Gallipoli

A swift update, since I am sitting by the pool of the campsite in Gallipoli and I am getting munched by mozzies as I sort out photos, gobble down supper and use electricity as much as I can. I have my camera battery and my laptop plugged in to charge.

I finally have some internet. I bought a data bundle in Naples, and have been struggling to get it to work ever since. I have been back to the man who sold me the package. I have spent hours on the phone listening to Italian voice recordings about my bundle, my hours, my credit etc. Everything except how to make the damned thing work. I have asked tourist information people to listen to the Italian messages and then to ask consultants to speak English to me. I have bought more credit. I have spent a couple of hours trying to work out the settings on my own. It has been thoroughly frustrating. I reached desperation stakes. After a week of hassling, N and I stopped in a small one horse town because he saw a Wind (my network) dealer in the town. Although I was sure that the town was too small for anyone to be able to help, we discovered a fantastic lady who spoke English and understood the Wind package and understood computer settings. She finally got the thing to work. I could not stop the outpourings of delight. I was so delighted I could have kissed her. I nearly did. N got a strange look on his face. I was not sure if he was about to drag me away or encourage me.

Today we drove along the coastal road from Ciolo to Gallipoli. It is very pretty and dotted with small Italian towns. Italy is remarkably badly sign posted (worse than Kimberley.) We have been lost a lot. An awful lot. 

We have checked into a fairly nice campsite for the evening. 20 Euros for both of us and the car and the tent. In Europe they charge for each person to camp. Then they charge extra for your tent. And extra for your car. Bizarre, huh? At this place electricity is included (they usually charge extra for that too) and so is hot water. Score!
The only drawback so far is our rather elderly neighbour, who sports a nasty luminous orange swimming costume. An extremely small costume. It borders on being a thong. He is 70 if he is a day. Horrors!

I have finished my tasty dinner of bottled bockwurst sausages and bottled asparagus and am going to go back to the tent to watch a movie on N’s computer.
Today we didn’t do anything much exciting but we did go and sit on the beach. Where we managed to get into trouble. The campsite gave us a voucher for the use of 2 deck chairs and an umbrella. We duly went to the beach and helped ourselves, since no one rushed out to greet us. Turns out we took the beds instead of the deck chairs and you are supposed to pay extra for that. After much Italian hand-waving and hysteria we managed to sort it out and sat in our deckchairs, most chastised, watching a young Italian couple make out in front of us. The view was very pretty, though (not the couple!!!) and we relaxed for a while before coming back to camp for our delicious supper.  

I will leave you with a picture. Of the beach. Lucky you I decided against the picture I sneaked of the old man in his lumo orange cossie…. 

Napoli

The last touristy thing we did in Rome was to see the Fountains of Trevi. When I was much younger (still at primary school kind of younger) I saw these fountains in a video or a picture. Being horse mad at the time, I fell utterly in love with them and vowed that one day I would see them in the flesh. So even though the blisters (yes, they have multiplied) squeaked in complaint, they were prodded into action.

The fountains were all that I had hoped for. They are definitely my favourite sculptures in Rome. I could wax lyrical about them being a breath taking symphony of marble, exploding outwards in a stunning display of energy and vitality, but I won’t, because I could easily start to feel a tad foolish. So here’s a picture instead:




I took a couple of photographs, threw the requisite three coins and bumped into a number of old ladies. Given its small size, the Trevi piazza is, inch for inch, even more crowded with tourists than St Peters.




The blisters were then force-marched from the fountains to the Termini station. They twinged. The tendon strain (from walking funny to compensate for the first blister) ached. The shoulders hurt under the weight of the full pack. The tummy growled. By that stage it was 11:30 and all I had had to eat was a banana. I was pretty much running on empty. I get grumpy when I’m hungry. Lucky N…..

At Termini I paid R10 to pee. I find it extremely annoying - this European habit of making you pay to use the toilets. Quite a cheek, given that I had just paid R130 for a train ticket to Naples. Surely the railways could sponsor me a piddle?

After a scenically rather boring train ride, we arrived at Naples. N asked if I thought I could manage the 3km walk to the Welcome Inn. I thought it looked more like 1.5 km and so I told the blisters to just suck it up – I need to save my Euros. We set off on foot. I said we should plot an exact course on the main roads. N said that was unnecessary and we should just meander in the general direction. Much against my better judgement, we commenced the meander. We meandered straight into the slums of Naples. Ok, maybe they’re not quite slums as we know them, but I was NOT happy about being there. Particularly since we were clutching maps, looking lost, and arguing on each street corner about which way was best. Tourist speak for “Rob me please!”

