The first organised tour of our European adventure was provided by an Oz company that sub-contracted us out to an Italian group. I'm sorry to say we were not at all impressed with certain aspects of the way it was conducted; and we were not the only ones who felt that way.
Day one involved a bit of sightseeing of Rome which covered most of the things we had already done plus a few more. That was OK as we knew and accepted that we would be doubling up on some of the things we did while we were staying with Gene.
By 6.30am on day two we were up and ready for our pick-up. We were still waiting at 6.45am so we went to the dining room to see if we could grab a quick bite of breakfast. Although it was not due to open until 7.00am, everything was set up for a Continental breakfast so we were allowed in. We had our sustenance and about 7.10am a fellow arrived and asked us to follow him. We had to walk about 500 meters to the roundabout outside Roma Termini where a mini-bus was waiting. We clambered aboard, somewhat disappointed at the standard of “coach” that had been provided.
After a while the fellow who had collected us returned with a few more people, obviously rounded up from other hotels, and we set off. About 10 minutes later we pulled up at the office of tour operator and were asked to disembark and find our tour director at the coach that would be taking us on our big adventure. Standing on the footpath amongst the would-be travellers and early morning office workers scurrying to their places of work, confusion seemed to reign supreme. Eventually however, we found someone who was able to direct us to a rather tall sandy haired fellow, probably in his late thirties/early forties, with ill-fitting dentures, who immediately reminded both of us of Barry MacKenzie, an Ocker of some renown in the 1960's. It was a bit disappointing that Mario did not sound like Bazza but he was certainly the Italian version in all other respects.
After confirming we were indeed passengers for the English speaking tour, a big bouncer-like fellow took our luggage and loaded it aboard the coach. He turned out to be Salvatore, our driver.
There were only sixteen passengers on the English speaking coach which was a cause of some irritation to Bazza – sorry Mario. He was originally scheduled to do a joint English/Italian tour but another guide had offered his services and the powers that be gave that guy the larger group of Italian speakers and poor old Mario had to put up with the rest of us. Although it was advertised that all service charges were included in the cost of the tour, we were all pretty sure that he was looking forward to the substantial tips that surely would be forthcoming from the joint groups; but he shouldn't have worried. He didn't get anything from anybody anyway!!!
There were only sixteen passengers on the English speaking coach which was a cause of some irritation to Bazza – sorry Mario. He was originally scheduled to do a joint English/Italian tour but another guide had offered his services and the powers that be gave that guy the larger group of Italian speakers and poor old Mario had to put up with the rest of us. Although it was advertised that all service charges were included in the cost of the tour, we were all pretty sure that he was looking forward to the substantial tips that surely would be forthcoming from the joint groups; but he shouldn't have worried. He didn't get anything from anybody anyway!!!
On reaching the outskirts of Rome, Mario advised us of all the fantastic optional sightseeing tours that we could go on. There would be a 'by night' wine-tasting tour of Florence, a visit to Pisa, a champagne gondola ride in Venice and a limoncello 'by night' cruise of the Venetian waterways in our very own private launch. It all sounded fantastic until he told us that the total cost of the four excursions was €120 per person but if we went on them all, it would be only €100 each. As you know we had already been to Pisa on our way to Rome so we elected not to go on it. Our choices still cost us €80 each but Mario was very disappointed at our decision..
Unbeknown to us, the members of a younger family (husband, wife and 12yo daughter) that had also stayed at the Hotel were of Italian decent. Both of the parents’ parents were immigrants. Although they spoke with regular Oz accents, they had an excellent understanding of Italian - and were sitting at the front of the bus. At the time we wondered at their decision not to book any of the extra tours on offer; and it wasn't until near the end of the tour that they told us why.
Our initial stop was the town of Assisi where we first called into a ceramics factory - one of those places where they take you on a short tour then line up in readiness for you to buy up big. On entering the building we were each given a numbered ticket and were told to hold onto it as, at the end of the tour, there would be a draw for an item donated by the factory. What a waste of time and a ticket giving it to me. I have never won anything in my life.
Our initial stop was the town of Assisi where we first called into a ceramics factory - one of those places where they take you on a short tour then line up in readiness for you to buy up big. On entering the building we were each given a numbered ticket and were told to hold onto it as, at the end of the tour, there would be a draw for an item donated by the factory. What a waste of time and a ticket giving it to me. I have never won anything in my life.
