about the road. “Oh it’s fine,” was the answer. “You will be OK.”

The road indeed became unsuitable for caravans and only just barely suitable for our camper. It was a full mountain climb with numerous hairpin bends and totally blind corners. There was quite a lot of traffic coming towards us, mostly appearing suddenly around corners taking up considerably more than their fair share of road. Christine refrained from screaming and I crushed the life out of the steering wheel while we put up with 24kms of torture. Numerous signs pointing to lookouts and walk trails flashed by but we ignored everything until we finally reached the sanctuary of Halls Gap.

It is very easy to fall in love with Halls Gap. A delightful village with lots of little eateries is strung along the main street and bisected by Stony Creek. The caravan park is strung out opposite, bringing campers right into the town. All around are the rampart walls of the mountains, with beautiful tall eucalypts, lush ferns and lots of wildflowers. There were a good number of campers, mostly South Australian, with Victorian school holidays coming to an end.

We set up camp, had lunch, explored the village then set off back onto the road that had tortured us to investigate some of the lookouts and waterfalls. Without a camper trailing behind, it is a lot less nerve racking but care is still needed on the blind bends, a safety point lost on some people. There must be some nasty accidents.

We visited the beautiful Silverband Falls, well named because they present as a narrow long fall of silver set in a fern filled gully. Reed Lookout is a forestry lookout giving superb views over the ranges to the farm lands beyond. A 1km walk down a good track takes you to The Balconies, where a number of rock ledges hang precariously over a sheer drop to the forest far below. The scenery is absolutely breath-taking. The Boroka Lookout offered equally magnificent views. An afternoon’s driving and walking does not even start to scratch the surface of all that there is to offer in the Grampians. It is a definite “must return”.

The Grampians

Tuesday 9th October – We travelled SE through Stawell, Ararat and on past Ballarat. The freeway took us all the way to Melbourne and over the West Gate Bridge. Somehow, we narrowly averted the disaster of the last time we entered Melbourne this way and managed to change lanes at the last minute to avoid exiting prematurely in South Melbourne. Then it was into the dreaded tunnel, which seems to run for ever and is filled with huge car eating monsters. Enormous growling trucks occupy every lane and travel at a terrifying speed. The electronic signs say “AVOID LAND CHANGES” but this obviously does not apply to trucks, which fill every available gap as soon as one opens up. I should have worn the same underpants that I wore in the Grampians so I didn’t  have to ruin two sets.

The freeway took us most of the way south to Mornington and the Nepean Hwy did the rest and we were soon set up in the Mornington Caravan Park. We had come this far to drop in on Azba and Mike to meet little Evie, now all of 4 months old. They live in Mt Eliza, only about 6kms from where we camped so we headed over in the evening. Apparently, all babies are cute but Evie is definitely right up there on the cuteness scale. She has Azba’s eyes so that would do it. She had some shots the previous day so the grumps had set in a little but she still seemed to acknowledge us. Pickle, the tiny little miniature dachshund with attitude, demanded far more attention than little Evie. It was scratch behind the ears, give me a tummy rub or I’ll bark you off the planet. Mike seems to have her measure though with a kibble controlled food approach. Christine had knitted Pickle a wonderful multi-coloured coat, a thing she does as “passenger therapy” on long drives. Pickle seemed to like it for a while then showed signs of wanting to eat it. It will probably be put away until next winter.

Wednesday 10 October – The first order of the day was to get the car in for a much needed service. As always seems to happen, they found more that was needed so it took most of the day to give it a birthday. We hung around camp and shivered. The maximum for the day was forecast at 17 but I doubt that it got much above 14 with a fresh breeze to add to the wind chill. Christine used the camp kitchen to cook up some meals and lunch meats, while I read and did a few little repairs on the camper. We did take a 2km walk down to the local Aldi but the wind froze us solid.

Once the car was retrieved, we went over to Az and Mike’s before turning in.

Thursday 11 October – We had a much needed sleep in today. In the late morning we drove into Mornington itself to walk the streets. The temperature was a definite improvement on the previous few days and there were quite a few people out and about. Mornington is a pretty little place with a main street full of great cafes, restaurants and a couple of pubs. It must really hum during summer holiday times. We liked the name of a spot called “Albert’s Burgers and Beer”. We shared a burger called “The Albert”. The patty was hand pressed using Angus beef and there was a delicious cheese, amazing pickles and a spicy sauce. We shared one in order to reduce the damage but I hated having to share such a wonderful creation. We washed it down with a local Mornington Pale Ale. Why not?

Around Mornington and gorgeous little Evie

In the evening, we were back with Az, Mike and Evie to say our farewells. It is wonderful to see them both happy. They are tired, what new parents aren’t.  Azba is a wonderful mother and Mike makes a great dad. Thanks guys for sharing a little part of your life with us.

Friday 12 October – We packed up ready for the long trip home, a distance of 3365km (to Dowerin). To save a few kilometres and avoid a trip back through the dreaded tunnel and Westgate Bridge, we booked a car ferry ticket on the Sorrento to Queenscliff ferry. At around $120 for the car and camper, it was not a saving but it was a very pleasant way to go. The drive along the coast was great, seeing all the beautiful little coves and headlands that dot the Mornington Peninsula. We had booked a noon ferry but the ticket was good for an earlier departure so the fact that we were ahead of schedule did not matter.

Once aboard, we could leave the car and wander around the boat, a three deck affair with food, coffee and bar available. The scenery is worth watching as the ferry follows the coast past Portsea and across the entrance to Port Phillip and on into Queenscliff. The trip takes around 40 minutes and is well worth the little bit of extra money for the experience and the lack of panic.

Queenscliff is a gorgeous little town, full of quaint wooden buildings and some impressive stone structures. It boasts an extensive rail museum and a working steam train. After a short drive around to take in the sights, we drove north to Geelong, skirting the worst of the city and picked up the highway to Ballarat.

Somehow, we had to go through the centre of Ballarat (I’m sure that could have been avoided) but we were at least quite familiar with the city from our last trip and soon joined the A300 freeway to take us westwards in comfort. The towns we had been through only a few days before flashed past, Ararat, Stawell, Horsham etc and by the time we stopped for the night in Kaniva on the Western Hwy we were only 20kms or so shy of the SA border.

Saturday 13th October – Another day of driving, swapping every 100kms. We followed the Western Hwy into SA where it becomes the Dukes Hwy and traverses wheat/sheep farming lands and towns such as Keith and Coonalpyn and on to the Murray River town of Tailem Bend. We had heard a radio program that talked about an art program that involves the painting of the many wheat silos that dot the landscape in SA. It was with great delight that we took in some of the magnificent artistic efforts. Indeed, some people make a tour out of following the silo art trails. The ones we saw were amazing examples.

Once at Murray Bridge, the choice is to stick to the expressway to Adelaide and put up with getting through the city, or head north through the Barossa and put up with lesser roads and frequent small towns. We chose the expressway, whizzing through the Adelaide Hills, taking the dizzy descent down the seemingly endless pass to the coastal plain then pushing through the Saturday shopping traffic to find the A1. We spent most of the trip sitting behind a large semi trailer, figuring it would guide us through the traffic, which it did until eventually peeling off and heading on the road to Gawler.

The A1 heading north of Adelaide must be one of the ugliest approaches to a major city anywhere. It traverses some low saltbush scrub country and seems to be covered in a ramshackle arrangement of light industry and poor farmlands that are littered with decaying machinery. It is really not a good look at all until after Port Wakefield.

We drove hard, through Port Pirie and Port Augusta and on to Kimba. Once heading west from Port Augusta, we really felt as if we were going home. Kimba is a wheat/sheep town at the top of the Eyre Peninsula. It has one of the best pieces of silo art we came across, a “Big Galah” and a free caravan park. What? Free? Yes, they make their recreation facilities available to caravanners. It pays off. We have used it before and the town benefits from the extra customers that results. There were more caravans in Kimba than many of the actual caravan parks we had used on the way over. Way to go Kimba!

Sunday 14th October – Oh no! Not the Nullabor! Some love it, I hate it. A couple of days driving staring at low scrub does not make for a magic experience but then, each to their own. We had a glorious display of lightning with thunder to accompany during the night and a steady amount of rain, which fortunately abated in the morning, allowing us to pack up without drama.

After Kimba, there is still quite a bit of farming land and woodland through to Ceduna before the real open country is encountered.

Most of the drive west was wet, if not overly so. It seemed as if there were some really terrible looking storms around us but they never actually hit us too badly. We passed through Nullabor and on to Eucla. The aim was to get through the quarantine process (always a pain) then stop for the night. However, 25kms short of the border, we were hit by torrential rain, so bad that driving on was not really an option, and we joined 4 or 5 other rigs in a large gravel pit, close to the cliff edge. It took a few goes to actually set up camp and at one point we were setting up in a large shallow lake. The rain was savage!

Monday 15th October – The rain stopped during the night but the morning was still overcast we the occasional small shower. We got through the quarantine with the usual sense of frustration. I really don’t know why they bother with all the advertising of how to prepare because it does no good. You rock up with veges sorted according to the web site rules, the pot of honey ready to hand over and all uncertain things ready to declare. “That’s OK, that’s good, etc etc. Now we need to look in the camper and all through the car.” One might as well just leave everything as is and let them have all the fun of discovery.

After Eucla, the weather steadily improved, although a steady headwind did nasty things to our fuel economy. The boredom of the open treeless plain slowly gave way to woodlands and we pushed on through Madura, Cocklebiddy and finally, Balladonia, the last stop before the “civilization” of Norseman. We reached Norseman with a couple of daylight driving hours left but I felt drained and a roadside stop about 15kms north was enough for us. It was hard to find a spot that wasn’t a mud patch, after all the recent rain and we ended up quite close to the road. The thundering road trains really didn’t bother us because we just crashed out.

Tuesday 16th October – The final leg, at least to Dowerin. The rain had almost completely gone, with just the odd few spots as we drove north to Coolgardie. Then it was heading west again back towards home, watching the woodlands give way to low mallee scrub then, near Southern Cross, the familiar sight of wheatfields. The crops in Western Australia are so much better than those in the eastern states this year and even those improved dramatically from Merredin through to Dowerin. We had lunch in Merredin and got home in the early afternoon, giving us enough time to conquer the main part of the unpacking and cleaning. The rains over the last month had sported a fresh crop of weeds to deal with in the back yard. On entering the house though, there was a very noticeable smell of gas and Christine discovered that the oven was on a very low setting. No flame was present, it had probably gone out and the dregs of the bottle seeped out. We opened everything up and aired out the house, thankful that we did indeed have a house left. Perhaps an updated oven is in order or maybe we even turn the gas off when we leave would be smarter.

All in all it was a whirlwind trip, with some 8,500kms covered in a month. We keep saying we will slow down and take time to smell the daisies but somehow…….

The Red Centre – October 2018

October 7, 2018 /

Tuesday 25 September – We came off the Great Central Road a little beaten and happy to see a touch of civilization and paved roads. We passed the Olgas and Uluru before reaching the campgrounds at Yalara. We already knew that a regular camp site was out of the question but a large overflow area was in operation and we were in a position to be self sufficient. The line up was extensive, mostly Vic and WA cars, their school holidays matching. Finally, we headed to the overflow, a large open space with caravans and tents dotted haphazardly all over the place. Signs warned us that we needed our own toilet facilities because it was too far to walk to the camp ablutions. Neither was any water or rubbish facilities provided. Not bad for $30 a night!

Yulara has all the basic essentials with an excellent IGA, fuel at $2.11/L and limited take-away alcohol at a minimum $30 a bottle of wine. It is a place that gives the plastic card a good workout.

Wednesday 26 September – The morning saw us head to Uluru to take in the rock (after paying $25 a head to enter the National Park). The bikes were unloaded from the roof and we set off for a circumnavigation while John and Julie visited the cultural centre. It is a 12km ride around and the temperature was in the low 30s so riding rather than walking was the way to go. Only one boggy section forced us to walk and we completed the ride in around 1.5 hours, with stops to read the notes along the way. Uluru is truly a beautiful place. The variety of surface features and weathered features is amazing and the ever changing faces, shadows and colours make it seem like a living entity. When our ride was complete, John and Julie set off while we made lunch and sat opposite the point that is used as a climbing face to watch the continual straggle of people moving up and down the face. They looked like a line of ants on the move.

Around Uluru

The climbing of Uluru is a controversial issue. It will be banned on 26 October 2019 (the 34th anniversary of the return of Uluru to its traditional owners). At the base of the climb is a large sign in a number of languages that clearly outlines the reasons the traditional owners do not want you to climb it. Put simply, this boils down to:

  • The climbing route is a sacred path of spiritual significance that is only taken by few Aboriginal men on special occasions.
  • People have been hurt and people have died when climbing Ayers Rock. The traditional owners feel responsible for these accidents.

We saw literally hundreds of people climbing up the rock but in the time we were there, not one stood in front of the sign to read it. The failure to actually engage with the issue probably upset me more than their decision to climb. There certainly seems to be an attitude of, “I’ve driven this bloody far so I’ll do what I want.”

The afternoon was spent back around Yalara settlement before heading out again with John and Julie in the late afternoon to catch the sunset colours on the rock from the viewing area. The parking area was packed with people set up with cameras, canapés, bubbly drinks and excitable children. Just as popular folklore maintains, the rock does go through quite a dramatic set of colour changes just prior to and after sunset. If anything, it seems to glow brighter just after the sun as sunk below the horizon.  Ah! The big rock at sunset. Another box ticked.

Thursday 27 September – We were bad today. The plan was to do the Olgas and John and Julie got all geared up to head out early and get in all the walks. We lagged behind and then lazed around instead of hitting the walking trails. We have been to the Olgas before and just didn’t feel like walking so we luxuriated in a good slack day. We spent a bit of time exploring the shopping centre which was surprisingly well stocked with a variety of goods.  It was pleasing to note that the majority of workers appeared to be indigenous, a far cry from other tourist centres around the outback, and that the jobs board was full of positions, both skilled and unskilled. Seeing the jobs board made me a bit less critical of the campground conditions. It could be that they would provide more services if they could get the staff.

By late afternoon, we decided we needed to pay some homage to the Olgas and drove out to the sand dune viewing area to take in a few perspectives of the range before heading back to camp. John and Julie had returned by this stage looking quite shattered after a very full day in the heat. They had managed to rack up every walk but were paying for it. Plans to go out after 8pm to see the moon rise over Uluru were abandoned.

Views of the Olgas (Kata Tjuta)

Friday 29 September – Today we broke camp, fuelled up and drove east then north to Kings Canyon. Along the way, we refuelled at the delightful little roadside stop of Curtin Springs that offered free camping, a far cry from the horrors of Yalara campground.  Before turning off the Lasseter Highway onto the Luritja Road we took in the beautiful sight of Mt Conner, a huge flat topped plateau to the west of Uluru. The road swings north before turning north-west and following the George Gill Range. The vistas are constantly changing and a far cry from the vast plains that we had travelled across in previous days. We stopped at Kings Creek Resort, an inviting little spot just outside the Watarrka National Park and within an easy drive of Kings Canyon.

Kings Canyon Resort was also fully booked but had promised us an overflow area and assured access to a TV for the AFL Grand Final. We managed to score a good spot with some shade and very close to some ablutions. The resort is very well appointed, although looking a little tired. From our campsite, we had a magnificent view of the canyon itself and surrounding hills.  Nearby, a track led to a ring of stones and logs that marked a paved “Sunset Viewing Area”, a great little touch. The only trouble was that instead of providing a facility that could bring guests together in the evening it was set up as licensed premises which meant that rocking up with a couple of cans and a chardy was out of the question. It was also out of the question to pay $8.50 for a can of Carlton Mid. We stayed in our camp and saved up for the Grand Final.

Saturday 30th September – This is the day that will be forever revered as the great Eagles AFL win of 2018. We geared our day around the great event and got up at 6am, so we could get to the Canyon Rim walk early, before the heat set in, and allow enough time to bag a good seat in the pub.

The wind was up anyway, but the canyon took it and turned a fresh breeze into a howling gale. The wind tunnel effect pushed gusts up to around 80km/hr, making the first 500 step climb up to the rim of the canyon quite scary. Christine voiced a desire to turn back but we went back our teenage years and held hands for most of the walk to get her around the course. The 6km walk was expected to take 3-4 hours but we did it in 2 and a bit, and Christine’s adrenalin levels never dropped a bit. Aside from the fear of being blown over the edge by the sudden blasts of wind, the walk was outstanding, with incredible views of the plains beyond. Once up on top of the range, a broad expanse of domed formations, like a mini Bungle Bungles, presents. The drop over the edge is mostly sheer, with amazingly flat and straight rock falls of the past leaving perfectly faced canyon walls. The variation in land forms and rock structures makes it like you are looking at more than one canyon, the view changing at every turn.  No previous canyon or gorge walk compares, and we have done plenty. Kings Canyon Rules!

