We had to transfer planes in Germany (Frankfort) for our flight to Venice. Ah, German customs, do I need to say more? The spirit of the Hun is alive and well there. And of course David wearing his steel-toed work boots to help with the luggage weight, plus some of his tools of his trade in the carry on only helped add to the officious and authoritative treatment there. I realize in this unfortunate day and age of threats extreme precautions must be taken, but there is a courteously professional way to do it.
This final leg of the trip was the best, not only for its short duration (@ 45 minutes), nor for the fact it was the final ride, but because we flew across the Alps. I didn’t realize what we were fling over at first because one minute we were in the clouds and the next minute I looked out the window and there was Heidi-land, the Sound of Music scenery below! Of course there is still snow on the tops which made a striking contrast with the steep sides and valleys lower down. I wish I had pictures to show you but the camera was tucked away. As we flew nearer Venice, the land abruptly flattened out. There didn’t seem to be much of a transition to hills, just huge mountains and flat land, embroidered with winding waterways of rivers and canals.
We picked up our rental car, an Italian Fiat. Just a quick comment here on that: when David was making arrangements with the car rental, an Italian father was doing the same for his family of four and he must have overheard what type of car we were getting. He comes back to his wife, whispers something to her while looking in my direction. She turns and looks at me too, sitting with two suitcases, two computers and a carryon piled on a cart, and two other large suitcases setting beside the cart. I must have looked like Ma Joad sitting there with all my worldly possessions. The husband and wife both start to giggle and I said, hoping they understood English, “you don’t think we can fit all this in a compact?” She laughed and shook her head. Well, we made it and with inches to spare! We could have squeezed another carryon in there if needed!
Now David has driven in England and Ireland, so driving stick shift in a foreign country was no challenge to him, besides the Italians drive on the fight side of the road, just like in America, so a piece of cake. Our challenge, after racing on the motorway for about a 45 minute drive, was to find our hotel amidst a city about the size of Williamsport. Pordenone has about four or so exits and the first we took led us to an Industrial park. Back on the motorway to try the next exit, which turned out to be central city. Now in America, our streets are laid out in a grid pattern, here, I don’t think there is a straight street anywhere. At the very least, they curve with the majority being a twisting, turning snail of pavement, brick or cobblestone. But that is the quaintness we admire in pictures, no? And there are no billboards and flashing neon signs to alert you to your destinations. We finally asked a gentleman, whose English, while adequate, was a tough to follow. So he kindly drew us a nicely detailed map which we followed successfully.
Pictures of apartments across the street from our hotel.We were exhausted of course, so did a little unpacking and took a wee nap as we were meeting the other guys who are here for a few days for supper. All of the others are from NC or Texas; we are the only two Yankees, and thus the only two people who don’t have accents. We were hoping to find a tratorria, or mom and pop type place, to eat as none of us were really hungry. There were plenty of osterias (restaurants) and cafes to choose from, but not what we were in the mood for. One of the Texans inquired of a lady walking along the street where we might find a place to eat. She looks him blankly as she doesn’t understand what he is saying, even in Texan dialect. He rubs his stomach to indicate hunger, she gets an “aha” expression on her face, and leads us a few doors away to a grocery store. She explains in broken English and the universal rubbing of the thumb and index finger to indicate money, that a grocery store is cheaper than a restaurant. I told her we were in a hotel and therefore no way to cook. It must have been the Yankee accent, or my superb explanation, but she understood what I said. She then continued to lead us along the street till she turned to go down what appeared to my eyes to be a narrow alley. We all paused and she gestured with her arm to follow her and plucked at my sleeve for emphasis, so we followed. Ah, a pizza-type shop, although there was much more on the menu than pizza. We said grazie to our kind guide and all five guys and me sat down to a delicious supper. David and I shared a pizza, which as you might expect in Italy, is so far above and removed from our poor American version. Delicioso! And so ended our rather long Monday (6:30 AM) that has now stretched to 10:00 PM Tuesday.
