Meanwhile, I was struggling a bit in the fierce cross winds
as we left Vienna – I’d been warned that the winds would be high and that
Vienna is notoriously windy, but this still took me a bit by surprise. Fortunately
the roads were largely clear and marvellously smooth and straight – a real
change from the drive from Prague. We made cracking progress towards the
distant mountains, and as we got closer the wind dropped and we began to see
the peaks gleaming white with fresh snow. We climbed inexorably on, the car not
seeming too troubled by the ascent or the load. Soon we were at over 1,000m,
the temperature had dropped from the high teens in Vienna to low single digit
degrees Celsius, and the road began to wind through the snow fields. We stopped
at a big rest area towards the summit for drinks and photos, the cold air biting
through the summer clothes we’d worn to leave Vienna.
We continued on towards the Italian border beyond Graz (we’d
earlier planned to overnight in Graz but this seemed unnecessary). Again we
approached the big border crossing expecting to sail straight through, but this
time were surprised to see a group of paramilitary-uniform clad officials
pulling vehicles over. The tension immediately mounted in the car, and sure
enough, we were their next victims – and yes, I choose my words carefully! Having
dutifully pulled over, a guard approached and asked to see passports and
registration papers. Frances rummaged for some time in the caravan and returned
to produce the documents – the guard looked at them cursorily, and then
produced a document of his own – an Austrian highway vignette which one is
supposed to buy and display in order to drive on Austrian roads – purchase price,
€8
for a couple of week’s use. “Hadn’t we seen the signs at the border?” he asked
with a smirk. “Of course we hadn’t, otherwise we’d have bought the pass” we
replied indignantly. “No problem”, he went on “you can simply pay me the €120
on-the-spot fine – we take cash and all major credit cards, have a nice day!”
We were furious, but had no option. I asked the guard to
show me his ID – he produced some flimsy photo-card. The uniform, the asking to
see passports, the positioning of themselves at the border – all this was just
for show, to give innocent travellers the idea of officialdom. In reality, he
and his colleagues were just like the car clampers of London – employees of
private contractors whose job it is to fleece the unwary. Frances went to his
van to pay while my blood slowly came to the boil – so I went to the car and
produced the camera, which I took as close as I could to their van and began
taking pictures – not as a memento, but just to make them feel as uncomfortable
as they’d just succeeded in making us feel. As we left, in my best and recently
practiced (at the concert in Vienna to the cloakroom attendant a couple of evenings
before) indignant Englishman-abroad voice I told him that I thought this was
nothing short of highway-robbery. With his equally well practiced smirk
returning, he replied “No, it’s a tourist trap”.
And so smarting from the second fleecing in successive days
we bade farewell to Austria and headed into Italy. At least the Italians have
the good grace to tell you they’re going to fleece you as soon as you arrive –
the very first thing we did was take our ticket at the payage for the Autostrada.
We headed into the Italian Alps and soon found ourselves beginning the descent,
through a series of tunnels boring their way down the mountains, interspersed
by bridges spanning spectacular gorges. And as we’d emerge from each tunnel
onto the bridges the again fierce wind roaring up into the Alps would hit us
from completely unpredictable directions. We were in the grip of a real
mountain storm, with rain lashing down on us, the wind roaring from left or
from right. I kept the pace down to a crawl on the bridges, but maintained good
speed in the tunnel. And then before we knew it, the last Alps slipped past us
like ice-bergs on the ocean and we found ourselves on the plain in glorious
sunshine for the last 100km drive to Venezia. The contrast was remarkable –
properly Autumn as we left Vienna with the copper and bronzed leaves swirling
in the wind; the onset of winter in the Alps, with snow, wind and rain; and
then back into summer as we reached the plain, clear blue skies, grape vines in
full leaf and fruit lining the roads, beautiful stands of tall, straight and
green-leafed trees on either side of us – and that unmistakable Italian light,
soft, slightly hazy which makes even run-down or derelict farms and villages
look so peaceful and picturesque.
The last twenty or so kilometres were a little precarious as
we wound our way towards our destination along the narrow roads on top of the
levees which line the rivers. We had wanted to stay at Camping Marina di
Venezia which is situated on the Adriatic side of the peninsular to the northwest
of the Laguna Venezia – it was a great site when we had two lovely holidays
there in the early ‘70s, and looking at it now on the internet, has been massively
extended. It looked incredible – beautiful and vast pools, restaurants,
supermarkets, secluded pitches – an absolutely wonderful summer holiday
destination – but now, sadly, closed for the winter. Instead we are staying at
Mira Mare, just on the Venezia side of the point – stepping out of the site
allows you to look over the lagoon towards Venice in the South West, into the setting
sun – it’s beautiful. The site is nice, many trees providing filtered sunlight
to the dusty pitches, each marked out with hedges. The shoreline is the site of
a massive construction project (the Mose) to provide Venice with tidal flood defences
in response to the alarming increase in frequency of damaging floods. And we’re
just a few minutes both from the wonderful Adriatic beach (not quite as
wonderful or dramatic as Manly’s beautiful sandy beach) and from the ferry
terminal to take us into Venice. We arrived at around 6pm and managed to get
the awning up. But then, to quote Marlon Brando in Apocalypse Now, ‘The horror,
the horror’ – we opened the bathroom door to discover that the skylight had,
well, disappeared. We both maintained
that we hadn’t opened it or left it open, so can only assume that one of the
big gusts as we emerged from a tunnel caused it to blow out – that’s our excuse
and we’re sticking to it! We contacted the Caravan Club roadside support, and
they set the wheels in motion to get it sorted, while we headed out for our
first proper Pizza. Italian Pizza – perfect – it’s simple: a thin bread base,
not cooked to a frazzle, not thick and bready – a few simple fresh ingredients sparingly
spread, and the whole? – Superb, a world apart from the gooey offerings
elsewhere in the world.