Kings Canyon

We relaxed back in camp while John and Julie secured a prime table in the pub in readiness for the footy. We joined them with an hour to bounce down. By this time, the small room with two large screen TVs was occupied by a dozen or so Eagles supporters and another dozen of neutrals while out the back a much larger space was filling with Collingwood fans. When Collingwood kicked the first goal, the noise from out back was horrendous and after four more it was getting quite upsetting. I started to feel the way the Melbourne fans felt in the Preliminary Final. However, by the time the final few minutes came around and Dom Sheed kicked his magic goal, the noise in front drowned out the moans of the Collingwood faithful. It was the stuff of dreams.

Christine and I were once again the only ones in Eagles gear and it paid off. The publican came over and asked what we wanted to drink. Julie said she would have a white wine, Christine a red, and me, thinking Julie had asked for bubbly, said I’d have bubbly too. John ordered a beer. We all got our free drinks, except I got a whole bottle of good bubbly. Thanks Eagles! A great win all round. We left in a state of euphoria.

Sunday 1 October – Today we drove the Red Centre Way from Kings Canyon to Ormiston Gorge. The bulk of the trip, some 140kms, was unsealed. The unsealed part has not seen a grader for 18 months and was in very bad condition by any definition. Long stretches were devoid of any earth, the surface down to bare rock, and even that seem to be corrugated. We drove up on the side of the embankment seeking relief from the corrugations, we tried speeding up and slowing down. Nothing worked. It was bone jarring stuff.

We came across a 100 litre water tank in good condition, complete with protective cover, lying in the middle of the road. It was 100m down the track after a creek crossing so some poor unfortunate had taken the crossing too fast and ripped it out from underneath their camper. They weren’t far ahead because there was still water on the road. I stopped and made room on the roof rack for it, prepared to return it if we found the owners. We never did so we are still carrying it around. It will come in handy.

The scenery was nothing short of spectacular, like driving through the best of the Pilbara or Kimberley. The road starts to enter the region dominated by the magnificent West MacDonald Ranges, with numerous noteworthy peaks and a great many gorges. Every so often, there was a lookout or special feature to take in but some of these were ignored because we were driven to complete the unsealed section.

Finally, the bitumen road came and we stopped to pump up the tyres and shake off the dust. A short distance down the road was Gosse Bluff, a strangely named formation that suggested a single edifice of rock. What we found was a circle of low peaks and crags with an area of flat land in its centre. The formation is actually a crater formed by a 600 metre wide comet striking the Earth some 142 million years ago (I remember it happening). Later, we got to see the crater from a high lookout 20 km away and it looked just like one of the moon formations. Quite stunning.

We had to wait at Gosse Bluff for a while because the corrugations had damaged the electrical connection to John’s camper and a re-wiring job was needed. It was a pleasant enough place to sit except for the large number of honey bees. The very dry conditions meant they were desperate for water and they soon figured out that the water tank on our roof rack had some water left in it and an easy access point through the missing filler point. The top of our car became a mass of bees, as did the whole area. Julie and I avoided them but both Christine and John got stung. We left to wait for John further down the track, taking our bee swarm with us.

At one point on the drive, there was a sign indicating a rest stop with mobile phone reception. After days of no phone, this was worth a stop. We were greeted by the sight of a parabolic dish with a cradle to rest your phone.

As we headed east towards Glen Helen Resort, the scenery just kept getting better. The road ran parallel to the southern face of the West MacDonalds, a must do drive. Glen Helen Resort however, is not so inspiring. Situated on the site of a pretty little gorge (Glen Helen Gorge), it is a ramshackle collection of dongas, corrugated iron buildings and bough shelters. The carpark was in as bad a condition as the unsealed road. What a terrible advertisement for a so-called resort. You drive in on a nice bitumen road then drop over a nasty suspension damaging edge onto bare earth and rock that hasn’t seen a grader for ages. There is no apparent system of parking nor useful signage helping people line up for fuel. John needed fuel, which he purchased after a run-in with someone trying to jump the non-existent queue and we left.

Ormiston Gorge, only a few kilometres further on, was the exact opposite of Glen Helen. The National Park here is very well set up and has wonderful facilities, all for $10 a head per night. The camp ground is small and was full, but the ranger arranged for us to use the “coaches only” area, along with a few other late arrivals, and so we had our own set of hot showers and toilets. After a hell of a day’s travel, it was a wonderful end.

Monday October 1 – We rose quite early to fit in a walk of Ormiston Gorge before packing up. We took the “Ghost Gum Walk”, only 2.4km but quite tough because it climbs a series of steps and follow narrow trails cut into the shale cliffs to a lone ghost gum perched half way up the gorge’s northern face. The views are quite stunning. Ormiston is a very deep gorge by any standards, bigger than those in Karajini and most in the Kimberley. As with Kings Canyon, Christine needed the security of my hand because the pathways were often so narrow. I pictured us both plummeting to the bottom, hand in hand to the end. Thankfully, it didn’t happen and we reached the end of the walk intact. It amazes me how the level of protectiveness varies so much from location to location. Sometimes, handrails and fences are provided to excess and actually spoil the experience while in other places, a goat track carved into a shale hill side is deemed sufficient.

Ormiston Gorge

Once packed up, we drove east towards Alice Springs, skipping a lot of off-shoot sights. The West MacDonalds are easily worth four or five days.  We did stop at the Ellery Big Hole, a pretty little gorge with a decent body of clean swimmable water. The four of us stood up to our knees in the icy water until we could no longer feel our toes. John and Christine eventually took the plunge but Julie and I felt that some of us needed to remain sane and refused a dunking. We also diverted into Simpsons Gap, a narrow gap in the mountain chain a mere 15kms or so from Alice itself. The temperature had climbed into the mid 30s but swimming was out of the question with the only water presenting as a stagnant green slime pool. We walked, we saw, we photographed, and pushed on to the Wintersun Caravan Park in Alice Springs.

The Red Centre Way – Namatjira Drive

We booked in for 3 nights while John and Julie chose to stay 2. We need some serious cleaning to rid the camper of the excess red dust. Alice will be a parting of the ways anyway, with us heading to Victoria and John and Julie aiming for the Eyre Peninsula. Who knows, we may meet up for the Nullarbor crossing.

Tuesday 2 October – Today was a day of relaxing, cleaning, reading, trying out the almost too cold swimming pool and wandering around Alice Springs. First stop was Bunnings (of course) for a few bits of necessary hardware but unfortunately,  there was no sausage sizzle running. Another great stop was ANZAC Hill, a wonderful lookout right in the middle of town. This is the perfect spot to get a full understanding of the layout of Alice, set nestled between the West and East MacDonald Ranges.

We made a few purchases in town, including a HEMA Map book. We have been relying on the HEMA Map app on an Android tablet but it is not as good as the good old paper book when it comes to planning ahead.

Around Alice Springs

Wednesday 3 October – John and Julie were up early and packed up ready to hit the road. It is around 600km south to Coober Pedy, a full day with a van behind. We farewelled them, knowing that fate would probably bring us together again before we hit home.

The first job was to take the car down to Windscreen O’Brien to have the back window replaced.  The guy down there was fantastic and very patient while Christine did a lot of phone work to ensure the RACWA and the National Windscreens O’Brien chain got their act sorted. She was a champ and everything got sorted in the best possible timeframe. It is good to be able to see through the back window again.

We did some more cleaning before the heat settled in. The days are hitting 35 degrees now and we are dependent on a good breeze for relief. We stocked up on alcohol too. Alice Springs has long had heavy restrictions on alcohol purchases but today a new initiative by the NT Government came into force. They have set a minimum price of $1.30 per standard drink. This means that the cheapest price that can be charged for a bottle of wine (approx 8 standard drinks) is $10.40, putting an end to all the very cheap wine flooding the market. Beer is largely unaffected because it already sells for more than the minimum. A 4L cask white wine would cost $50.70. It will be interesting to see how it goes. Other states are watching with interest and it may well be adopted elsewhere, although the states with wine industries would come under a lot of pressure from growers needing to move their lower quality wines.

Tomorrow we hit the road south and will find the lower temperatures welcome after the last few days. Of our time here, Kings Canyon was the big standout for me, a must visit place.

Great Central Road – September 2018

October 3, 2018 /

Thursday 20 September –We were packed and ready with the car and camper trailer loaded by the time John and Julie swung through Dowerin to start our big trip across the Great Central Road. We were on the road by 10:30 and lunched in Merredin before pushing on towards Coolgardie. We made a wonderful first night camp at Lake Douglas, a pretty little reservoir off the road between Coolgardie and Kalgoorlie. A roaring fire held off the cool of the evening and Christine’s slow cooked lamb done in the thermal cooker satisfied the bellies, along with a few beers and wines of course.

Friday 21 September – Kalgoorlie was meant to be by-passed but in the end we did go in to find a Super Cheap Auto store so John could buy a UHF radio. He had bought a hand-held but it was playing up so a new dash unit was in order. From there it was on to Menzies. For us, it was the first time north of Broad Arrow. The woodlands north of Kalgoorlie are some of the most beautiful anywhere, with gimlets and salmon gums creating a stunning area to drive through. The woodlands form part of the World’s largest surviving Mediterranean climate woodland.

Menzies was quiet, tiny and impeccably clean. The town was started in 1895 but a mere 10 years later, most miners had left. A beautiful stone town hall had been built in 1896 and a clock ordered  in 1905 but the ship carrying it from England sank and the building remained clockless until 2000. Today, Menzies seems to be little more than a rest stop for the miners working around the district. A lot of people come to see the sculptures on nearby Lake Ballard (we didn’t go this time) or to have a coffee and cake at the cafe (which we did do this time).

From Menzies we headed out to a stop at Niagara Dam, built in 1896-7 for the railway as it pushed north to Leonora. It had a bit of water in it and made for a picturesque camping spot. We marveled at the history of the construction. The need for a water supply was identified in the WA Parliament with working starting 6 months later and the dam completed a further 9 months on. That’s a bit faster than the wheels of government turn these days. Another classic sight was the number plate collection adorning the roadhouse. They came from every corner of the planet and must have taken years to collect. Now, the roadhouse is unattended and the building locked behind a secure fence.

Next stop was the ghost town of Kookynie, served by a single pub that has survived the years. The pub was once one of four, all on a corner of the same crossroads. We had a cooling beer and inspected all the historical mementos decorating the walls. A few other groups of travellers had the same idea so there was a merry atmosphere. Willy, the local horse, obviously wanted to join in the fun and stood patiently at the front door waiting to be let in. He would peer through the windows on occasions. Apparently the proprietor would make up a meal of carrots for him and it was about time for a snack.  We headed out to the cars to make our own lunch but Willy decided to join us and things got difficult, until he finally heard his own carrots being prepared and trotted off to the rear of the pub.

From Kookynie, 140kms of good dirt road took us to Malcolm, a rail shunting area about 30kms out of Leonora. Here another railway dam had been built, in packed earth this time rather than the concrete of Niagara. There was a good body of water present and lots of water birds. We set up camp right on the earth wall and relaxed in front of a very restful watery landscape. A flock of four pelican made a beautiful landing in front of us and a few darts fished for some unknown species of fish. Another camper had a go with some yabby nets but apparently the yabbies of yesteryear had all been eaten when carp and perch were somehow introduced.

Chicken Frajitas (John and Julie) maintained the standard of cuisine we had set for ourselves.

From Top Left – Menizes Town Hall, Menzies Pub, John and Julie’s Rig, Our rig in Leonora, Number plates Menzies Roadhouse

Niagara Dam, Malcolm Dam, Niagara Dam, Willy the horse at Kookynie Pub, Old Kookynie, Willy makes friends with John

Saturday 22 September – We decided to drive in to Leonora for a quick look before heading Laverton. Just as we neared the end of the gravel road out of the dam, a loud crack signaled the end of our back window in the car. A stone coming off the camper had shattered it. Fortunately, the window was fitted with a special UV film which held everything together and it really looked as though it would hold up for the trip across the Great Central Road. In Leonora, we bought some heavy duty duct tape and strengthened the bond on the outside. In hindsight, we should have covered the window with cardboard, as many others do. This is our second shattered rear window so we seem to be slow on the uptake.

Leonora is currently going through one of its periods of decline. The bustle of 2000 people a decade or so ago has dwindled to around 500 and the main street is full of boarded up shops. As with Menzies, everything is very neat and clean (apart from a layer of red dust). No doubt some new mining fad will see the people return.

We reached Laverton before lunch and set up camp in the caravan park to get ready for the Eagles- Melbourne Preliminary Final. The local pub, called the Desert Inn, had a great sports bar with big screen TV and we had front spot. I expected a larger crowd but there were only a few in the end to see the Eagles demolish the Ds. There was another group out the back in the beer garden that got noisier as the game progressed and a big guy rolled into the Sports Bar and let rip with a very loud “Go the Eagles!” He then proceeded to tell everyone that he could shout as much as he liked because he owned the pub. Julie was very quick off the marked and replied, “Good, you can shout us a drink then.” So we all got a round of drinks on the house. No one else seemed so lucky. The free round was probably the tipping point and we all staggered home mindful that public drunkenness in Laverton is probably not tolerated.

After the squid rings and wedges consumed during the footy we settled for a few nibbles for dinner.

Sunday 23 September – With everything packed tight, fuel containers full and tyre pressures down, we set forth on the start of the Great Central Road. Some people call this the “Gunbarrel” but that actually refers to another abandoned track further north. A few 4WD die hards use it but travelling on it is generally discouraged. The Great Central Road traverses the mostly aboriginal lands between Laverton and Uluru, a distance of 1,126km, largely unsealed but formed to a reasonable standard. The road passes through a number of Aboriginal communities where fuel and basic supplies can be bought. Two permits must be obtained and carried to traverse Aboriginal Lands, one for the WA part and one for the NT section. Both were obtained on-line and were free.

The road was in excellent condition,n at first with few signs of the promised heavy corrugations and bulldust sections. We kept the speed right down anyway to avoid damage to the rigs and stopped at regular intervals to check for things coming adrift. There was little to see, just endless plains of savannah land, mulga scrub and a scattering of trees. Even wildlife was scarce, with a few camel herds providing amusement. They do not appear the least bit afraid of humans and at one stage we caught up with John and Julie to find them stopped and completely surrounded by curious camels.

The most common sight was dead cars, mostly sedans with the odd 4WD thrown in. I was sorry that I didn’t start to count them out of Laverton because there were literally hundreds. All were burnt out and many lay upside down. A decent truck with a portable crusher and a crane could make good money out here.

We stopped at a little roadhouse called Tjukayiria to pay $2.26 a litre for fuel. The long bearded fellow there told us to be mindful of the fact that Warakurna (Giles) was closing at noon the next day for the Queen’s Birthday holiday and that they operated on NT time, making them close at 10:30am WA time. A few calculations told us that there was no way we would make it in time so we resolved to camp early, about 70kms out of Warburton and to make sure we could get between there and Docker River the next day. We found a secluded camp off the road and lit a roaring fire. The nights have been surprisingly mild. We were kitted out for some real cold stuff but some nights we managed to sit out in shorts and T-shirt.

Christine’s excellent spaghetti bolognaise capped off a great day.

From Top Left – Camels, Victory for the Eagles at Laverton Pub, A bush camp, Gill Pinnacle, Unveiling the camp oven.

Monday 24 September – After the usual pack up and breakfast, it was on towards Warburton. Not far out we spied what we thought was two bustards (bush turkeys), standing in the  middle of the road. As we drew closer, I realised that rather than bustards with short legs, they were in fact black swans. They stared at our approach before taking to the sky. A short way on we crossed the Warburton River, a mere puddle, which explained why the swans preferred to stand on the road.

Warburton was a bit of an eye-opener. A heavily fortified compound served as a camp ground.  Vehicles with smashed windscreens and lots of broken bits were in abundance. One battered 4WD with a full length roof rack had a huge red kangaroo on top. Whether it died from gunshot wounds, a spear or a semi trailer is not known but it was surely destined for the camp fire.

After Warbuton, the road deteriorated, with some 4 to 5km stretches of real bone shaking corrugations. The land was still pretty much flat and uninteresting for much of the way and the wildlife remained scarce.

We passed through Warakurna which, as predicted, was closed for the holiday and pushed on towards Docker River. After Warakurna, a few interesting landforms started to appear and a range of mountains in the distance gave us a focus. We made camp at the “Behind the Range” campsite, complete with amazing views of Gill Pinnacle and the surrounding ranges, brilliantly lit up as the sun set. A good bush fire was lit and Christine prepared a wonderful meal of Lamb Boulangere (chops, onion, leek, cabbage and potato) in the camp oven. It was another top meal. We have not let isolation beat out culinary needs.