The meander turned our 1.5km route into a 2.something km route but we arrived at the Welcome Inn delightfully unmugged. What a nice little spot! We are both well cuffed with having found it. It is clean, cheerful and eponymously welcoming. We are not in the dorms here. We fancied a bit of privacy and thought our advanced age might set us apart from the backpacking crowd. So we booked ourselves and our walkers into a double room. It is bright and cozy. We each received soap, shampoo and a dental pack (tooth paste, tooth brush and a little plastic toothbrush protector!) The only snag we have come across so far is that the double bed is two single beds pushed together. Any time either of us attempts to cuddle up to the other, one of us falls into the crack between the mattresses. Don’t worry Mum, there is little chance of illicit pre-marital nookie at the Welcome Inn!

After an all too short nap, we went for a hobble to familiarize ourselves with the Napoli neighbourhood. We procured ourselves an internet sim card, some airtime, some cheap cooldrink and some cheap Polish chocolate. I have become an inveterate bargain hunter. 1.5 litres of fizzy orange drink and a slab of choccie for less than R15. It’s not going to be much cheaper in SA! Although the chocolate does taste faintly odd….

This Tourist’s impressions of Roma:
Super expensive on the Rand. Spacious. Well laid out, light and bright streets. Organised. Polite traffic. Safe. Clean. Men are usually immaculately groomed and often dress in suits. Many women are hot with good figures and dress immaculately. Sophisticated.

This Tourist’s impressions of Napoli:
Expensive on the Rand. Cramped. Twisty, dark and dank streets. Traffic is crazy, manic and full of lunatics – children drive scooters everywhere. Chaotic. Pick pocket haven. Dirty. Men are clad in overly tight pants, hair gel and some sport incredibly ornate blinged up, sparkly crucifixes. Women have a uniform of tight pants and overly tight t-shirts, into which they cram a jiggly tummy. They wear a lot of rouge and a lot of eye shadow. Street smart.

Oh yes. On our way out of the hostel to go for our hobble, we asked the guy at the reception desk to point out any areas that are potentially unsafe to walk through. “No, no, you’ll be FINE!” he said, “Unless you go to these areas in the night.” And then he marked out on our map the street we walked down when we left the station, and the slums we wandered through on our meander. Good thing I grew up in Joburg. I must look super tough or something.

Napoli Recommendations: The Welcome Inn – to be found at 3 Via Broggia.
Addition to Roma Recommendations: Trevi Fountains. Must do!

Roma!

Rome!

It’s very beautiful here. The Roman ruins are spectacular. It feels like I’ve been walking for days. Oh wait – I have! The blister I developed three days ago has been getting steadily worse. Last night I had no choice but to pop it with a needle and put merthiolate on it. Ouch! It hurt like a beast. N was no help. Well, he did fetch the merthiolate but then he lay on the bed yelping “in sympathy” about how much it hurt. Um, I thought I got to do that? Anyway, hopefully I will be able to walk on it again today as we need to make our way to the Fountains of Trevi. It will be our last touristy moment in Rome. We depart today for Naples and a date with the (alleged) best pizza in Italy. And my, but have we ever been touristy. We have walked this city flat looking at every old piece of stone there is to see. The blister was well earned.

We have seen fountains and piazzas and Cathedrals and Basilicas and ruins. The Colosseum was expensive, but worth it. For 12 Euros you get a pass to the Colosseum and the Palatine Hill and the Roman Forum. The ruins are magnificent and it’s incredible to sit amongst them and imagine what they were like before they became ruins. The sheer size of the Colosseum and the houses of the Emperors is awe inspiring. 