I must say that the work these people did was rather exceptional, though typically, very expensive. Like most of the sixteen on board, however, we managed to resist the temptation to buy and all got back on board the bus ready to go to the Basilica of Saint Francis with its early Renaissance masterpieces by Giotto and Cimabue. Before we took off, however, Mario announced it was time to draw the lucky door prize. Everybody had to tear their tickets along the dotted line, give him one of the halves and retain the other. There was much delay while we all did as we were told and made ready for the big draw. I didn't even check my number as I knew it wouldn't be me who would win.
With great fanfare Mario asked one of the passengers to draw the number and when she did, Rob screamed at me, “That's yours!” I could barely make myself look at my ticket such was my apprehension at the thought of at last winning something in a raffle; after all, if it was my number, it had taken me 66+ years to crack the big one. I did look, and sure enough, it was mine. With a tear in my eye, I gingerly raised my shaking hand, hoping and hoping that I was not having a dream and that I would not suddenly awaken to the cold light of reality.
However, Mario beamed and his false teeth only moved slightly. He came down to me and with a hearty, “Congratulations” handed me the prize. There were a few “well done's” from my fellow passengers as Mario made his way back to the front of the bus. I must say, I was somewhat overawed until, just as he was about to take his seat, one of the women near him called out, “Here it is. I found it.” Mario beamed again as he took something from her, then turned and headed back towards me. As he did so, he announced to everybody that the lady hadn't been able to find her ticket and since she now had done so, we had to have a redraw. I was still grasping my precious little package when he reached me, bent down and took it from my grasp. With a cheery, “Sorry” he spun back towards the front of the bus and happily called for another volunteer to redraw the prize. The winning ticket was held by a fellow sitting down the front who, for the first time since the original draw, beamed. Ah well, looks like I'm going to have to wait a little longer!!
As the bus headed off for the old town, the prize winner opened his prize and held up for all to see my, sorry his, beautifully hand painted and glazed plate.
The old town was a medieval, cobble stoned village perched high on a hill. There were two cathedrals there, one a very beautiful Basilica of St Clare and the other the Basilica of St Francis. Our visit to the tomb of St Francis was particularly moving for Rob as the teachers at the primary school that she had attended were Franciscans, an order of nuns and priests founded by him.
After our visit, we all walked to a cafe that Mario had strongly recommended for lunch. Unfortunately, the food was not all that flash and was a bit expensive. Mario also ate there but I did not see him handing over any money for the fare he received.
Back on the bus and off to Sienna in Tuscany where we walked past the huge town square that reminded Rob of the Piazza in Leichhardt in Sydney with its sunken core surrounded by many restaurants. A short time later we arrived at the Duomo, the Basilica of St Catherine. I guess that it was here that we started looking at these huge buildings in a different light. It seemed to us that every town had tried to outdo its neighbour in the grandiosity of its main place of worship. To us, this building was over the top. It did have beautiful and elaborate floors, walls and ceilings but its pillars consisted of carved and alternatively stacked green then white blocks of marble. Very garish!
The group had all separated for the walk around the town but at the appointed time we met up again for the rather long walk back to the bus. Mario gave the whole group a bit of an earful about punctuality and insisted we keep up with him on the way back. All well and good except that one of our number, a chap called Len, was in his eighties and had crook knees. His wife was not all that quick either and she used a walking stick. Before taking off, Mario promised not to walk too fast. As we commenced our long walk back, I noted that he stood head and shoulders above everybody else. That made him easy to spot in a crowd, especially as he was brandishing a plastic folder high above his head.
I was particularly keen to get to know Len. When we had boarded the bus we had to write down some of our personal details on a list and I noted that he was born in Australia but now lived in Denver, USA. We had heard him speak which he did with a broad American accent (though he sometimes drifted back to a sort of Oz – particularly when we reminisced about his boyhood and his regular visits back home) and we noted that his wife Rosa spoke with a mixed accent of American and something else. I walked back with him and as he tired during the long walk we dropped further and further behind the rest of the group. I was certainly not going to leave Len by himself and, to let him know that we were not lost, waved to Mario from time to time when he looked back. He saw us in the distance and, I'm sure realized why I was not keeping up with him, but he never once dropped off the pace.