Tuesday 25 September – The last leg of the GCR was ahead of us. The WA/NT border was only 20kms or so further on from the night camp. From reports down the road, we expected the road to deteriorate greatly on the NT side but were pleasantly surprised to find some roadworks on the go and a good stretch of freshly graded surface all the way into the Aboriginal Community of Docker River. John needed fuel but I calculated I could avoid the $2.45/L and make it to Yalara. We had to hang around and wait for the store to open at 10am but were soon on our way east following beside the Petermann Ranges.

We took a brief stop to look at Lasseter’s Cave, where Lasseter spent some four weeks or so after his camels bolted. He was helped by Aboriginals but died while attempting to walk the 140km to the Olgas.

As we head east, the groves of Desert Oaks become more prominent. The Desert Oak is a member of the casaurina family and not a true oak. They are a very majestic tree and provide a lot of much needed shade in a very arid environment.

The road did start to break up a bit and the corrugations deepen but overall, the surface was better than expected. The GCR emerges at the Olgas (Kata Tjuta) and the long awaited bitumen commences around the time the famed formation comes in view. From far to the west, the site of the Olgas is really amazing, probably the best aspect of all, and one that we had not seen when here previously. Still, it was with a huge sense of relief that we left the dust and corrugations behind and wound around the Olgas, past Uluru and on to the Yalara campground.

From Top Left – Lasseter’s Cave, Camp at Gill Pinnacle, Desert Oaks, Lasseter’s Cave, The Olgas

The GCR is one of those trips that just begs to be ticked off but in truth it does not have a lot going for it other than saving a lot of kilometres. It is mostly a long stretch of poor quality road with few attractions and a high chance of damage to vehicles. As a 4WD adventure it is not really very challenging other than bolting on all the bits that fall off the vehicles. Would we do it again? Probably not but then it has been ticked off the list.

Rome and The Vatican, Italy 2017

August 1, 2017 /

Rome 26-30 July

The trip from Naples to Rome was the most comfortable for several months, mainly because we were back to being able to use Flixbus. Somehow, the Flixbus line seems to be able to do what others can’t, make things work without fuss and on time. The trip took two and a half hours and was a direct route along the Autostrada so it was smooth and relaxing.

Things even went well once in Rome. The bus dropped us off at the bus station in Turbunia and it was a very short walk to the adjoining Metro station. It was so refreshing to walk around a bus and train station area that was neat and clean. Even the graffiti was far less than it had been in Naples. The Metro train whisked us five stations to Cavour then another 300m walk took us to our accommodation, although a couple of flights of nasty steps did get in the way.

Our apartment is set in what used to be a monastery right in the heart of old Rome. The apartments have been beautifully modernised and have all mod-cons, although nothing much in terms of a view. However, the view up the nearest street is one of the glorious Santa Marie Maggoire, a Papal Basillica that dates back to the 5th Century AD. It is owned by the Vatican but remains on Italian soil. Back the other way and around a corner the street ends in the Colosseum, so we are certainly well placed. So much is easily walkable, the Roman Forum, the Piazza Venezia and the Trevi Fountain. Beautiful eateries and bars abound in this part of Rome. Just going for a stroll is a fantastic experience, with stunning piazzas, historical ruins and grand buildings visible from every vantage point. It is a true visual feast.

Ancient Rome

We booked up for a Segway tour as a way of getting to lots of places in the historical centre quickly and with a guide to explain things. The Segway tour of Paris we took back in 2012 has remained as a highlight of our last trip to Europe and this one proved no different. The group was small, an American, a couple of Norwegians and us. Together with the guide, Patricia, an Italian/German girl, we had a lot of laughs, mostly at Christine’s expense because she kept letting out little screams or calling out “Shit!” when she hit a bump or felt she might crash, which was quite often.

After a brief familiarisation and practice session we set off on our Segways, working our way through the ancient Roman Forums, the Forum Romanum, and the Forums of Julius Caesar, Augustus and Trajan. Then it was on to the Colloseum where the crowds were staggering. Inching our way through the huge throngs of people waiting to gain entry was actually a lot of fun and quite easy. Segways are so easy to control and so versatile.

The Segway Tour, showing The Forum Romanum, Colloseum, Constantine’s Arch and The Circus Maximus.

The Colloseum is one of those things that is more impressive and bigger in real life than the pictures. This is so often not the case but the sheer size and scale of the structure is quite breath taking. We have seen so many ancient sites and ruins on this trip but nothing quite stacks up to the Roman Forum and the Colloseum, all overlooked by the Palatine Hill, probably because of the sense that this is where it was all centred. Moving on we admired the Arch of Constantine then on to the huge Circus Maximus, the enormous arena featured in the chariot racing scenes of the movie Ben Hur. At its peak, the Circus Maximus was capable of seating more than 150,000 people, putting the MCG to shame. Around the outer parts of the seating structures, the porticos housed numerous shops and artisan stalls so the complex was an important part of Roman life even when not being used for games or events.

From the Circus Maximus we climbed up the Avertine Hill to get some terrific views over Rome and the River Tiber. It was a wonderful relief after all the hill climbing we have done to just glide up the hills on our Segways, whizzing past all the other tourists struggling up the streets in the heat. From the Avertine, we had to use the roads, which was a little daunting, but Patricia showed us how to fit in with the traffic and just go with the flow. We climbed the Capitoline Hill, the supposed site of the founding of Rome, and took in the amazing views over the Forum Romanum. I have always enjoyed reading Roman History, right from my early teenage years, and it was a very special to be able to look down on the places that had been the centre of so much history and home so many great people.

From the Capitoline Hill we worked our way back down to the end of the tour, a brilliant three hours of history, fun and the thrill of riding a Segway through one of the World’s most significant cities.

The Vatican City

A Metro trip took us across the River Tiber to the Vatican City. We had purchased some “Skip the Line” tickets on the Internet and we were so glad we did because the line for people waiting to get in was horribly long. The “Skip the Line” system operates across all the attractions and is basically a pay more and get in system, making you pay around 10€ each more than lining up in the case of the Vatican, but considerable more for The Colloseum. You have to book a specific time and tickets are limited. We had time to kill and had a coffee at a cafe opposite the entrance, waiting for about 40 minutes. The line did not appear to move in that time. When our appointed entry time came we just walked straight through.

The Vatican Museum is enormous, housing many of the Christian World’s finest art works. The complex of buildings is an art work in itself, with every ceiling, wall, door and window frame being something special. There are displays of Greek, Etruscan and Roman art works. Strangely, there are displays of Egyptian antiquities, purchased in the late Nineteenth Century by the Vatican. It defeats me how they can still justify keeping these pieces. They should be returned to Egypt.

Our main aim, as with most other visitors, is to see the four Raphael Rooms and Michaelangelo’s painting of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Both are located at the far end of the building complex away from the entrance, which means a very long walk through the halls to reach them. The guide books suggest a 20-30 minute walk without stops but it took us a little longer. The crowd is very manageable, controlled by the ticketing system but there are a great many beautiful distractions along the way. We are certainly not students of religious art but the works were simply glorious.

Along the way there are many fine classical sculptures, mostly nudes in the classical manner. The females are always demurely draped but the poor guys had mostly got the “chop”, their penises removed by various Popes through the ages. Some had weird looking fig leaf things covering their naughty bits but others had just been “done”. Apparently, the balls are OK, just not the other things.

One fascinating room was the Gallery of Maps, commissioned by Pope Gregory XIII in the 16th Century. Skilled artists were brought from all over Italy to paint a series of enormous maps, depicting all the areas of the Italian Peninsula and islands. The major cities were also depicted in map form, leaving a lasting and significant historical record.

The Raphael Rooms date from the early 16th Century and are simply stunning. Many of the frescoes depict quite violent episodes throughout early Christendom or stories from the Old Testament. The paintings adorn the walls and parts of the ceilings of four rooms, mostly used as reception rooms for Papal visits. Below the Raphael Rooms lies the famed Sistine Chapel, a small chapel but one of the best known because of Michaelangelo’s ceiling paintings, completed between 1503 and 1512. Art historians generally agree that it, along with the enormous Last Judgement that covers the altar wall, is one of the greatest artistic achievements of mankind. What I was surprised at, is just how small and relatively insignificant the centre piece of the ceiling is, the famous Creation of Adam, that is so recognisable and so frequently copied as a symbol of art. It is no bigger than the other panels, just more famous. It is a requirement of entry into the chapel that shoulders and legs be covered, causing a bit of anxiety for many of the female tourists who choose to wear the fashionable Italian fashions. Fortunately, the gap is filled by the numerous wrap sellers outside the Vatican who do a roaring trade. Inside the chapel, the visiting crowds are requested to remain silent and photography is not permitted. Al this is largely ignored of course, so at regular intervals, a very loud announcement screams out “Silence!”, which produced the required effect for 10 to 15 seconds before the noise returns. When someone is spied taking a photo, a guard will rush over and yell at them, so they look sheepish and put the phone down for a few minutes rest.

St Peter’s Square and Basillica, Vatican grounds.

After leaving the Vatican Museum, we walked around the vast walls of the city to re-enter at St Peter’s Square. This most famous of all Rome’s Plazas is certainly impressive and must be an awesome sight when it is filled with people for a Papal blessing or appearance. Backed by the huge St Peter’s Basillica, the square is framed by two enormous arcs of colonnades, producing a truly impressive sight. In the middle is an enormous obelisk, originally erected in Heliopolis in Egypt by Augustus then later moved to Rome by Caligula. All the way around the long colonnades was a heavy line of people, queued waiting to gain access to St Peter’s Basillica to climb to the top of the famous dome. Unlike the line to get into the Vatican, this one appeared to move, although slowly. We had no thoughts about even trying. We decided to leave that pleasure to the Pope.

We walked a few streets away from the Vatican until the menu prices at the restaurants dropped to an acceptable level and settled down for a sandwich and a beer, alongside a group of three Aussies (of Italian origin) from Melbourne. They had done the climb up the dome but had not waited in line, electing to pay the extra for “skip the line” tickets. It is really a bad system when you think about it but an absolute necessity if you want to get in to something.

Around Rome

We relied heavily on the Metro system to move around the city. With only two lines, the system is not extensive but it is cheap and very reliable. Even the crowds are not too bad, except near the Termini Station, which is the cross-link between the two lines and also the Central Railway Station. Here the crowds can be crushing and I even had to pull Christine back from the doors once when they started closing. Only a few weeks ago, a woman was dragged along the platform, caught in the doors. Plans are afoot to expand the Metro but money is always tight and progress is slow once they start because any digging means coming across ancient buildings and buried monuments.

There is also a tram system, quite old and noisy but useful for accessing areas that the Metro doesn’t go. There is also a bus but it has a poor reputation, even with locals. Using busses within a city is always our last option, mainly because they are difficult to work out unless you know where you are going and can recognise landmarks.

Around Rome. Our street and apartment is at bottom right.

It would be easy to spend days just visiting the many piazzas dotted across the city. Most are big splendid affairs, full of history and usually with an incredible fountain as a centre point. The Piazza Repubblica was not far from our apartment and is an enormous semi-circular piazza on the site of Diocletian’s Roman Baths.  At its centre is the Fountain of the Nymphaids, depicting four nymphs fighting various creatures.

Of course, Rome’s most famous fountain is the Trevi Fountain. The fountain is situated at the junction of the modern water supply and Rome’s ancient Aqua Virgo aqueduct. Only a few weeks before our arrival, Rome’s Mayor had decreed that poor behaviour by tourists around Rome’s monuments must be stamped out and that throwing things into the water or bathing or washing in the fountains must stop. This was wrongly reported in the press as being a ban on throwing “three coins in the fountain”, a popular pastime with the Trevi Fountain signifying that one would return to Rome. This is still permitted. However, there were a number of police stationed around the fountain who would blow on whistles and point to people in the crowd. No one knew who they were pointing at or why, but then no one seemed to care. No one jumped in either, but there were coins flying everywhere. In fact, there is over 3000€ a day thrown into the Trevi Fountain, all thrown by the right hand over the left shoulder. The money is retrieved and used to support a supermarket for the city’s needy. Beyond all the hype, the fountain is certainly very beautiful, especially since a major refurbishment was undertaken and completed in 2015, leaving it all gleaming white and free of cracks or chips.

Around Rome, including The Trevi Fountain

All of Rome’s fountains are currently getting a lot of press, with the city in the grips of one of its worst ever droughts. Water supplies are becoming critical and there has been talk of closing down fountains. These are not the big display fountains that adorn the piazzas, but the tiny little continuously flowing faucets that are spread throughout the city to ensure that one can get a cold refreshing drink wherever one is. They are dotted all over the place, more than 2500 of them, all with a trickle of water and no tap. It is a luxury that Rome cannot afford in the current climate.

Our final packup was a moment of sadness. Although going home brings with it seeing family, neither of us reached the point where we had had enough of travel. Had we kept going, a major relocation would have been called for, maybe Scandinavia or Poland, because we were ready to leave Italy.

It is impossible to describe all the delights of Rome without writing a book. I think we could come back here many times and always find something new or interesting to see or do. Our scratchings have been very shallow and there is much remaining to be explored. Patricia, the guide on our Segway tour, described Rome as like a lasagne, with many layers. This is so true on both a historical level, with city built upon city, and also on a social level, with so many people all with different reasons for being in the Eternal City. We never did throw three coins in the fountain but I think we will be back one day.

Getting to the airport was so easy, a short walk to the Metro, a ride to Termini Station, then a very comfortable trip on the airport train (The Leonardo Express, 14€ each). It being Christine’s birthday, she wore a special Birthday Badge, which she shamelessly brought to the attention of the check-in girl. The girl apologised that she could not upgrade us to Business Class but did make a phone call and managed to get us front row seats, giving loads of extra legroom. It made all the difference to the 10 hour trip to Bangkok, although I had a guy next to me that just hogged the arm-rest between us for the entire trip. We had a rushed 40 minute layover, made tight by the increased security precautions in place for flights to Australia then a 6 hour flight home, all on Thai Airways. In the total flight time of around 17 hours, I slept about two hours and Christine about three so between us we did some serious movie watching.

We arrived in Perth to a twelve degree very wet day, dressed in shorts of course, bringing to an end nearly five months of travel and living out of our backpacks. I know the exhaustion will set in as we unpack. If we get too tired, we can always take a holiday somewhere.

GALLERIES:

Rome City

Vatican City

Naples, Pompeii, Herculaneum, Sorrento – Italy 2017

July 28, 2017 /

Naples  22-26 July

The ferry from Palermo was due into Naples around 6:30am so it was an early rise and out to reception with our bags to watch the entry into port. As the boat cruised in under the gaze of Mount Vesuvius, the notorious volcano, we were amazed at just how small it looks compared to the gigantic Mount Etna in Sicily. Vesuvius has not erupted since 1944 but the scientists are somewhat concerned about mounting pressures, including some building under Naples itself. Hopefully, it can hang on for another four days.

The problem with arriving so early is finding somewhere to kill time with heavy bags before getting access to accommodation. Our apartment hosts had promised access at 9am so we had a few hours. There was not much open as we made our way along the via Nuovo Marina but we eventually found a little cafe-bar serving coffee and croissant. Christine was wearing her Aussie cricket shirt and the proprietor was from Pakistan so we were most welcome and he used his limited English to strike up a bit of a conversation.

We found our apartment block, a clean and neat looking block set in an area of tight narrow streets. The streets were absolutely filthy, as were most of the buildings. Naples is famous for being dirty but it is hard to imagine just how filthy the streets can be. Litter is everywhere, obviously just discarded without a care. Dog crap is also a continual problem when walking and the streets are sometimes easier to walk on than the broken sidewalks. I find it quite depressing to think that the people of one of Europe’s foremost countries can actually live in these conditions, beautiful apartments on the inside, top quality clothes and the best of fashion yet streets that are in worse condition than parts of South East Asia. People just seem to shrug their shoulders and say, “That’s what it’s like here.”

After a wait, our host arrived to let us in to a very comfortable apartment on the fourth floor of a six storey block. The owners have a number of apartments and have themed each one with a colour. Ours is a pink theme, very pink, pink is everywhere. It gets quite dazzling at times. However, the apartment is comfortable and very well located, right on the edge of the historic centre and a block away from Corso Umberto 1, the main shopping precinct, where shops sell high fashion goods at Perth K-Mart prices. We located a nearby supermarket and found a lovely little fruit and veg shop across the road. Around the corner is a fishmonger with a big range of fresh seafood. We are settled in and know where the rubbish bins are.

Around Naples, with Vesuvius at the top. Our street is at top right and the ferry from Palermo in the centre.