The Colosseum:

St Peters too, is just ridiculously huge. And it is filled with gorgeous sculptures and marble friezes. Unfortunately it is also packed to the gills with tourists. Rome is swarming with them. I’ve never seen anything like it. They are everywhere. They are also largely self absorbed. Every time you step back to take a photo of something, hordes of people rush in between you and your monument. Taking photos has become more like an action sport of dashing and snapping. I have been sorely tried not to introduce a touch of martial arts. St Peters was particularly challenging due to the sheer volume of people. The queue to get into St Peters, however, was nothing to the one we stood to get into the Vatican Museum. We wondered how many thousands of people flow through those gates every day. And, at a price of 14 Euros, they must make an absolute fortune. I’m glad we went, because we were here and I doubt I will ever go again. There were some impressive things in the museum. I enjoyed the Egyptian section but I can’t help thinking it’s a bit wrong that there are Egyptian mummies spending their eternity basking in the Vatican. Surely those that demand respect for their religion (you may not enter the Vatican with uncovered shoulders or short shorts) should have respect for other religions and cultures and not display their dead for monetary gain? Oh well. Double standards abound.
The art works on the walls and ceilings of the Vatican museum are at first incredible, but there is so much that eventually I found myself a bit numbed to it all. “Oh look. More paintings.” And quite frankly, I was somewhat underwhelmed by the Sistene Chapel. I mean, I can see that those paintings must have taken an awful to of work and it can’t be easy to paint an entire wall or ceiling, but I was somehow expecting more. Perhaps my expectations were raised overly high by years of art history propaganda. I think that by that stage I had just been there too long with sore feet and a gazillion other tourists squashing me and walking everywhere too slowly.

St Peters:

Temple of Saturn in the Roman Forum:

Recommendations for Rome: Colosseum, Palatine Hill, the Roman Forum, the keyhole in San Sabina Ave (look through the keyhole for a perfect view of St Peter’s dome), St Peters, ice cream and pizza. And the metro. It is cheap. Get a 24 hour ticket for 4 Euros and ride everywhere instead of incurring blisters like I did.

A Tedious Day Of Admin

Today was not as productive as I had hoped. In the morning I made myself a quick snack of cornflakes and milk. My parents are away and I am in their house. My mom decants the milk into a pretty little jug. A jug with no handy expiry date printed on the side. So I took a huge mouthful of cornflakes and sour milk. Yuck. Doggies will be having a treat later. They are not as picky as I am. I had to rethink breakfast. I hate bread and I couldn’t stomach another helping of toast. I ended up having a protein drink. Not too filling.

 

Telling myself that I was practising for the months of starvation to come, I took myself off to my storage garage all prepared to make a serious inroad into my possessions. Sadly, that went about as well as breakfast. I wandered aimlessly from side to side of the garage, unable to do anything productive. Some of the stuff is in boxes. Some if it is furniture too large to move singlehandedly. I can’t take things home to my parents’ house because I don’t know yet if I can keep it there. I ended up feeling somewhat desperate and more than a little anxious about what is going to happen to everything when I leave. I do not feel like paying close on 10k to store my things for another year. On a positive note, I did manage to free myself of my old washing machine. It used to belong to my granny and when she died I used it for a few years. It always performed admirably. Unfortunately, sometime during the past year of storage, a spring in the door catch did something and now the door does not stay closed. I tried to fix it but ran out of time and patience. I ended up donating it to Raymond the security guard at the storage garage. I am sure he will find someone with more time and patience than me. Raymond took three of the garden/cleaning guys with him and they manhandled the behemoth out of my garage. It’s a heavy one. As they were struggling to wrestle the beast down the pathway I pointed out to them that the stand did have wheels and they could actually wheel it instead of carrying it all the way. “Hehehe!” laughed Raymond cheerfully, “These are Men and they want to carry it!”

Miraculously quickly (less than fifteen metres, in fact) those Men evolved into Thinking Men. They put the beast down and wheeled it the rest of the way.

When I left the storage facility, thoroughly depressed at how little I had achieved, I signed out to a happy chorus of thanks. Raymond is going to ask his mother to bless me. Apparently, I am going to have lots of luck. This has cheered me up immensely. One oldish washing machine in exchange for lots and lots of good luck? I think I got a good deal.

Mega Drive

Yesterday I drove the bakkie from CT to Jhb so that it has a place to stand and wait patiently for my return. The drive started off beautifully, with gorgeous desert scenery and clouds and sky everywhere.

 

And I rescued a tortoise! He was big – well over a foot high. You’d think he was old enough to know better than to dither about in the middle of the highway. I drove past him and then had a bad feeling he would be squashed. So went back and watched him to see if he would make it across without me picking him up and upsetting him. The big truck on the other side of the road would have missed him but the white Mercedes behind the truck decided to overtake the truck on a corner (bit of an idiot driving) and would have driven straight into Grandpa tortoise. So I retrieved Grandpa from the middle of the road and certain death. The old fart that was overtaking on the corner then had the nerve to hoot at me and gesticulate as if to say “What the hell do you think you are doing messing around in the middle of the road?” Perhaps he thought I put the tortoise in the middle of the road and then snatched it away just for kicks? I’m not sure he even realized what I saved him from. Grandpa was big enough to put a sizeable dent in his car at the speed he was going. And if he’d swerved to miss the tortobstacle he would have gone straight over the edge and down an embankment and likely totaled his car and maybe his wife. Oh well, I don't need his gratitude. I was trying to save the tortoise, not him.