Sunday was a day of well needed rest and recuperation – we
stayed at the site, read books, did washing, enjoyed the glorious weather. On
Monday we had to wait for a visit from a local caravan repair company, so a
good opportunity to catch up on more home school. Frances and I went for a run
to the lighthouse and onto the beach at the end of the promontory, and took the
opportunity to visit the beach front of Camping di Venezia – just as I remembered
it. In the afternoon, we all headed to the beach – we swam, sunbathed, made
sand sculptures and fished from the rocks (don’t worry, the fish were as safe
as houses!) – a wonderful late-summer’s day. Later we paid a visit to the local
supermarket – what a contrast to the Scandinavian and northern European
supermarkets. Here, fresh, ripe and succulent looking fruit and vegetables were
given pride of place, enticingly displayed – huge varieties of salamis and
cheeses fought for space with olives and other delights in the delicatessen, the
shelves in the aisles had wonderful varieties of pasta and bottled pasta
sauces. We stocked up and returned to a supper of fresh pasta and vegetables –
delicious.
Finally on Tuesday, yesterday, we headed into Venice on the
ferry. The tickets provide unlimited travel on ferries in the lagoon for 36
hours – expensive at almost €100, with no reductions for kids – but
they proved good value. The weather was surprisingly cloudy as we made our way
across the lagoon, and we were hopelessly under dressed in shorts and tee
shirts – at least Venice should be quiet we thought. Ha! As we arrived at
Piazzo San Marco (St Mark’s Square) we disembarked into hordes of tourists. We
made our way to a tourist information office, and realised that the costs of
tours, museums and galleries, and of course gondolas, was prohibitive. So we
bought the map and guide book and headed off to lose ourselves in Venice’s
extraordinarily intricate maze of beautiful palaces, churches, houses, alleys
and canals. It is almost indescribable. All of those other cities that describe
themselves as the Venice of the North – well, they aren’t – they’re wrong.
There is only one Venice. I’ve heard it said of London that ‘it’ll be nice when
it’s finished’ due to the never ending construction that’s around every corner.
Well, Venice is ‘nice’ and was finished hundreds of years ago. It’s incredible.
Obviously there is some maintenance work going on – but it all looks so right,
so complete in whatever stage of renewal or dilapidation. We followed narrow
alleys, took random turns to left or right, over bridges, under buildings – and
around every corner came upon the next stunning work of art. We managed to lose
the crowds as we walked (not easy, and this was a dull Tuesday morning in
October – I shudder to think what a busy Sunday in July would be like), and
emerged on-target at a small platform at the end of an alley onto the Grand
Canal. Here we stepped onto a Gondola ferry – not the €100-plus gondola tour – but a €1
ride across the Grand Canal on a real working gondola used as a ferry by locals.
Fabulous. And then we hopped on board a
ferry to take us along the Grand Canal. Us and hordes of others, mainly local –
extravagantly dressed elderly ladies, elegantly dressed business men and women,
a bride and groom with their photographer – and the ticket inspectors in their
suede Gucci loafers and bright red D&G glasses – they really do know how to
dress. We had our picnic lunch in a park in the increasingly warm sun which had
by now made an appearance, and then headed on on another ferry to Murano, the centre
of Venice’s famed glass blowing furnaces. We watched an impressive display of
the art that’s been practised here for hundreds of years, and then made the
obligatory departure through the showroom where we bought the cheapest souvenir
we could find! No doubt it will be in a thousand pieces by the time we get it
to Sydney!
As we returned via St Marks on the ferry to Punta Sabionne
in the beautiful late afternoon sun, we passed a vast cruise ship leaving
Venice by the Grand Canal. The views back over Venice with the Alps in the hazy
distance were spectacular, the creamy jade lagoon sparkling in the glorious sunshine
– a great end to a lovely day. We headed
home to lasagne made the previous evening.
This morning is another at base – we had to wait for the camping
repair guys to visit. They did so promptly and were finished replacing the
skylight in half an hour flat – we’re clearly not the first to have needed
their services for this! George and Charlie are busy doing home school, and
Frances is out sorting out some minor family medical needs. We’ll have lunch
here and then hop on a ferry to the islands – not Venice, but Burano and
perhaps Torcello. When we return this evening I’ll take the awning down in preparation
for leaving for Florence tomorrow.
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