Further up the hill beyond Corso Umberto and along via Duomo there is a tangle of tiny streets and alleyways that are quite delightful to walk through. They contain hundreds of touristic shops selling a wide variety of goods, but most prominent are the miniature models depicting working life scenes from old Naples. There are doctors, weavers, laundry workers, gardeners and every conceivable occupation, all in beautiful little miniature and each beavering away at their task. The dentist was rather grizzly and one of the doctors was working hard on someone’s buttocks.

Many of the larger buildings are undergoing extensive repairs, and are shrouded in mesh netting and scaffolding. Thousands more are in urgent need of attention. A decent earthquake, not all that uncommon in Naples, would take its toll. The Metro underground is being expanded as well, also causing a lot of disruption around the central historical part of the city. This can only be a good thing because reducing the number of cars would have to be a top priority. Cars choke every street and footpath, making walking in some places very difficult. Around a quarter of these cars appear to be permanently parked, covered in a thick layer of grime and squeezed into space leaving mere centimetres between each one. Most have scratches and bumps around all sides and no car more than a year old looks untouched. Those that do make it into the traffic spend most of their time at idle, trapped in the endless snarls, then accelerating hard when a gap opens up only to slam on the brakes a few seconds later. Many other European cities have simply banned cars and motorbikes from the central areas and rigidly enforced parking rules.  If public transport is cheap and efficient, the need to own a car in a big city is lessened. All it needs is the will and determination to change, something I suspect is lacking in Naples. France and Germany already have a timeline for the end of petrol and diesel powered vehicles. Italy needs to catch up and Perth needs to start learning some lessons before it is too late. Naples is a vision of the future we can expect if we go on as we are.

Sorrento

Naples serves as a hub for excursions and there are too many choices of what to see and not enough time. We chose to catch a train to Sorrento to check out for ourselves whether the amazing reputation is warranted. We had a kilometre walk to the huge train station complex at Piazza Garibaldi, stopping along the way to walk through a side-street market that specialised in loud men shouting “Prego!” and piles of cheap odd fragments of clothing. The Piazza Garibaldi area is reputed to be the worst for pick pockets, in a city where petty theft is a major industry. We had gone prepared, with no credit cards, passports or excess cash and things stored in deep zipped pockets. I also had a “man bag” for other essentials for the day.

The train to Sorrento is the Circumvesuviana Line, a narrow gauge line that services Herculaneum, Pompeii  and Sorrento, as well as dozens of villages around the base of the volcano Mt Vesuvius. I declare it to be the worst railway I have ever travelled on. It does not run as part of the normal Trenitalia system. The tickets can only be purchased at two little windows and each transaction is carried out at a snail’s pace, resulting in ridiculously long lines. Pickpockets move through the heavy crowds relieving people of their belongings (not kidding). We eventually got two tickets and located platform 3, just missing a train and having 30 minutes to wait for the next one. The crowds swelled along a lengthy platform to near bursting point, made worse by the fact that many people had luggage, using the train as a way of getting to Sorrento to stay. We struck up a conversation with a Scottish/Norwegian couple and there was a group of four Americans next to us. Finally, a train arrived and stopped with the last carriage nearly ten metres beyond us. The crowd surged on and somehow we managed to push our way onto an ancient dilapidated old carriage and find a spot, standing shoulder to shoulder. One of the Americans felt a hand in his pocket and confronted the culprit, who raised his hands, said sorry and made for the door. He and a mate got off as the train pulled into the first stop, just as another of the Americans found they had lifted her purse from her handbag, complete with credit cards and around 400€. I know how she felt after the same experience in Rimini. It just destroys you but in this case there is almost no defence.

The train was impossibly hot, terribly rattly and ridiculously overcrowded. It must be making a huge amount of money through Pompeii, Herculaneum and Sorrento but little appears to be going back into rolling stock. Thankfully, after Pompeii, about two thirds of the way along, more than half the crowd alighted and things settled down for the rest of the trip. At least we got to be uncomfortable sitting down.

Once we got to Sorrento, we ran into the crowds again. There were tour groups everywhere, each following a guide holding up a stick with a grubby worn fluffy doll of some description. We wandered down through the streets, admiring the beauty (and cleanliness) of the town. A maze of tiny alleyways were filled with the usual souvenir and craft shops, many featuring some really pretty local porcelain pieces. In places, the crowds thinned out, only to recur around the next bend. Sorrento is built on top of a long high rock cliff overlooking a lovely bay containing several small harbours. We arrived at a small park that provides a perfect lookout situation to gaze down at the crowds of swimmers and sunbathing masses below. A steep path is cut into the cliff and winds down in four long zigzags. The pathway looked like hard work but fortunately, there are twin elevators cut into the rock and provide easy access at a Euro a trip, money well spent.

We looked at the menu of a restaurant overlooking the cliff and gagged at the prices so decided to hang back a couple of blocks away from the water and pay half the amount. We found a converted 16th Century monastery that was converted into a library of historic papers and books and served as an excellent restaurant.

Around Sorrento

The front of house spruiker was so entertaining and pretty successful at dragging people in. He like Australians and involved us in some of his banter. “Hey,“ he would call out to a passing couple, “How about a cold beer in a frosted mug? My friends here have had four (an exaggeration). They’re Australian.”

We shared a delicious prawn salad and an amazing spinach cannelloni, leaving feeling replenished but not full to bursting. That takes some doing in the restaurants in Italy because the serving sizes vary between enormous and gigantic.  We have even overeaten when ordering only an appetizer.

After another wander through the streets, we used the elevators to descend to the beach areas. From below, it is easy to really appreciate the wonder of Sorrento. The work that has gone into bricking up parts of the cliff and constructing ramparts and walls is staggering. Beautiful (and expensive) hotels line the cliff tops, some having their own elevators that run down through the cliff to service the beach area. In Roman times, Sorrento was the summer residence of the rich, with villas sitting on top of the cliffs to catch the cooling breezes. I imagine the wealthy were carried up the pathways to the top.

We caught a high speed ferry back to Naples, a lot more expensive than the train but infinitely more comfortable and quicker. The motion of the boat across the Bay of Naples was soothing and we both slept most of the way.

In hindsight, we would have been far better off staying in Sorrento instead of Naples, despite the high cost of accommodation in areas near the centre and beach. It would have served just as well as a hub to visit Pompeii and been far more pleasant.

Herculaneum

Herculaneum is lesser known than Pompeii and closer to Naples. The original Roman city suffered the same fate as Pompeii in 79AD when Mount Vesuvius erupted, raining millions of tonnes of volcanic ash over the town and cities on its slopes, covering them for nearly two thousand years. Herculaneum was later built over as the modern day town of Ercolano, and it was not until the 17th Century that knowledge of what lay beneath prompted the beginning of the extensive excavation program. Herculaneum (named after Hercules) was a port city, perched high on coastal cliffs. With the extensive infill from the volcanic ash and subsequent eruptions, the excavated city is nearly a kilometre inland and well below the current level of Ecolano.

To reach Herculaneum, we had to board the dreaded Circumvesuviana Line train again. We left it later in the day, hoping the crowds going through to Sorrento would have eased and we were right, the train being only filled to 90% capacity instead of 120%. The heat, sweat and odours of the previous day’s train were the same but this time we didn’t witness a pickpocket operation.  Once at Ercolano, we had to walk down the main street to Herculaneum. The taxi, bus, restaurant and tour guide touts were out in force and showed signs of being persistent. After the heat of the train I was lacking in patience and yelled at the first guy that tried to press his case. Another girl crossed the road to secure our business and she got snapped at as well. They really didn’t care less but it made me feel much better.

The first sight of the ruins is from above, allowing an incredible overview of the city uncovered to date. There is still a great deal lying under modern day Ecolano, including a huge amphitheatre and a number of large public buildings and temples. These have been partly explored by tunnelling in from the existing excavations.

We paid our 11€ entrance fee, secured a map and an excellent guide book then set off to explore the ruins. Many areas and buildings remain open for the public to explore and wander, while some more fragile or important buildings have restricted access. The guidebook gave a terrific insight into the various buildings, many of them family homes, as well as various shops, bars, restaurants, bakeries and blacksmiths. Many buildings were complete except for the roof, the hot ash having set fire to the timbers or the roof structure being unable to support the crushing weight of the ash and rock. Not all timber was totally destroyed though, with some remaining in a charred and blackened state. Down at the dock area, the foreshore warehouses were filled with skeletons, over 300 of them, presumably of people who were sheltering in the beachside overhangs from the ash fall. We wandered the streets of the city and through the buildings for over an hour, using the guidebook to add meaning to the sights. The heat was oppressive and I wondered what it would have been like in Roman times during summer, when the necessary use of fire and the smells of animals, sewerage and people would have made conditions in the narrow rock lined streets unbearable.

Herculaneum

We found  Herculaneum to be an amazing place and it demonstrates just how advanced the Romans were with their civic works and way of life. We have seen a lot of Roman ruins on this trip but to see them without the advanced state of decay that two thousand years of exposure brings is wonderful. A lot of people have told us that Herculaneum is a better experience than Pompeii itself. Tomorrow, we will find out. Unfortunately, it means another trip on the dreaded train.

Pompeii

Pompeii meant one last train trip, actually, two counting the return. We got a pleasant surprise when the train pulled in. It was a modern looking affair and actually had air-conditioning. Because we had waited until just after lunch, the crowds were also down so we had what almost amounted to a pleasant trip. We needed one because once at the Pompeii ticket area it was frustration plus. Two ticket windows serviced a line of at least two hundred people, probably more. The wait is often said to be over an hour so I guess we were lucky and managed tickets in a half hour. They are so inefficient! It is so bad that I can only assume it is deliberate and that they feel all foreigners on Italian soil need some form of punishment. I could ask a class of ten year old children to come up with a better system and they would produce at least five ways of selling tickets quicker. The line snakes down across an exposed concreted area under the full blare of the sun. A misting fan is thoughtfully supplied at one point, although I would have thought a patio roof or shade cloth would do a much better job. Finally, tickets in hand, we went through to pick up a map and guidebook. Sorry! No maps left. Tough luck about your 13€ payment but you can’t have all that you paid for. The ruins get 2.5 million visitors a year. I think the authorities can do better.

The entrance to the ancient town is through the Porta Marina, the gate that originally serviced the road to the coast, not very far away before the eruption. Once through the gate, a long straight road stretched out before us, bordered on each side by small buildings, similar in appearance to those of Herculaneum. But that is where the comparison ended. The road led to the Forum, the key part of all Roman cities, the place of government and worship. In only a short walk it appeared that Pompeii was a much more important and significant city than Herculaneum and the richness of the Forum and surrounding temples displayed its significance. However, this was not actually the case, Herculaneum being the richer of the two cities. The difference is that most of Pompeii had been uncovered whereas the majority of Herculaneum is still buried. At the time of the eruption in 79 AD, the city had a population of around 11,000 people. Founded by the Greeks in the 7th Century BC, it was already an ancient city when it was covered and the buildings that have been preserved by the ash build-up ranged in age from almost new to five hundred years old. Therefore, there is a wide variety of architectures and building techniques in evidence.

The cobbled roads seemed to be either vehicular roads or pedestrian only roads, the later being bared to vehicular traffic with large barrier stones like bollards.  The vehicular roads often bore the worn ruts of wheels worn over the centuries, further evidence that Pompeii was already a very old city when it was covered.

Pompeii

The whole area is enormous, covering around 68 hectares. Most of the city is a collection of houses, shops and workshops, much as any city. The Forum dominates, along with numerous large temples to various Gods and divinities. Further down the hill there is a large amphitheatre. Some of the houses are very large with private bathing facilities and magnificent reception courtyards. As with Herculaneum, most of the roofs were destroyed and many of the painted frescoes decorating the walls were damaged. Those that remain show the skill of the artists of the day.

What did surprise us both was the extent to which the Romans relied on brick to build. So many of the ruins that remain today feature stone and marble columns that I had assumed that these were the main materials used. Solid stone was in fact used in only the most important of buildings and most were actually built with brick columns and a cement plaster outer coating. In many other ruined cities, the brick structures have long since fallen and only the solid stone buildings remained over the centuries.

We were glad that we had deliberately left our tour of Pompeii to a day forecast as cooler and with a chance of rain. The rain did not eventuate, save a brief shower on the way home, but the clouds gave some relief from what would be a very hot and exposed environment amongst all the stone and brick buildings.

Eventually, the kilometres of walking and steady heat took its toll and we headed for the exit. We had looked forward to seeing the smaller items , the pottery, jewellery, weapons and so forth but there did not seem to be a display of these objects other than a small collection of pottery near the exit. There is a new rail station under construction one stop down from Pompeii called Antiquarian that I am assuming is part of a new project to house the smaller museum type pieces from Pompeii. It is difficult to really get information. Fortunately, we had both been to a magnificent exhibition of Pompeii relics at the WA Museum only a few years ago.

Which was better; Pompeii or Herculaneum? Pompeii won hands down in our opinion for the sheer size and scale of the city and the importance and grandeur of the large public buildings.

Summary

We came to Naples to use it as a hub to see Pompeii, Herculaneum and Sorrento. Naples itself did nothing for us, other than turn us off. It is a city that displays everything that is wrong and dysfunctional in Italy. It is dirty, crime ridden and crime controlled. The traffic is appalling and public infrastructure worse than many Third World countries we have visited. I acknowledge that we did not see all that Naples has to offer and that living in the area that is essentially the port side of the old town things may be more run-down than other areas but we did travel around a fair bit of the city and little that we saw really impressed.

We should have gone to Sorrento instead, paid a lot more for accommodation but been better placed to travel and enjoy the good parts of Campania. It would have made it more convenient to visit the Amalfi Coast, south of Sorrento, an area that time ruled out for us. Still, we wouldn’t know that unless we had been.

GALLERIES:

Naples

Sorrento

Pompeii

Herculaneum

Sicily, Italy, 2017

July 23, 2017 /

Catania, Sicily 14-18 July

We had to catch a train up to Reggio Calabria Lido for a ferry across to Messina in Sicily. We thought we had things detailed with a 9am train but when we got there the board did not show anything until 9:40, which meant we missed the connecting ferry and had to wait until 11:05. By now, we are used to this sort of thing happening with Trenitalia and with transport in general. The ferry trip was a mere 35 minutes across the Straits of Messina and we walked away from the dock up to the central rail station. Since the dock area and around the train station is often the ugliest part of any city we were unable to form an opinion of Messina. There were several trains available to take us to Catania and we chose a 13:20 train to give us time for a bite to eat. We found a great eatery close to the station that served a wonderful potato and cheese bake concoction so we washed it down with a beer.

Back at the station, we set about purchasing some tickets from the ticket machine. As we were processing the payment at the auto ticket machine, a couple of African guys asked for help buying tickets. The machines will operate in English if it is selected and their English was fine but it was apparent that neither could read. They had a handful of coins each. We worked one on one stepping them through the selections. However, when they came to the type of ticket they both wanted to choose “Child” at half fare(3.80€). I told my guy that the conductor would fine him for cheating but he said he only had enough for a child fare. Unknown to me, Christine’s pupil was wanting the same. If we were working together we probably would have just agreed to buy the adult tickets for each one and be done with it but in the end both guys bought child tickets and thanked us profusely for our help.

We boarded the train on time (a good sign) and immediately encountered a conductor checking tickets, quite a rare event  on regional trains in Italy. We worried for our African guys and I managed to watch the encounter with one from a distance. The conductor checked the ticket then reached for the notepad in his hip pocket and I thought he was gone. He went into a very good show of subservience and pleading until eventually the conductor scanned his ticket and moved on. Well done mate!

The train carried us south, under the shadow of the volcano, Mount Etna, the summit shrouded in a mixture of clouds and volcanic smoke. We passed through numerous small villages, all very neat and surrounded by lush gardens. Here, citrus and olive groves flourish in the rich volcanic soil and the market gardens are unbelievably productive. There are some upsides to constantly living under the threat of death by volcanic eruption.

We reached Taormina, a town of outstanding beauty perched along the cliffs under Mt Etna. Below us, a fortune in yachts and mega power boats lay at anchor in sparkling clear waters. The train stopped at the station, a lot of people got off and the police got on. What followed was a lot of talk and phone calls between train officials, police and a large number of people on the train that seemed to actually know what was going on. We didn’t know whether we were facing a terrorist threat, a hold up or what ever. No one seemed to be giving any information, either in Italian or English for quite some time. After 20 minutes or so, after which we had decided that the gun toting police were not too upset, we found out that there was once again a fire on the track ahead of us. One of the police came through the carriage and ascertained that we were not trying to get to Catania Airport. Those that were got taken off the train onto a bus. After the experience in Calabria a few day before, we were keen to stay on the train. After an hour and a half, the train got mobile again and we finally rattled into Catania Centrale.