 

Not particularly excited about his salvation:

After I rescued Grandpa and put him safely on the side of the road to which he was headed, I took out my laptop and booked myself an air ticket back to CT for Sunday 10 May. (So that I can fetch the other car.) I love technology! How amazing is it that I can book myself an air ticket from the middle of nowhere???

I also stopped and took a couple of photos of the landscape and you, lucky readers, have been treated to two of them!

 

And who knew that guinea fowl were so stupid? Theymade a habit out of sitting in the middle of the road. Then they watch cars bearing down upon them and they make no effort to get out of the way. They just look slightly uncertain. I’m not going to hit them, I will make sure of it. But they don’t know that. So much for survival of the fittest – they must be prolific breeders or something.

I mean good grief! If I was a bird sitting on the floor and a HUGE white monster with blazing eyes was roaring down upon me as fast as any cheetah can run, making impossibly loud hooting noises, I’d do more than look mildly concerned. I’d fly the heck away!

Ironic – guinea fowl being the latest contenders in the age old game of chicken.

 

My tortoise rescue and beautiful scenery induced good mood lasted all the way to Kimberley, where it was dark and raining. The problem with rain and darkness in Kimberley is that Kimberley has decided that the best way to direct people through their town to Jhb, is to paint “JHB” and an arrow on the road surface. When it rains, the road gleams madly, and the car headlights reflect off the surface, rendering the “JHB” unreadable. I spent a good 20 minutes trawling up and down the Kimberley main drags, such as they are. The other annoying thing about Kimberley is that there are many informative signs. Many, many, many signs. Sign direct you to the Big Hole, the museums, the legislature, the tourist information centre, the technicon, the university etc. There are so many signs on every corner that you have to drive extremely slowly in order to read them all and ensure that a little sign to Jhb is not hiding in their midst. Not to worry, though - usually there is no little sign to Jhb. Being lost in Kimberley in the rain and the dark when you are hungry, tired and desperate for the loo is rather an unpleasant experience. After finding my way out of the maze of over sign-posted yet somehow under sign-posted streets, my relief was great. The intensity of my relief, however, was tempered by its incredibly short duration. Just after Kimberley I hit the first road works and the “stop and goes.” It seemed like there was more stopping than going. The rain also grew quite fierce. Everyone proceeded to dither along at between 40 and 60 km/h, in the middle of the road nogal, so as to increase overtaking difficulty. Clearly nobody else had to cover 1400km in one day. After the road works I hit a major hail storm, which slowed me down even further. The storm was vicious. It flung the hail straight at me as I drove. Hail was bouncing up from the road and smashing all over my windscreen. It was everywhere. When it caught my headlights as it hurtled towards me it made silver streaks – I felt like I was driving into tracer fire. It was quite exciting though, and bizarrely enough I enjoyed driving through the storm.

After the hail, I hit yet more road works.

With all the delays, the stretch from Kimberley to Jhb was most unpleasant. By the time I pulled into my parents’ driveway it was after 12 and I had been driving for over 17 hours. It was a duzi of a drive. I slept until 9 this morning, which was lovely, but I’m still a little ragged about the edges. And now the Jhb admin must commence!

 

Gainfully Unemployed

Today was my first official day of unemployment. Friday was a public holiday and the weekend didn’t count either. But today was a Monday. And I was not at work! And it was great!

I went to the civic centre to get the electricity account from my old flat taken out of my name – a task I would normally have hated. But today was different. I got to walk there at my leisure. I walked down Government Avenue, which is really pretty. I stopped and sat on the grass. I took photos of squirrels. I puttered about the city centre. I wondered past the Castle. I saw a beautiful fountain with seagulls all over it and a rainbow in the spray. As I sat on the grass being stalked by a few manic looking squirrels, who all thought I was going to give them peanuts, I was overwhelmed by peace and happiness and I thought to myself “That’s it – the year off starts now. Despite the mountain of admin I still have to do, I am going start having enjoying it NOW!”