We usually choose accommodation within a 1km walk of a rail station and we thought we had this time too. Off we went, following Google Map instructions with our 17kg backpacks on in 35°C heat until we had walked far enough to check on the distance left. We were struggling and still had another kilometer to go. Obviously we had stuffed up with the distance from station to our accommodation being around 2.5km. It was a major walk in trying conditions but we finally found our apartment in a little street called via Pulea off the major avenue of via Etnea. On the plus side, we had walked through some beautiful parts of Catania, not around the rail station, which was ugly and dirty as is the case in many cities, but later on when we walked through majestic streets and several glorious piazzas. It promised a lot of wonderful exploration.

The apartment provided the basics, including an air-conditioner that just managed to cope with the heat of Catania and a toilet cistern that needed special treatment to prevent it from producing a terrible death-rattle noise as the float level valve was closing. The owner was a collector of “stuff” and couldn’t bare to throw anything out. The trouble was that he hadn’t collected all the right stuff, including a kettle, a pot big enough to boil pasta or more than one dinner plate. Fortunately, he had a kindly neighbor who was happy to cover his deficiencies in his absence.

We found some locally made fresh ravioli at a nearby supermarket and enjoyed the first meal that hadn’t come from a kebab shop or panini stall since leaving Montenegro. Here we are now surrounded by many great looking restaurants and we are back to apartment living and cooking our own. Some good local Sicilian wine supplemented a beautiful meal.

Catania Old Town

The next morning we set out in city walking mode to explore the many sights in this World Heritage listed city. Catania has a distinctively different look to it that sets it apart from other Italian cities and it is the result of the use of a dark grey volcanic stone rather than the soft white limestone or sandstone so common elsewhere. That, along with heavy layer of soot and grime covering much of the lighter coloured stone does produce a dirty look but the lavish architecture and Baroque styling overcomes much of that. Part way down the via Etnea we stopped for a while in the Piazza Stesicoro to admire the remains of the 1st Century Roman amphitheatre buried beneath the city. It was a huge stadium, originally built in 300BC but rebuilt in the 2nd Century during the Empire. It was built of lava rock and marble and survived largely intact until a large earthquake destroyed it in the 17th Century. Much of the original is now foundation for many other buildings and the portion visible represents only about 1/8th of the oval shaped structure with seating and holding areas for gladiators, performers and the like.

Around Catania with the Roman Amphitheatre at the top.

We walked the length of via Etnea, marvelling at the sheer scale and opulence of the buildings and the magnificence of the piazzas. The best of the piazzas was the Piazza del Duomo with its powerful cathedral and the Elephant Fountain. The elephant is the symbol of Catania, although the exact reason is shrouded in mystery and folklore. Another fountain, the Fountaina dell’Amano, a beautiful white marble affair, sits in one corner of the Piazza next to via Giuseppe Garibaldi, another street of some renown. The fountain is one of the points where the Amenano River can be seen. It flows beneath the city in three arms. Originally it was a surface river but volcanic eruptions in 242BC and 1669 covered the river over. Beyond the fountain is the noise, bustle and smell of the famous fish markets of Catania. The smell is powerful but fresh and all the fish looks to be in top condition. The sellers yell and scream, whether they are battling each other or appealing to customers is unclear but it adds to the atmosphere. We watched a guy shelling small prawns by hand and the rate of about one a second and a couple of other guys butchering a huge swordfish.

A short distance down via Giuseppe Garibaldi we found a travel agent that does tours of Mount Etna to book a trip for Sunday. The young girl in the office was so entertaining and her description of the tour was a real performance. Later, we asked about hop on hop off bus tours but she was scornful and said we didn’t need it. She produced a map of Catania and proceeded to circle things and give the most amazing description of what there was to see and how to reach things. Her talents are so wasted in an office. We left the office with tickets for an Etna tour and a heads full of knowledge about what next to explore.

The Greek-Roman Theatre is a typical semi-circular stone outdoor theatre first built around 500BC by the Greeks then built on to by the Romans in the 1st and 2nd Centuries. Over the years it has been partially built over or covered and subsequently uncovered. Today it is in a condition that allows it to be used for regular performances. The lower sections of the seating is in marble and the upper sections in lava rock (bringing a cushion to sit on would be a must). At its height it catered for an audience of 7000. We enjoyed exploring the labyrinths and storage areas behind the scenes and underneath the seating areas. It is incredible to think of the story behind this place, interwoven with some of the great events of history and bound up with the eruptions of Mount Etna over the centuries. It is also sad that so much of one of the great buildings of antiquity was so carelessly built over during the 19th and early 20th Centuries.

The Greco-Roman Theatre in Catania

We pushed on to the Castello Ursina, a 13th Century castle and now a museum. When it was first built it was on a cliff overlooking the sea but it is now a kilometer inland after lava flows from Mount Etna and a series of earthquakes changed the landscape. Even the original moat was filled in with a lava flow in 1693. It is quite amazing where humans choose to live.

On the way home back up the long stretch of via Etnea, we stopped off at the huge sprawl of street markets that fill the streets and alleyways off the main street. If we had more luggage space it would be possible to buy a lot of very cheap clothing and shoes at these markets. Bathers are particularly prominent and one can see two piece sets for as low as 6€ a set. It is a teenager’s dream.

Mount Etna

Our trip to Mount Etna was wonderful, one of the highlights of the trip so far. A very funny and chatty guide picked us up from our apartment in a not so new Nissan 4 wheel drive and we squeezed in along with a young French couple and a young Italian couple. The guide, Andreas, talked non-stop on the drive up the mountain. He had to really because he had to say everything three times, in Italian, French and English. Like all Italians, he spoke with his hands and made plenty of eye contact the whole time. The trouble was he was driving!  He was a real riot but I must admit he did seem to know where he was going and the poor exhibition of attentive driving never seemed to put us in danger so we just accepted it.

The drive took us to the South Base Camp at about 2000m above sea level. Along the way we stopped once to look out over the view of Catania below us. As we got back in the car, the rain started and by the time we got to the Base Camp it was pelting down. Fortunately, we had been advised to take jackets against cold winds and we had packed raincoats with hoods so we just set off anyway. It was cold when the wind was up but the rain eased as we climbed up to the first set of craters. The whole scene is like a lunar landscape, excepting the odd bits of low vegetation and a few cafes and small pubs that service the tourists. There are several accessible craters (not currently active) in the immediate area and an enormous lava flow that snakes down the mountain and stops at the road, right next to one of the pubs. The surrounding area is a mixture of black loose volcanic soil and ash, hard jagged lava flows and iron stained basalt that glows a beautiful shade of red. That marks the furthest extent of the flow of 2011. We climbed on foot up another 200m of altitude along a path carved out of the volcanic ash to look down into a larger crater. The climb was challenging and the descent, down a narrow path of very loose material even more so. Christine was very controlled and only screamed a few times.

As we got back into the car, a thick cloud descended on us, cutting visibility to only a few metres. Andreas drove very slowly, avoiding pedestrians as they materialized out of the heavy fog until eventually the mist cleared and we were able to reach the next destination. We stopped at the entrance to a small lava cave. It had been formed in the 1972 eruption but only discovered when road works after the 2011 eruption uncovered it. We donned hard hats and got torches to climb down beneath the roadway and into the tunnel. Much of the wall was smooth, apparently the result of lava cooling then re-melting in a later eruption and in some places there was a distinct yellow staining indicating the presence of sulphur. The roof of the cave was filled with stalactite type formations which were actually solidified drips of molten lava. We could only go a short distance before an eight metre drop halted us. There are over 200 known lava caves dotted around the mountain.

Exploring Mt Etna

After the cave we pushed on, stopping at a vantage point to look out over the Valle del Bove, a huge valley on the East slope which is an enormous caldera or collapsed volcano. A gigantic magma flow is the main feature, a lot of it created during the big eruption of 1793. At the carpark to the lookout, Andreas, knowing we were Australian, pointed out the National Park rules on a sign that depicted a kangaroo on a leash and stated that it was forbidden to bring exotic animals into the park. What made them pick on a kangaroo is anyone’s guess.

As we descended the mountain, we made a final stop at a village produce outlet to sample local Sicilian produce. We normally hate this part of any tour, mainly included to get a commission payment for the driver. This one was different and we spent a great half hour wandering around sampling different honeys, amazing olive oils with a variety of infusions, some interesting liqueurs, wines, pesto and other assorted tasty morsels. Often you can’t think about buying anything because you don’t want to lug a large container of stuff around as you travel but they made small quantities of the produce available at very reasonable prices. We bought some Pistachio Liqueur, a beautiful pesto sauce and some rosemary infused olive oil.

All in all we had a fantastic day, well worth the 55€ each for the day. I’ve always wondered why humans would choose to live on the slopes of an active volcano and suffer the death and destruction that occurs at intervals throughout history but I guess it is different when you are born and bred in the area. As Andreas put it, Catanese regard Etna as “The Mountain”, a lady of different moods. The extreme richness of the soil and agricultural areas shows how the volcano repays its debts.

Syracuse

We had one more day to use on excursions from Catania and it basically fell into a choice between Taormina and Syracuse. Both offered incredible history and beautiful old towns, Syracuse more so but Taormina offered the amazing coastal views. Andreas, our guide on the Entna tour, along with the Italian couple on the tour, voted for Syracuse. Andreas felt that Taormina was worth a half day at best and didn’t offer nearly as much as Syracuse. We had at least seen the gorgeous coastline and Bay of Taormina from the train on the trip from Messina so we took their advice and went to Syracuse. We came home exhausted but far from disappointed.

The local bus system in Catania let us down badly (as usual). We waited at a bus stop in via Etnea for 40 minutes without a sign of a bus. Other people came and sat, then just gave up and left. A guy at the botanical garden next door just said that the buses were very unreliable and shrugged his shoulders. In the end we walked a kilometre down via Etnea and got on the new Metro system to travel one stop and get out at Giovanni XXIII Station near the rail and bus station. Then we spent half an hour wandering around asking people about a bus to Syracuse. One ticket seller had a sign up saying “Urban Bus Tickets only. No advice given.” I shuddered as Christine went and asked him about Syracuse. She was lucky, given the sign, to just get a sharp reply of “No!” Finally, we found that the regional buses left from another bus station about 200m away, bought our ticket and just made a bus, leaving Catania just under two hours after leaving home.

The 55kms between Catania and Syracuse is largely filled with heavy industry on the coast and mixed agriculture further inland. The volcanic influence can still be seen in the soil and things grow very well. As we drove into Syracuse, I started to question whether we had made the right choice because we weren’t seeing much more than blocks of apartments, shopping centres and some large areas of vacant land filled with weeds. Even when we got out of the bus and walked the length of Corso Umberto towards the island of Ortigia, which houses the medieval part of the city, things failed to impress. Once over the bridge and onto the island, it changed for the better.

By this time it was midday so we decided to sit, relax, have a beer and share a pizza. A table of Aussies were next to us so we exchanged a few “Oi Oi Ois”. It was tempting to just settle in for the day and get back on the bus later but we had some serious exploring to do.

Syracuse was one of the most important of ancient Greek cities, certainly amongst those outside of Greece itself. The great mathematician and scientist Archimedes was one of its famous inhabitants, killed in Syracuse during the Roman invasion of 212BC. We checked out the ruins of a Temple to Apollo, Greek in origin and built in 570BC, marvelling at the sheer age of the structure and the skill of the stone masons. Over the years, the temple had been repurposed as Byzantine church, an Islamic Mosque, a Norman church and Spanish barracks. Another amazing example of this repurposing of Greek temples can be found in the beautiful cathedral Santa Maria delle Colonne. The magnificent baroque church is built around the Temple of Athena from Greek times and the Doric columns of the temple can still be seen embedded in the walls of the church.

Ortigia Island, Syracuse

We strolled along the beautiful Foro Italico, a seaside promenade and admired the beautiful freshwater spring and pond called the Fonte Arethusa, only one of two places in Europe where papyrus reeds grow wild. Some small shops around the area featured paintings on papyrus grass paper.

Unfortunately, the major attractions of Syracuse are spilt into two areas, the Ortigia Island area and the Archaeological Park area a couple of kilometres inland. Both need visiting but the distance apart is an issue. We solved the problem with a “Hop On Hop Off Bus”. We have avoided these things of late because they usually represent very poor value for money. Not so with this one, a mere 5€ buying a whole day of touring with English commentary. They are also frequent with a regular 30 minute interval, so we headed for Piazza Archimedes and hopped on.

On alighting at the Archaeological Park we looked around for the entrance. Eventually, on the far side of the car park there was a sign advertising tickets. We entered to find a young man seated behind a glass screen reading his phone and looking bored. No sign was evident to tell us the entrance cost. He barely looked up and said “10€ each”. We did a jaw drop and offered a 50€ note but he waved his hand and shook his head. It was 2pm so what the hell had he done with the other takings if he couldn’t change a 50? We reluctantly gave him a 20€ note, leaving us without change. He grunted and pushed two tickets under the screen and went back to his phone. “What? No map or information?” He shook his head. We left, muttering about a crap 20€ spent. Outside, we realized we had no idea of where to go next. No signs, no maps, nothing. We went back in and asked but he just shrugged and said, “No, nothing.” We had to leave the car park, cross a major road and head down a driveway to find the entrance, where we found we could have bought the same tickets anyway. Still no maps, and as we were to find later, no signage in English either. I think they have missed something here.

The attractions inside the Archaeological Park are wonderful. The main feature is a huge Greek Theatre, in good enough condition to be still used today, although wooden planks cover the stone decks of old to preserve our modern buttocks. The original theatre was built in 470BC and was one of the largest and most important in the Greek world. It catered for 15,000 spectators. Incredibly, the theatre was not built up from stone blocks but actually carved out of solid limestone. The seating therefore is one huge solid piece. Given the current controversy about Perth’s new stadium it is mind blowing that the Greeks could have achieved this 2,500 years ago.

Syracuse Archaeological Park – The Greek Theatre

Underneath the theatre is an area with ancient quarries and a couple of huge caverns. It has never really been established whether the caverns are natural or man made but the largest and most spectacular, the Ear of Dionysis, is most probably natural, caused by water seepage many millennia ago. It served as a prison in ancient times and had amazing acoustic properties, which along with the shape of the entrance leads to the name.

Syracuse Archaeological Park – Ear of Dyonisis, Roman Amphitheatre and the Rope Maker’s Cavern

Another theatre is a Roman amphitheatre, built in the 1st Century. It is not as big as the one on Catania nor as well preserved as the one on Verona but it is certainly impressive. The Romans built the amphitheatre out of carved blocks, unlike the Greek one and it has shown a lot more erosion. Surprisingly, there appears to have been no effort made to control weed growth in and around the ruins. I would have thought some carefully controlled use of herbicides and gardening would have been in order.

Collectively, the ruins represent an amazing experience that enhances an appreciation of the life of the ancients. They managed to create so much with so little but the thing that always strikes me is the sheer sense of determination in their endeavours.

We managed to just catch a bus as we left the park and had a short walk back to the main bus station for a bus back to Catania. Most of that ride was spent asleep after all the walking. By the time we had caught a metro to a station about 1km further up via Etnea from our apartment and walked down the hill to home we had covered just on 10km for the day.  Syracuse was done and dusted, definitely a must see when in Sicily.

Palermo 18-21 July

Not wanting to trust the buses again, we walked a kilometre to the Metro station and then on to the rail station for a train to Palermo. The train trip was fast and comfortable, with no fires across the tracks, and took about three hours. The countryside along the way was quite beautiful. In the early stages, we got changing views of Mount Etna as the route skirted around its base. There seemed to be more smoke issuing forth than there had been on previous days. Once into the interior of Sicily, the country became quite reminiscent of Australia, the brown fields of newly cut hay mixed with very common plantings of eucalyptus trees adding to the effect. With the numerous hills and valleys it bought to mind parts of NSW inland of the Blue Mountains.

Once in Palermo, we tossed up how to get to our apartment, more than a walk away from the station. We had directions for the bus and knew we needed a 101 bus to Poliamentia-Liberta bus stop. The 101 was easy to find, they were common. How to buy a ticket was more of a puzzle. We got on one bus and Christine went to buy a ticket from the driver. “No” and he pointed vaguely to a building. I got off with the bags but the doors shut and the bus started off, with Christine still on board. She had to shout at the driver to open the doors and let her off. Christine took off with some American girls to locate the ticket office. There wasn’t one but they did find the newsagent that sold them. Back with tickets, we tried to get on the next bus, behind the American girls but it filled up and we couldn’t manage with our big backpacks so we got off again. We got on the next bus and took off. As we went, we realised that there was no signage to indicate bus stops so all we could do was use Google Maps and wait until we got close enough to get off and walk. I don’t know how people managed to travel before Google Maps. Finally, we found the place, met Carmello, the host, and settled in to what was a large and comfortable apartment. We even have rooms we won’t bother to use.

After unpacking (getting a little sick of that operation) we walked a block to via Liberta, one of the main drags in Palermo and settled down at a gorgeous little restaurant for some fried mozzarella cheese, potato frittas and bruchetta, all washed down with a beer of course. Then it was off to the supermarket to stock up and home to bed. Life is definitely catching up of late and the bones and feet are protesting somewhat.

Palermo is very reminiscent of Spain, possibly because of its history. It has been described as the most conquered city in Europe and almost every foreign power has controlled it at some point in history. The Arab influence is present and has even returned to some extent with the influx of refugees from Libya and Tunisia in recent years. It had a golden age in the 12th Century when under the control of Norman invaders.

Around Palermo

We found Palermo to be very busy, crowded and the traffic was terrible. The road system fails to support the number of cars. The bus system is chaotic and we found our experience of the first day was repeated on other routes. The crowds on the buses are terrible and people don’t seem to make way for others or consider their needs. We saw elderly people struggle to get through the crowd so they could get off. They are developing underground Metro systems and tramways but these have a way to go.

Near our apartment, the large arterial via Liberta ran for most of the length of the modern part of the city and provided a lovely tree lined avenue filled with high fashion shops and other places that hold little attraction for us. However, it was lovely to stroll along when the temperature allowed. There are several large piazzas spread around the city and some buildings of note, but much of the older town was destroyed in WWII and was not rebuilt.

The city is surrounded by towering peaks, one beautiful massive marking the western end of the Bay of Palermo. Beyond that is Mondello, famed for its long white sand beach. We took a crushing 30 minute bus ride to Mondello for a day at the beach. So did everyone else! The beach was the best we have encountered so far in Italy but it was VERY crowded. So much of the beach is given up to private hirers who charge 15-25€ per person for a spot amongst the sea of umbrellas and bathing huts. We strolled the length of the bay before returning and selecting an area of public beach where we could dump our stuff and access the water without treading on bodies. The water was clean, warm and not nearly as crowded as the sand. Not all that many people actually get wet.

Cefalu

On our last day in Sicily, we had a day to kill, having left our apartment but the boat to Naples not leaving until 8pm, so we decided to spend the day in Cefalu, a seaside town about an hour’s train journey to the east of Palermo. Our host was able to store our bags for the day so we headed off, once more on the local bus to the central train station. As before, the bus was impossibly crowded. At one point, I had two guys sandwiching me. I actually felt the zip on my shorts pocket slide down. I turned quickly and a guy in a black shirt eased away through the crowd to the door and alighted at the next stop. After being pick pocketed while in a bus line in Rimini, I keep my wallet on a lanyard anyway but this was yet another attempt. Later, while boarding another very crowded bus on the way back, I felt a movement on my backpack and when we got on board we found the zip undone. I suppose it can be seen as good practice for Naples!

The train journey was very beautiful, following the coastline along many headlands and lovely little bays and beaches. As we pulled into Cefalu, it looked an absolute picture, with a prominent high headland, a cluster of stone buildings hugging the low cliffs and a sweeping white sand beach filled with umbrellas. The train station is mercifully close to the town itself and we spent a fascinating hour exploring the narrow streets and walkways, stopping to admire some of the more notable buildings. The cathedral or duomo dominates, as they do in most European cities. The town had a healthy population of tourists but not so many as to make moving around difficult.

We stopped at a shady restaurant overlooking the beach for lunch and ordered a Sicilian platter to share and got a wonderful mix of meats, smoked salmon, a couple of fresh oysters and salad, with a basket of ultra fresh bread to help it down. It was the perfect mix; especially with a four hop beer (we don’t usually count the hops).

Fed and watered, we hit the beach, hiring an umbrella with a couple of lounges to spend a few lazy hours, swimming, dozing and reading. It was nowhere near as crowded as Mondello Beach and the water was much better, crystal clear and a perfect temperature.

Beautiful Cefalu

By the time we had caught a train, followed by a bus, back to the apartments to collect our gear we were fairly done in but we managed to re-organise our beach stuff and load up the big packs for the kilometre walk down to the ferry for embarkation to Naples. We boarded about 7pm, found our neat little cabin and had a much needed shower before finding a bite to eat. It was all we could do to stay out on deck to watch the ship leave harbour at 8:15 before retiring to our cabin. Naples awaits, but not before we have had a damn good sleep.

GALLERIES:

Catania

Mt Etna

Syracuse

Palermo

Cefalu

Southern Italy 2017

July 14, 2017 /

Bari, Italy, 8-10 July

The 8 hour crossing of the Adriatic Sea from Bar in Montenegro was comfortable and suitably boring. The seas were dead flat and the boat (Dubrovnik) was only at around 15% capacity so we were pretty much free to wander anywhere. We had booked recliner seats for a few euros more and they proved good to catch up on some sleep, although I suspect we could have used them without paying because there were so few passengers and no one ever checked our tickets. Once out of sight of Montenegro there was little to see other than the occasional fishing boat or yacht and we pulled into Bari on time at 7:20pm. There was a brief moment of panic at immigration after Christine had gone though when the man played around with my passport for a while then referred me on to someone else. I worried that they were going to do a count of the number of days we had been in the EU (we are only permitted 90 days). An accounting would show we were OK but it would come right down to the wire. In the end, I think the first guy just couldn’t find the right stamp and I was sent through without an issue.

A taxi took us to the City Hotel, a small boutique type of thing that was clean and pretty. The bathroom was designed for a fashion model with a toilet you had to sit sideways on and a shower recess that was like one of those magician’s boxes that they fold up and make you disappear in. The only large object was the hand basin which took up more room than everything else.

We had few expectations of Bari, assuming it was a dirty noisy port city. However, we were proved wrong. Our hotel lay just outside the high fashion shopping area, filled with Gucci, Prada and the like, while lovely open pedestrian malls led down to the old section along the waterfront. The huge castle (Il Fortino Di Sant’Antonio), dating from the 11th Century, dominated one end and a maze of tangled tiny streets worked their way through to the Piazza Mercanti at the other. Once again, we had only a Sunday to explore the town and it was shut up so tight it was difficult to buy even a bottle of water. The old town area was busy though and around 50% of the shops and eateries operating. As the day wore on, a lot of the fashion shops also opened but the small markets and supermarkets remained closed.

We spent a couple of hours exploring the tiny streets of the old town. One fascinating street was lined with women sitting at tables making a local kind of pasta, using semolina, hand mixing the dough and hand forming each small shell. It then sat for a while in little racks to dry a bit before being packed into plastic bags. Later, for dinner, we sampled some of this local food, in a rich tomato based sauce and served with a little roll of richly spiced beef (like a beef wellington). It was really good, my biggest regret was that the beef thing wasn’t twice the size because it was so delicious. We also had a white wine to accompany the meal and a red at a café later. Both were local Puglia wines and of excellent quality, much appreciated after the very coarse and harsh wines of Croatia and Montenegro.

Bari is not a place that I would mark down as a must see but it is also not a place to be avoided if circumstances bring you this way. With its ferry connections to different parts of the Adriatic, it has its uses.

Villapiana Lido  10-12 July

A bus took us from Bari south west through Puglia down towards the “heel” of Italy and then across the “instep” to Calabria. There was no train route suitable, the line from Taranto along the coast having ceased passenger services. We decided to break our trip and stay a couple of days on the holiday coast at Villapiana Lido to enjoy the relaxed atmosphere of an Italian beach resort area. No such luck. What we got was a run down semi-deserted coastal backwater that had once been one of the “in places” but now was a forest of for sale signs and boarded up shops. The beach areas were filled with umbrellas and sun lounges with a lot of cafes and restaurants but a great many were closed down or shut. This is July and one would suppose it is high season. August is the really big month but I would have expected more. There was no sign of life at the many fun fairs and amusement parks set up along the beach area. I am glad we don’t have investments here.

Our accommodation was a neat B&B run by really nice people, very keen to please but having even less English than we had Italian. The room was OK and met our needs, there was a lovely shared area downstairs and a kitchen for guest use upstairs. The main problem was communication but after Christine showed them Google translate and the voice function we actually managed a fun and informative conversation with the owners. As always, they got a lot more friendly with us when they realized that we were Australian and not British or American. The breakfast is unusual by any standards. Cereal is supplied, but no milk or yoghurt is in evidence, or even cereal bowls. Ham slices in a very dry bun seems to be the main fare, although there is usually a variety of sweet cakes. The couple comes in to shout at us and ask if we need anything, which is sweet but they can’t understand our reply anyway. The strange thing is that none of the other younger guests can understand English either, whereas we have usually found that the younger generation speak some English. This is the first town we have stayed in where we have not found anyone to speak English. Maybe this is a difference between northern and southern Italy?

Next door is a great little bar that serves cold tap beer and pizza but by this time we were looking for more than pizza, something a little different even. For the second town running we walked the streets desperately trying to find somewhere to eat that served something other than pizza, failing in the end and having pizza back at the pub next door. The guy who ran the bar was very helpful and our combined five words of English and five of Italian got us through. Based on the number of people we saw on the beaches there are quite a few tourists staying in Villapiana but I’m not sure what they find to eat or where they find it, unless they are happy to eat nothing but pizza. The second night we headed down to the beach area, where it appeared that there were more restaurants available. There were certainly more people around and a lot more pizza and panini restaurants but little with a diverse menu. Finally, we found one that offered some fish and pasta selections and was decked out as an actual restaurant. It was 7:15pm but the place was empty. Eventually, we asked some girls who were setting tables. They looked at us as though we were aliens and said there wouldn’t be anything until at least 8pm. We had a delicious hamburger from a roadside bus.

Buying a train ticket out of town proved just as difficult. We found the train station but it was overgrown with weeds. There was a timetable posted, supposedly current based on the dates displayed but it only showed the times for the route back towards Taranto. The other half had been torn down. While we were looking, a loud speaker came to life and blared something about the train so we figured there was something happening. Our walk had taken us past a Tourist Information building so we went back to it and entered. A woman barked at us and I understood enough to know that she could not give tourist assistance and there was no tourist assistance. We typed in a question about trains in Google Translate and she mimed smoking a cigarette and pointed down the road so we figured we had to go and find a tabacchi. Sure enough, the tabacchi down the road sold tickets and with our limited Italian and the guys limited English we secured two tickets on a bus which later transferred to a train at Sibari, the next town down the line. I think that might have been what the blaring loudspeaker message was telling us.

Once again, the beach failed the appeal test. The only shade available within any reach of the water are the very expensive sea of rental umbrellas and lounges that so predominate on European beaches. At least the beach had some sand, dull grey/brown rather than white, but better than the usual expanse of rocks and pebbles. We walked down to the water twice, trying to build up enthusiasm for a dip, but the place simply failed to attract. There is nothing like a trip abroad to bring home just how good Australian, a WA beaches in particular, are. Places like Cottesloe and Scarborough (especially after it gets cleaned up) would have to be amongst the very best in the World.

Unfortunately, we got into a bit of a fight with the owners over our bill. We had booked a larger deluxe room through Booking.com on a special for the same price as a standard room. However, they only gave us a standard room. With difficulty, due to language problems, we got across the issue and agreed to keep the standard room with a 30€ refund. The owners seemed happy but when the son arrived he tried to argue the case. He simply didn’t have a case and eventually agreed, paying up but clearly unhappy. The whole thing seemed to result in a family fight with the owner couple being on our side.  We had the power because we get to write a review on Booking.com but the thing left a bit of a sour taste. There is a bit of a problem with amateur hoteliers with little experience of the industry trying to set up shop using online services without really understanding the implications of offering specials and deals.

It doesn’t require much in the way of hindsight to know that Villapiana Lido was a poor choice as a stop over. The awful thing is that it appeared to be a big improvement on the other towns along this part of the Calabrian coast that we saw from the bus. Oh well, you win some and lose some.

 Reggio Calabria 12-14 July

We said our farewells to the family at the B&B in Villapiana and set off with packs loaded to catch a bus to Sibari. The weather was promising a real scorcher, with temperatures over 35 degrees and high humidity. The bus was fifteen minutes late but it could have been a lot worse and there was about an hour to kill at Sibari anyway. The trip along the coast showed us that we could have been staying in far worse places than Villapiana Lido and even Sibari did not look much better.

Our 9 hour trip from Villapiana Lido to Reggio Calabria

The train was waiting for us in the station. No sleek electric train here, although the lines were overhead. The train consisted of an ancient single carriage diesel engine railcar. We checked that it was the right one (it was the only one) a climbed aboard into a furnace. A couple of Trenitalia workers came on board and they couldn’t believe the heat, advising us to move to the front half of the carriage where it was hot rather than searing. A few other passengers boarded and we set off. It has been a long time since I have heard a diesel railcar work its way through the gears rather than the sweet hum of an all electric train and I found that was in no way nostalgic.

Outside, the scenery was of dry grass and hills dotted with olive groves and vineyards. Everything baked in the heat and a pall of brown smoke from scrub fires hung over everything. There seemed to be fires burning along ridges and along road verges, mostly unchecked and certainly there was no sign of any fire fighting equipment. The train stopped at a dilapidated siding called Spezzano where it sat for a while before there were shouted words about getting off the train. A fire was burning on the tracks ahead of us and it appeared there was little to do except watch it burn itself out. A handful of orange jacketed workers were in attendance but they lacked anything to fight the fire with so they watched it burn. With the engine still running and the pretend air conditioner making it at least cooler than the outside, we headed back aboard to nap and await events. It seemed unlikely we would make our next connection at Castiligone Cosentino anyway.

I had fallen asleep when jolted awake and told we were getting on a bus. The bus was modern and comfortable, except for the lack of air conditioning and we drove some 60kms or so past many small fires and little towns in various states of decay before finally being deposited in a place called Cosenza. Here the station was filled with people, all brought together by the need to catch a train, any train. A group of Americans were in the same predicament as us except they were headed back the way we had come, trying to get to Sibari. No one seemed to actually know what was happening. One train came and went but we were told “No!” when we said we were trying to make Reggio Calabria and eventually another arrived and there was at least partial agreement that we should take it. Off we went on  a fast train, the stations flashing by. I fell asleep again. When I awoke, I checked Google Maps. Damn! We were screamed north towards Napoli. After consulting the conductor, Christine learnt enough to get us off the train at Scalea where we could start riding south again. We had an hour to wait for the next train and the heat was worse. By this time, we had had access to one shared bottle of water and no access to a toilet. The station had a small café so water was replenished, along with a cold beer and a toilet located, although I had to interrupt the clothes washing routine of the local itinerant population to wash my hands.

Finally, we got on to a train headed south and sat down. Still not 100% certain we were right I asked a young couple sitting opposite if we were headed to Reggio Calabria. I had thought they were Italian but to my surprise they both answered with London accents and told us that we were but we needed one more change further down the track. They were going the same way so we could tag along with them. Our saviors! It turned out that both Frederico and Andrea were Italian but had been studying in London and hence the accents. They certainly had excellent English and were the first English speakers we had encountered for quite a few days. We were so grateful to meet such a delightful and helpful young couple, especially in our hour of need.

When we finally arrived at Reggio Calabria, we had been travelling about 9 hours to cover around 250kms, a nightmare of a day. Fortunately, our accommodation was a mere 100m down the road from the station entrance, a lovely little apartment called Central House B&B. The host met us and showed us around, we found some delicious takeaway eats around the corner, watched an episode of “House of Cards” and collapsed into bed exhausted.

We spent a day in Reggio Calabria but there is very little to see or do. The town is plain by any standards and certainly by Italian standards, with no fine piazzas or grand vistas. We walked many of the streets but found little to be impressed with, other than a large fort and a couple of churches. Its only claims can be a pretty view of Sicily across the Straits of Messina and a beach side promenade known as Lungomare Falcomata, which extends north to the beach area. We tried to access the start of the promenade at the railway end, finding a pedestrian tunnel running under the rail lines to the water. On reaching the entrance, we halted, the stench of urine and faeces being overpowering. Rubbish was piled along the sides of the tunnel and used condoms lay everywhere. It being the only way through we could see, we crossed through, feeling very uncomfortable and started walking along the broad expanse of the promenade. It was very unkempt and a pack of stray dogs lay in the shade ahead of us. Further on, a couple seemed to be having a heavy domestic argument. We went back the way we had come. Instead, we caught a train up to Reggio Calabrio Lido, the beach area, using another ancient diesel railcar like the previous day to travel the couple of kilometres. The beach area was beautiful and actually looked inviting, although the beachside resorts themselves looked rather run-down. We walked on to check out tickets for the ferry to Sicily, finding that easy and cheap at a mere 3€ each. Because we had an hour and a half to kill to catch a train back the short distance, we hunted down a restaurant, finding a great little place called Benny’s which served really good bruschetta and paninis (with a cold beer of course).