And since then, the day has been great. The electricity chore took all of 10 minutes. I walked home back up Gov Ave and detoured through the Company Gardens, which is full of amazing trees from all over the world. I packed. I saw friends. Even the Croatian visa glitch has not dampened my mood.

Yes. A glitch.

As per my last post, the Croatians refuse to allow you to apply for a visa more than 3 months ahead of entering their country. They take between 20 and 30 working days to process said visa. It’s a nightmare logistically if you’re travelling elsewhere first. So we decided to do the expensive version, whereby you pay R900 and get a visa quickly in three working days. Only, when I called the visa section to confirm, I managed to ferret out the one vital piece of information that they had hidden from us before. No matter when you apply, they will not print a visa more than two months in advance of you entering Croatia. So it appears that we cannot do the quick visa thing that we had planned. Oh great. Out only option is to apply for our visas once we’re in Italy. The problem with that is that we are going to Spain and Mallorca in the middle of the Italy trip. And we need our passports for that. So we cannot just hand them over to the Croatians for their 20 to 30 working days. And it is going to be a delight and a half to try and find our way around Rome/Naples/Milan to find the consulate of Croatia. And even more fun to try and negotiate between Italians and Croatians and explain our problem.

So there is a very real chance we might not go to Croatia. We might get to Italy and find that it’s too much of a performance to get a Croatian visa. In which case we will likely come home and take a month to go to Spitzkoppe and climb before heading off to Asia a month early. But it’s early days yet. First we’ll try our luck in Italy.

Anyway, this news has not upset me. Sure, it’s annoying to have our plans changed like this at the last minute and it will cost us a fair amount of money to cancel flights and accommodation etc. But things happen how they are meant to and I am sure that whatever we end up doing it will be an adventure and a whole lot of fun. I also reckon that this will not be the last “disaster” we have to contend with. You’ve got to be flexible if you’re flying a year by the seat of your pants.

I’m driving the bakkie to Jhb tomorrow, where it will live for the year, so that’s it for the blog tonight. Need to get a good night’s sleep.

UK Visa Achieved

Finally! I have the UK visa clutched in my grubby paws! After submitting my application, I visited the online application tracking website every day and watched my passport progressing through the various stages. Eventually (5 and a bit working day later) I received an sms telling me to come and fetch it. To prevent parking issues, I got dropped off in town with the intention of walking home. I then stood in a queue for 20 minutes to receive my big grey envelope. It contained all of the documents I submitted for the application barring (unfortunately) the bank cheque. On the way out of the VFS offices, I took out my passport and flipped through it to see what a UK visa looked like. No visa. My heart stopped. I snatched all of the pages out of the envelope. No letter. Nothing. Nothing to explain why they hadn’t granted me a visa. WHAT AM I GOING TO DO??????? I do not have time for this! I can’t change my flights! Oh shit! 

After minor heart failure and some frenzied hunting, I discovered the visa right at the back of the passport. What on earth possessed them to put it two pages from the end of a virtually empty passport? But anyway, it is now mine. We are still on course. To celebrate, I got myself a coke and Kentucky. (Lapsed. Shocking.) I walked up Long Street gobbling down my take aways like a bergie and watching potential bag snatchers with a jaundiced eye. No one was getting near my passport.

Next on the list is the Croatian visa. As yes, the Croatian embassy is also full of rubbish. You can’t apply for a Croatian visa more than 3 months before you enter the country. Sorry for you if you’re going somewhere else first. AND, they inform you sweetly on the phone, it usually takes between 20 and 30 working days to process the visa. So you have to cut things pretty fine if you’re planning on going to a few countries in a row. It’s a delicate juggling trick. Only not as much fun as juggling. Or sticking needles in your eyes. But wait! Should you be in the situation where you need a visa in a hurry, they will whizz one through for you in 3 working days. Of course the price increases by about four or five hundred rands. So that’s what we will be doing. Beggars can’t be choosers.

Apart from waiting for my UK Visitor In Transit Visa, I have been wrapping up at work and moving out of my flat. Neither of these are particularly pleasant and they are both quite time consuming. Hence my lack of recent blogging. I feel like the intermittent blogging is becoming the norm rather than the exception. I can’t wait until this mad whirl of preparations is over and I am happily on my journey, relaxing on beaches, gazing up at majestic mountains and composing endless blog posts. Hopefully the year to come will prove to be relaxing and the time will not come where I look back on my previous sentence and laugh bitterly at my naivety….