Unfortunately, the rubbish problem in Reggio Calabria is severe and it would be the dirtiest city we have encountered so far in Europe. Litter is everywhere and we saw people just openly discarding empty cigarette packets and lunch wrappers. Plastic bottles piled up in the gutters and rubbish bins overflowed. It was such a contrast to Bari, a similar sized port city, where everything was neat and tidy. Traffic flow is also bad, with drivers showing little regard for pedestrian crossings which we have found are usually respected. We went for a walk around the neighborhood looking for a supermarket and found ourselves turning around and changing direction several times because the street ahead had that “unsafe” look about it, once again the first time we have had that kind of experience on this trip.

Reggio Calabria is not a place that warrants visiting for any real reason other than as a jumping off point to Sicily. We are looking forward to some more interesting times when we cross to Sicily. Calabria has failed to excite.

GALLERIES:

Bari

Villapiana Lido

Reggio Calabria

 

Montenegro, 2017

July 9, 2017 /

Kotor 28 June – 3 July 2017

Our bus trip from Vela Luka on Korcula, Croatia to Kotor, Montenegro proved to be our worst leg of the whole trip to date. We had tossed up about whether to catch a bus or use ferries to move down the coast but the bus trip looked to be much easier and quicker, involving a trip out of Vela Luka at 5:15am to Kotor, where the bus boarded the car ferry to the mainland (with us still sitting in the bus), then on to Dubrovnik. That part went well and we were in Dubrovnik shortly before 10am with an hour or so to wait for the next bus to Kotor. 11am came and went, with a large crowd standing around at Bay 3 waiting. 11:30 came and went with the same crowd getting more and more bored. A couple of people made enquiries but all got the same answer, “I think the bus is delayed.” Eventually, the bus arrived and two very frazzled looking drivers emerged to check tickets and check in bags. This leg of the journey involved a border crossing, from Croatia into Montenegro. It was relatively simple with one of the drivers collecting all passports, while checking that faces matched, and taking them to be processed while we all stayed on the bus. They were returned stamped and we were ready to go. The problem was that it took an hour in a slow queue to actually reach the point where the office was and then we had to repeat the process again two hundred metres down the road to enter Montenegro. By this time, we were two hours behind our scheduled arrival time. Add to that another 30 minutes waiting for a traffic accident to clear and we rolled into Kotor very much later than planned.

The traffic accident had caused a traffic jam so bad that cars were at a crawl for kilometres, right past the bus station. We faced a 2km walk to our apartment and had planned to taxi it but we could see that they were going nowhere so we saddled up the packs and walked along the beach, finding the chance to stretch the legs after the hours in the bus quite handy and the walk proved easy. Having left Croatia, our mobile phones would not work and we had no way of contacting our host so we just walked to where we thought the place was and relied on our memories of what it looked like from the images on the Internet. Sure enough, we recognized the lane that led to the three level set of apartments and Alexsandra was waving to us from the top to welcome us in. We have a small but comfortable apartment close to the water and within easy walking of a large shopping centre and the old fortress town. We were soon settled in.

Montenegro is a small country, once part of the now dissolved Yugoslavia. Over the centuries it has been variously controlled by Greeks, Romans, Byzantines , Turks and Venetians. In more recent times, it was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Although not part of the EU it uses the Euro as its currency (much to the chagrin of the EU bankers) but prices here are much lower than in the EU itself. Its most famous tourist feature is the beautiful Bay of Kotor, a large fjiord carved out of the Dinaric Alps that towers over all sides of the bay. The area is one of the wettest parts of Europe and where there is enough flat land there are pockets of lush, dense forest. The place has a very different look and feel to the Croatian coastline that we have moved through over the last three weeks.

We have Kotor Beach right in front of our apartment and it is well patronized. The beach is a mixture of pebble beach and concrete walls but it lacks the inspiration and crystal clarity of the Croatian beaches. The main problem is the presence of algae, lots of the green type. It must have something to do with the fact that Kotor is at the end of a 28km deep inlet and the water does not cycle as much as the places exposed to the open sea. It looks a bit like swimming at Mandurah. Lots of people do it but it does not look inviting. Despite some very hot weather, we didn’t actually go for a swim during our time in Kotor.

Our apartment and Kotor Town

The old town is another medieval walled town, not as imposing as Trogir or Dubrovnik but impressive none the less. The most amazing feature is a 5km fortified wall that rises almost vertically up the mountain behind the city across terrain that it so steep and rocky that the thought of anybody attacking it is crazy. It ends in a fortress high above the town. Groups of people can be seen straggling up the twisting walls and paths to reach the fortress but this time we decided that we would leave it be. So far, we have climbed most challenges but the days are getting hotter and this climb just looks awful. Inside the walls is a network of very narrow lanes and alleyways that can defeat even the locals. There are a number of small churches, mostly Serbian-Orthodox with amazing murals and gold leaf icons adorning the walls. For some reason that is beyond us, the churches don’t have pews, just an altar and a big open space. We don’t pretend to be experts when it comes to churches.

Kotor is a favorite with the cruise ships because the water is very deep right up to the very front of the old town. The day we arrived we actually walked right under the overhanging bow of a monstrous ship that was berthed nose in to the town. It is an amazing sight but makes movement around the small town a tad chaotic when an extra 2000 passengers descend on the place. The cruise ships come in all shapes and sizes, from the 8 storey monsters to the beautiful sleek wooden three masted ships that look like they never actually use the sails. The large ones are full of carers and wheel chair ramps while the smaller ones have railings covered in beach towels and decks filled with bikini clad girls. Some of the smaller boats have a deck load of bicycles as well, although the thought of cycling around terrain like Montenegro or Croatia does nothing for me. Whatever, there seems to be a cruise designed for everyone and there are lots of people being employed along the way.

Kotor Town

We took a taxi-boat ride around the Bay or Kotor, taking in a few of the sights. It was a centre consul speedboat about 6 metres long and got places in a hurry. The water was calm in most places except for one narrow neck where the tide was against the wind but later we headed outside the bay to the open Adriatic coast to visit the Blue Cave. The swell had been very big a few days before and the skipper was uncertain whether we could manage this part of the tour. The swell proved moderate and not too uncomfortable until we got close to the cliffs, where the waves bounced back and created some very disturbed water. We approached a low hole in the cliffs which looked too low slung to allow us entry but after waiting for the right lull in the waves the skipper gunned us forward and suddenly we were inside the cave, a small cave by any standards with a second but even smaller entrance towards the rear. Our boat could manage small tight circles inside the cave to show off the main attraction. The water is crystal clear and the sea floor near the entrance is pure white sand so the sunlight coming through reflects from the sand in the most amazing shade of blue, as though it has been created by a bank of artificial lights. It is very beautiful and worth the heart stopping moment of entry. Getting out was equally exciting and we had to congratulate the skills of the skipper.

Back inside Kotor Bay we visited a couple of submarine tunnels dug into the cliffs by the Germans during WWII to house U-Boats. Our boat entered two of the tunnels, which were used after the war by the Soviets up until Yugoslavia broke up. Now they are just used as tourist attractions.

Watch a short video of the Blue Cave and Submarine Tunnels

We stopped for about half an hour on a small island that housed a church and small shop. The Island is called Our Lady of the Sea and legend has it that it was created over many years by fishermen throwing rocks into the sea or sinking old ships filled with rocks on the spot. It would take a lot of time, effort and rocks but having seen lots of evidence to show that humans are capable of any kind of crazy thing, especially in the name of religion, the story is plausible.

We really enjoyed the tour, having the chance to see many other towns and villages that are scattered around the vast Bay of Kotor. The Blue Cave experience on its own would have made the trip worthwhile.

The Bay of Kotor

Kotor was a good stay, with a beautiful town area and wonderful scenery fully deserving of its World Heritage status. For us, the biggest disappointment was the poor water quality and the presence of so much algae, putting us off swimming even though there were good crowds at all the popular spots. The town is definitely worth a visit but really does not rate well as a beach destination.

Bar  3-8 July

The bus trip to Bar was worth the drive alone. After deviating to go into Trivat and the International Airport, it hit the coast and drove along the coast through Buvda, Sveti Stefano and Sutomore. The views were absolutely magnificent. Small beach resorts filled every little cove and bay while the bigger cities like Buvda were like a beach club on steroids. The beaches had whole cities of lounges and umbrellas and the waters were teeming with swimmers. Jetskis whizzed around and the sea was criss-crossed with the wakes of small boats. The beautiful Sveti Stefano is a tiny little town perched on a little island only about two hundred metres offshore and joined to the mainland with a spit of white sand. It looks picture perfect. The money seems to be centered around Buvda with some very fancy resorts on the southern side of the city. It was a drive full of interest.

The coastline with Budva and the lovely little town of Sveti Stefan.

We faced a 1.5km walk from the bus station to our apartment through a light industrial area. We reached the general area but had to find our actual apartment because there were a great many apartment blocks that all looked the same. All except one that stood out because it was a sick shade of green, which made it better than the pale grey and concrete cancer look of all the others. It looked like an area that specializes in drive-by shootings and drug deals. Our phones had suddenly decided to be out of credit (we bought a tourist SIM and really can’t understand how it works) so we couldn’t ring our host but we still had data and thankfully he responded to our email. The green building proved to be ours and the inside a huge improvement on the outside. The apartment was spacious, modern and clean, with a view over the harbor area and on towards the beach area.

Bar is totally different to any of the town we have been in so far in Europe. The streets are wide and open. The front walk along the beach area is really expansive and not every open space is filled with restaurant tables. The shopping area of the town is open enough to be able to see what type of shops there are over a hundred metres away, instead of visibility being limited to the next 20 metres of old town. It made us realise just how much we are over “old towns”. Medieval towns are very cute but one can fill up on them. The downside to Bar is that is looks like a city with tooth decay.  It presents a great smile but needs more than just a scale and polish. My guess is that most of the buildings date from the communist era and that standards were not really well adhered to. So many buildings now look as though they suffering from a structural rot. It may be that they are fine inside, like ours, but they sure look sick from the outside.

Bar, with the view from our apartment.

We planned to head inland on a day trip to take in the famous Skadar Lake and Podgorica, the capital city of Montenegro. There were a few interesting looking tours offering lunch for the lake but the times and days did not seem to match with us so we decided to take public transport. So it was back to the bus station to check out schedules and look into the trains, which ran from station nearby. The trains proved irregular and gave us a long wait so we opted for the bus, which gave us a medium wait. We watched the big comfy buses come and go, heading off to other parts of the Balkans, until finally our bus arrived, a stumpy little thing that did not look nearly big enough for the massed crowd. Indeed, we had to squeeze into the back seat and gasp for air for the ten minutes or so until the driver decided we needed an air-conditioner. Despite being full, the bus still stopped along the way and people just got on and somehow levered a seat out of nothing. I had a young girl squeeze in between me and the guy next to me (who was manspreading to the max). She was shorter than me which meant that her bare shoulder fitted neatly into my very sweaty armpit. The jolting of the bus gave it a good workout.

Christine kept an eye on Google Maps so we could identify our stop at Virpazar for the lake tour. Unfortunately, the swaying and bumping put us both to sleep and we were caught a bit by surprise when the bus stopped and the driver yelled “V%@#*&” and took off again. It took all of a minute to realise that we should have got off. Damn! Even though we had only paid for a ticket to Virpazar, we stayed on the bus to Podgorica, figuring we could pay extra on arrival. As the bus pushed north, we looked out at the scenes of the lake going by and asked ourselves, “Why did we want to get off anyway?” What is described in the guidebooks as one of the great wilderness areas of Europe and a nature lovers dream looked like a large swamp bordering an even larger stretch of boring water. The teeming masses of birdlife were represented by a single small duck and the extreme biodiversity of the amazing pristine region probably couldn’t be fully appreciated in a single visit anyway. Even the charming little traditional lake boats that take you on a tour looked just like aluminum dinghies with outboards. It was interesting enough but not the sensational destination we had been expecting. We scratched Lake Skadar from our travel plans and decided Podgorica would get more attention.

Lake Skadar in the middle

If we thought Bar was a bit tatty, Podgorica was full on grotty. The bus and train station was a 1.5km walk from the main CBD through some areas that looked like something out of an post-apocalypse movie. The pavements were broken and crumbled or would just come to an end for no apparent reason. Most building were unpainted grey concrete, streaked with rust marks from the obvious rot within. Like Bar, the city was open and the streets wide and straight but it looked very unkempt. The older buildings were all flattened during WWII so almost everything dated from the immediate post war era where style meant nothing. While reasonably affluent during the times of Yugoslavia, Montenegro suffered badly during the Balkan War and the sanctions imposed by the West and so maintenance has simply not occurred. Things were starting to get on track again when the GFC of 2012 hit and sent the country down again. While tourism is bringing in big investments, especially from Russian sources, the money appears to be being spend on the beaches to the north rather than here.

Podgorica

Things improved a bit in the very central part of the city and we found a couple of nice areas and a pretty strip of cafes, where we had a ridiculously cheap lunch, having sandwiches, fries and a couple of beers for 5€ each in a charming al fresco setting. After lunch we wandered down to the Zeta River, through pretty parkland and found a clear water fast flowing stream with a good volume of water. Finally, we headed back to the station to await the train. After the horrible bus ride we decided the train was a better bet. We had spied a train during the bus ride, a sleek modern affair that looked very comfortable. Alas, not all trains are equal and ours was an incredibly grubby and noisy thing without any air-conditioning. The windows were so dirty that you could barely see out of them and photography was only possible though an open window. We slept much of the way, waking every time the train stopped at one of ten tiny sidings, mostly broken down and overgrown with weeds. Hopefully, Montenegro will be brought into the fold of the EU before long and infrastructure will get a much needed financial boost. They need it. By the time we got back to the apartment we had walked just on 8km and were very tired. We decided to forgo our evening walk along the foreshore.

Another big disappointment in Bar was the beach. Bar has a series of beaches stretching north towards Budva from the harbor. They seem to get more and more stony as they go, with the far ones being made up of rocks the size of tennis balls. People still seem to go to them. Closer to the start of the stretch, the stones are more like pebbles and there is sand once you get to the water itself so we opted to go there for a swim. However, the rubbish problem was extreme, with a lot of plastic being washed up or just floating around in the water. Three were also a worrying number of dead fish and squid, indicating that all is not well. It was hot so we went in but refused to put our heads under water. With both Kotor and Bar being ruled out as beach destinations, perhaps Budva would be the place to go for a beach vacation.

We came to Montenegro on a promise of glorious scenery and inexpensive living. The second proved true, especially away from Kotor. The scenery is certainly impressive but no more so than further north in Croatia and the dirt and poor infrastructure detracts from the place considerably. With tourism already playing a big part in Montenegro’s economy, there needs to be some serious attention paid to how things are presented, especially now that the rest of Europe is becoming so environmentally conscious.

We took a ferry out of Bar back across the Adriatic to Bari in Italy, a trip of about 8 hours.

PHOTO GALLERIES:

Kotor

Budva

Bar

 

Korcula, Croatia, 2017

June 30, 2017 /

Vela Luka, Korcula    21-28 June 2017

The trip from Supertar, on Brac, to Vela Luka on the island of Korcula involved two ferries. First, we had to catch the car ferry back to Split then get another car ferry to Vela Luka. The timetable gave us a fifteen minute window to change ferries and the woman at the ticket office was confident that we would make it. The ferry ended up leaving Supertar five minutes late because they waited for a truck, which could be seen in the distance driving like a maniac towards the ferry. Next a car and caravan came screaming around the corner and it too was allowed to board. Still, we docked in Split on time and headed off at a fast hike with heavy backpacks on to consult the departures board for our next ferry. Unfortunately, we found that it was on the far side of the one we had just arrived in so we had to retrace our steps and make our way to the very last wharf in the whole complex. We arrived with about 4 minutes to spare, congratulating each other on our fitness levels but still disappointed to find there were stairs rather than an escalator to climb to the upper passenger decks. In the end, the ferry left 10 minutes late. We have caught enough Adriatic ferries by now that we no longer stand on the rails and take in all the sights of the passing islands and other seafaring craft. We sit inside in the air-conditioning and read. It’s a bit sad really.

The trip to Korcula took three hours, passing Hvar along the way. The trip was very smooth and few of the many yachts that we passed even bothered putting up sails. I was surprised by the size of Hvar Town. It seemed to sprawl along the coast for kilometers and there was even a bit of high rise building in evidence. I have been reading that Hvar has been getting quite a bit of negative publicity lately, mainly due to poor behavior by holidaying British youth, a bit like the Aussies in Bali it seems.

Vela Luka is situated at the end of a long narrow inlet and so is mostly calm and well suited as a small boat harbor. It looked very pretty as the ferry nosed into the wharf area. Once off the boat, it was a little chaotic for a while because for some strange reason, the ferry company chooses to have two ferries in at the same time, both around the same time as the fishing fleet is in and unloading. The car park was crammed with cars and trucks waiting to board for the trip back to Split and we worked our way through them to find Regina, our host. Somehow, in the jumble of cars, we found each other and she bundled us into her car for the ride around the harbor to our apartment. We were grateful that she had come to pick us up, especially as it meant time off work for her, because the walk around would be quite a trek. There is an option of a water taxi but at the time we did not know where to catch it and I doubt whether Christine would have been prepared to make the leap from the dock onto the bow of a small boat with her backpack on.

The apartment proved wonderful with an incredible balcony across the front giving a beautiful view of the harbor and town. Over the next week we were to spend many hours sitting out front reading and taking in the view. We watched the evening berthings of the charter cruising yachts and the regular put-put of the little water taxis plying their trade. We walked the long way around the harbor a few times but mostly we used the water taxis.

Vela Luka is the largest town on the island of Korcula, with a population of just over 4000. However, you would not know it to look at. There are few shops and even tourist accommodation is more of a B&B nature than hotel based. It is situated at the northern end of the island, with the much older Korcula Town at the southern end. Evidence of human habitation goes back an incredible 20,000 years and the Greeks, Romans and Venetians all had settlements and naval harbors here. However, the town itself bears little of the medieval influences so obvious in Zadar and Trogir. The buildings, although mostly built from local limestone, are mostly utilitarian and plain and date from the first half of the Twentieth Century. What gives it charm is the gorgeous harbor, safe in all weather, which is somewhat of a rarity around the islands of the Adriatic. Indeed, the name Vela Luka derives from “Safe Harbour”.

We continued our largely slovenly lifestyle adopted in Supertar. It must be something to do with living on islands. Our daily routine would often consist of rising late, lounging around until mid morning, crossing the harbor in the water taxi to buy the day’s supplies, sitting at a café for an hour, coming home for lunch, followed by an afternoon read and nap. Then we would pop down the road for a swim in the late afternoon. Day done! It was a real struggle to maintain the lifestyle.

Around Vela Luka

The Croatians love their National Holidays. Back in Supertar we found the town closed down for Corpus Christi. Here we had a quiet day for the Day of the Antifascist Struggle, followed three days later by Statehood Day. Celebrations are big too. On a Saturday evening, a rowing race was held on the harbor below us, a traditional event harking back to 1933 when a crew from a British warship took on a local crew. The locals won and they continue to celebrate every June 24th. A boat carrying a full brass band opened and closed the event by doing a lap of the harbor with the band pumping out a vigorous march. Shore based Croatian pop music filled the middle part and they made sure that everyone in Vela Luka could share in the experience. As the rowed boats came across the line, the winners would break out the smoke flares to celebrate. It was quite entertaining watched from the comfort of our balcony.

We were not lazy all the time. We took a day trip out to nearby Proizd Island on a fish picnic, which is a great Croatian concept that would really take on if offered in Australia. Basically it is a boat excursion to somewhere with a fish meal cooked on board to accompany copious amounts of local wine. We booked the trip at a little tourist outlet a few days before and the young guy who sold us the ticket did his very best to point out the boat that would take us and where to wait. He kept talking about the green table and pointing across the harbor. Eventually we worked out that he had mixed up the words for “table” and “boat” and identified the boat with a green covering. It was a rather flash looking modern boat, suitable for a small group. On the appointed morning, we waited on the dock at the boat at 10am, getting a little anxious because there was no one there. Right on 10am, a guy arrived on a scooter, accompanied by a little white dog. We greeted him and got a very perfunctory grunt in return and he boarded and readied the boat. Then he took off on the scooter again, leaving the dog on board and us on the dock. We saw him visit the bakery for supplies and eventually he returned. This time he looked at us and asked, “Can I help you?” We showed him the ticket for the fish picnic but he said “No, no..” and took us over to where we had seen another much bigger and older boat some time earlier. It turns out this poor guy was just getting his boat ready for a family day out and we were trying to commandeer his day off. The fish picnic boat had departed so a series of queries, instructions, and phone calls was put in place. He left us in other hands and went back to his boat, with our thanks, while arrangements were made for us to chase the fish picnic boat in a little water taxi. We caught up after 10 minutes or so, helped by the fish picnic boat turning around and we climbed aboard to the stares of the very full boat load of fellow passengers.

There were only a couple of spots left down the back of the boat and we settled in. The tables were set with carafes of cold white wine and some of the passengers were already imbibing with gusto. The couple next to us could speak passable English and from them we learned that everyone else on the boat was part of a group of retirees from Slovenia, making us very much the hangers on that the boat had gone back for. Whoops. The host lady came up to us with a couple of shot glasses filled with a local firewater to explain the day and apologize for leaving us behind, which was our fault as much as anyone’s.

A fish picnic to Proizd

A small brunch snack was served as the boat putted out over wonderfully calm seas. We received a delicious tuna pate, some lovely salted anchovy fillets dribbled with olive oil and a very tasty tomato-rice concoction. Of course, the local white wine helped it go down. Then the singing started up with a guy with a guitar and an excellent voice leading a medley of Croatian and Slovenian favourites. The boat did a lap of Proizd, passing all the best beaches on the north-eastern side before pulling up at a jetty in a bay on the western side. Here there is a rather run-down looking restaurant, which is the only real sign of habitation anywhere, and we were given three hours or so to explore the little island and swim before a lunch at 3pm. By this time, many of the Slovenians definitely needed a time out from the white wine. A series of small tracks lead through the pines that make up the vegetation on Proizd to a series of coves. We visited four locations, finding two to be excellent for swimming and lazing around and two to be pretty but lacking any real beach. A lack of a beach does not seem to worry the Croatians who appear quite happy to clamber over rocks to get to water but we prefer the more dignified entry of a beach, even if it is made of stones and not sand.

After three hours of swimming and walking the length of the island we were well and truly ready for lunch. On our return to the boat we found the outdoor oven going at the stern and small blue mackerel cooking over hot coals. These were later served up with a delicious potato and vinegar salad followed by some wonderful local pastry and cut watermelon. Of course, all this was accompanied by an unending supply of local white wine and lots of singing. Some of the Slovenians had decided that all wine existed to be consumed and the volume of the singing increased accordingly.

We had a really great day that actually took us another day or so to get over. Although we hadn’t drunk anything like some of the other passengers the food, sun and exertions of the day took its toll on these poor bodies and we crashed as soon as we got home.

Click here for a video of our trip to Proizd, complete with on-board singing.

 

 

A few days after the fish picnic we took a bus to the southern end of Korcula to old Korcula Town, about 45kms away. The drive was spectacular, as most drives are in these parts, giving incredible views over to the neighboring islands and mainland as we traversed the central mountain chain. I don’t know whether I am becoming used to the mountain roads or simply resigned to the concept of death by bus accident. The drivers are certainly very skillful and I tell myself that that can do the drive with their eyes shut, which they effectively do because they are usually on the phone or texting. We passed through several smaller towns along the way, the biggest of which was Blato, which features a beautiful 300metre long central avenue of hundred year old linden trees.

Our arrival in Korcula Town gave us three and a bit hours to explore, which is ample time to take in the atmosphere. I have lost count of the number of fortress towns we have visited now and each one is unique. A beautiful walk around the walled section of the town gives some terrific views over the narrow straits to the mainland and shows why Korcula was such a strategic stronghold. The town is more remarkable for its interior, which is a maze of tiny alleyways far too small for any vehicles (always a good thing). The second notable feature is steps, lots of them at every turn and none of them constructed to match the length of a human stride. Walking turns into some crazy kind of hopping, dancing motion as you attempt to adjust your stride. It gets quite wearing. The town was crowded with tourists and prices tended to reflect the popularity of the place.  Prices go up as more cruise ships visit a place. We left the main walled fortress part of the city and crossed the road and down an alley to find prices back to Croatian normal and enjoyed a really excellent pizza with a couple of beers for less than $A20.

Old Korcula Town

Another more energetic excursion was a climb up a hill called Pinski Rat behind Vela Luka to a large open cave called Vela Spila. The cave is situated at an elevation of 120m and the path is around 800m long so the grade is steep in many places. The first part takes you through some back lanes or the town up many flights of steps then the path angles up through olive groves and pine scrub to the cave itself. We chose to go in the morning to avoid the heat but we failed. We were incredibly hot and bothered by the time we reached the top and the cool of the cave was a very welcome relief. The cave carries evidence of human habitation dating back 20,000 years. An ongoing archaeological dig has uncovered layers going down for over 7 metres with a number skeletons from Neolithic times and a great many artefacts from stone, Bronze Age and Greek times.  As always in such places, there is a sense of awe to think that humans have shared the same space for so long through so much change.

Vela Spila

Vela Luka is probably the least spectacular place of our recent stays yet a very easy and comfortable place to stay in. We chose the best side of the bay to stay because the beach below the apartment was so good and accessible and the views across to the town itself so good. The daily crossings on the little water taxi became part of the ritual of life and was in itself relaxing. Finally, there is no finer sport than watching other people try to bring boats alongside or pick up mooring lines. Every evening we would play the game of armchair skipper and give lots of advice, all from a distance of course, and sip on our wine safe in the comfort of our balcony.

Vela Luka marks the end of our Croatian journey and we move on south to the little country of Montenegro.

PHOTO GALLERIES:

Vela Luka

Korcula Old Town

Supertar, Brac, Croatia 2017

June 22, 2017 /

Supertar, Brac 14-21 June 2017

Our trip from Trogir to the island of Brac involved two ferry trips, the little Baru Line boat from Trogir to Split then a big car ferry over to Supertar, on the island of Brac. Each trip took about 50 minutes and we only had about 30 minutes between them and a short walk of around half a kilometer of so. We docked in Supertar on time and we set off on foot to find our apartment. Fortunately, Antonija, our host, had given us excellent photo instructions and we managed to find our place with little trouble. Supertar is not a big place anyway, more of a small town really with a population of around 3000.

The apartment proved very comfortable and certainly well located, a mere 150m to the water and much the same to a well stocked supermarket. Antonija and her mother live above us. The house is set on a small block with an area of garden, as do most of the houses surrounding us. Some grow vegetables and fruit trees and ours has quite a number of plum trees, mostly purple but one that is a golden colour. Antonija’s mother brought us a bowl of the golden ones and they proved to be very sweet and quite delicious. Another point of interest was the presence of several small tortoises in the yard, cute little things called Hermann’s Tortoise and native to the area. They don’t really do much more than crawl around the yard but its good to know they are there.

All the walking with the backpacks on must have taken its toll because we didn’t do much more after arrival than lie around and read and drop off for a bit of a nap. Our second day on Brac was not much more energetic because it rained most of the day. This was the first rain we had experienced in Croatia and the country looked like it could do with it. It wasn’t heavy, but it was steady and we eventually headed out to explore the town and do some shopping, just accepting that we would get a little wet. When it is cool and wet you would swear that there was no one here but when the bad weather clears and the sun comes out, so do the people. The umbrellas go up, the al fresco tables are set and the gelato sellers get into full swing.

To be honest, we were pretty lazy during our week in Supertar, falling into a habit of doing very little in the afternoons. The local television seems to consist of 10 stations, of which three or four are in English at any one time. This is a big change from NO ENGLISH, which is what we have had for weeks at a time. The down side is that a lot of the English shows are very old and I have to admit to watching an episode of Gunsmoke and a few old NCIS re-runs. We also thoroughly enjoyed the old 70s movie “Papermoon” for which the brilliant 9 year old Tatum O’Neal won an Oscar. We have made up for the laziness by going for a walk every evening after dinner. The sun does not set until around 9pm and the time between 8 and 9 is simply charming, the setting sun casting a gorgeous orange glow on the white limestone buildings of the harbour front. It is a popular time for a stroll with families, couples and hopefuls all doing the walk along the waterfront taking in the atmosphere.

Around Supertar

There are some reasonable swimming beaches locally and not too far from the house at that. The beaches here are stony rather than sand based but the one near us at least has some lovely clean white sand underfoot once you are in the water. The water temperature has come up and is not bad once in and wet. With the beach being a little hard to lie on, there is always a paddock full of sun lounges out for hire and there are plenty of sun loving Europeans ready to ignore the sun safe message and tan themselves to a point where they resemble a cooked chook.

One day we hopped on a bus and visited Bol, which claims the best beach in the Adriatic in the form of a spot called Zlatni Rat. As the crow flies, it is only about 10km across the island from Supertar to Bol but the bus route is 33kms because it makes quite a few side trips to other villages and has to negotiate the difficult trip up and over the central mountain spine. At $A10 each for the return journey, the fare is quite expensive by local bus standards but the trip is really worth it for the drive alone. The views across the highlands and out to the mainland or the neighbouring island of Hvar are nothing short of spectacular and the hairpin bends and switchback narrow roads are adrenaline raising, especially when bus meets bus on a bend. All the little towns and villages were picture perfect. Bol itself is lovely with a cute little harbor and a waterfront line of gorgeous stone buildings. The bus stops right in the heart of the town and Zlatni Rat is about 1.5kms along the coast, necessitating a walk or an expensive taxi. The walk is easy and interesting with market stalls being spread out for around half of the distance. There are also a lot of small coves suitable for swimming along the way.

A bus trip to Bol

Zlatni Rat is the main objective. It is a spit that extends almost perpendicular to the coast with a broad white beach of fine pebbles around its length. Beautiful open pine forest borders the beach, providing a welcome relief from the sun and heat if needed and the water is crystal clear with a gorgeous aquamarine colour. The great thing about the long spit is that it is easy to find a calm place out of the wind. The Western side, where we went, is a little deeper and I found myself out of my depth after only 15 metres of so. We also found that the Western side is a clothing optional area, even though the sign says “No Nudists” and points to a path leading further away as being a nudist beach. I have no issue with the clothing optional places but the slip slop slap seems to have gone out the window. There were some very brown people and brown all over at that. We swam for a while (with bathers on) before walking back to the town.

Back in Bol we had what would have to be the best hamburger in Croatia, or maybe Europe. A little sandwich place near the bus stop advertised a hamburger for 25HRK ($A5) which looked appealing. The girl at the counter called us in to select our toppings from a big selection and everything was crammed into an enormous fresh bun atop a good mince patty. With pickles, corn kernels, crisp salads and a great ketchup it really hit the spot. I just shows you what can happen when a country doesn’t have Maccas.

There is a small village about 3kms to the west of Supertar called Mirca and we took a walk, following the main road and some small trails. It is a pretty little spot set on a small cove. It seems that any small cove or rare piece of flat land has developed into a settlement on Brac, where arable or livable land is rare. Most arable land is used for olive growing with the small stunted trees being grown in soil that is extremely rocky. Over the centuries, the rocks have been cleared to some extent and piled into mounds or incorporated in the endless network of dry-stone walls. Where a valley forms that will hold some actual soil, market gardens flourish, with tomatoes, grapes, zucchinis and cabbages being commonly grown.

For most of our time in Croatia, the wind has been absent and the seas glassy calm. However, we did have a couple of days of a nasty northerly wind that locally is called a Bora. The warnings went out for winds of around 40km/hr with gusts to 90km/hr. The large number of mountainous islands in this part of the world can produce some rather extreme variations in the winds. While the worst of the forecast Bora wind never actually materialized, we saw enough to know that a Bora prediction needs to be taken seriously. Just as with the rain, the crowds disappeared again, presumably holed up inside. The boats tied up in the various little harbours dotted around Supertar were all jumping around on their lines and the few boats we saw that had ventured out were making heavy going of it. One evening when it was blowing hard we saw a flotilla of five yachts tied up inside the breakwater. They were bouncing around in their berths quite a bit but better than being outside. What attracted us was that they were flying pennants advertising “Sail Croatia” and sported flags of various nations. Three flew Australian flags so we wandered over. Sail Croatia is a charter company that offers cruises for under 35s and there were young people in abundance. Part of their web site promotion promises “every night a party” and the party had started early. Despite the bouncy conditions, everyone seemed to be having a great time and the drinks flowed freely. We figured they didn’t want to talk to old farts and went away again. The next morning, we watched the fleet put to sea in heavy conditions and wondered at just how the crews were holding up.

Beautiful beaches and our apartment

The week in Supertar has probably been the least energetic of our stays so far but the place does lull you into a relaxed mood. The town appears capable of catering for at least five times the current crowd and I gather that things will get like that in July and August. It must be quite frenetic, especially over at Bol, which is already very busy. However, if getting away from the rat race of commuting to work and living in busy crowded cities is your need then a week or so on Brac Island would be a most welcome escape.

From here we move on through the islands to Korcula. More ferries, more beaches. It’s a hard life.

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