As we made our way back, Len told me that he had left Oz when he was 18 looking for adventure. He ended up in Peru where he met, fell in love with and married Rosa. He started working in the Peruvian gold mines and had been involved in mining all his working life. He was now a shareholder in a few mines and was still a director of a number of them. He regularly flew around the world for Board meetings. He was fairly happy with life at that time as the world economy had started its freefall but gold prices were going through the roof. He was wonderfully interesting to talk to and we shared a number of moments together as the tour progressed.
When we got back to the bus, Mario gave us an icy stare but hey, who cares. At least I got Len back to the bus safely.
From Sienna we drove to Florence, checked into our hotel then headed off to a nearby restaurant for dinner. We were pretty excited about going to a restaurant for our first tour dinner but we shouldn't have been. It was a set meal of a bland soup, a particularly uninviting green pasta dish and a reasonable sweet. We had to buy our own drinks. Mario did not eat with us but disappeared after we had all been seated. I was worried that it was only me whose expectations were so much higher than what was on offer but subsequently heard that the others felt the same way to.
After dinner we lined up for the wonderful 'by night' wine-tasting tour of Florence. We drove around for a bit before stopping at a lookout on a hill near the city. It was quite beautiful and was adorned with a replica Michelangelo’s statue of David. Mario was very excited and his false teeth swam around in his mouth as he pulled out a bunch of small plastic cups and a bottle of wine. We each had a taste. And that was it! Time to get back on the bus and go back to the hotel for the night.
Next morning, after breakfast, we left on the bus to go to the CBD for a walking tour that included visits to Piazza del Duomo, the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, Giotto's Bell Tower, the Baptistery of St. John and the Academy of Fine Arts Gallery where the real David statue stands in all its glory. As I gazed upon it I could not help but think about my prostate operation... and wonder.
At the gallery we were also enthralled by the Musical Instrument Museum that featured instruments from many of the musicians sponsored by the Medici family that had such a huge influence, not only in Florence where they were based, but also in Italy and the wider Europe. Just to see a Stradivarius was pretty amazing.
When the formalities were over we went off walking, just the two of us and a lady who was travelling through Europe by herself, Irene. Of course we had to do the Ponte Vecchio, the most famous bridge in Florence. It used to be a private walkway for the Medicis but now there are shops (mainly jewellery stores) the whole way across on either side of the roadway.
After our tourist bit we wandered back to the hotel for a brief OPS before heading down-town for a bite to eat. We walked along the banks of the Arno River until we came across a little kiosk that we decided to risk. In fact, the food was great, the beer nice and cold and the view of the falling autumn leaves quite spectacular. In all we were very happy with our choice of an eating place, even though, being a Sunday, we did not have too many alternatives. That night we faced another tour provided meal at a restaurant that started its life as a convent before becoming a prison then restaurant. It was a bit better than the previous night's fare; only a bit.
At 8.00am next day we were on the bus ready for the final leg of our tour to Venice. Along the way, however, we stopped for a look at Padua, another name that was important to Rob. Her high school was Mount Alvernia but the boys' high school next door was Padua. She really was in her element. According to Mario, the town square in Padua is the largest in Europe. It did seem big and we will have to accept his word.
Had a bit of entertainment there when one of the tour group ladies (Tammy, an American with a rather loud voice who now lives in Sydney) had to go to the loo. Like most such places in Europe it was a pay job. This one had the added attraction of being coin in the slot. It never became totally clear how it all panned out as she ended up being too stressed to speak of the experience, but after a couple of false starts and a few extra coins, she was able to enter this place of great relief. She had just settled herself down as I understand ladies do when they enter such places when the self cleaning system swung into action, flooding the floor upon which her panties and slacks rested. While she was wildly trying to save them from the torrent, the door inexplicitly swung open, closed, then opened again, thus providing a great deal of entertainment to the waiting masses. We were at the bus some way from all the action but we were privy to the squeals of anguish that echoed across the car park. We were totally enthralled with the places we got to see during the tour; however this had to be the most exciting time.
Our last stop, which was where the tour ended, was Venice. I have to say that after the disappointments of the lead-up to our arrival, we were unable to become too excited about the place. We were supposed to be picked up by our own private launch which, after a long wait, ended up being a taxi. Our luggage was taken away to the hotel while we waited.
When we were finally picked up we were taken directly to St Marks Square where we embarked on a walking tour to visit the Basilica of St. Mark, the Doge's Palace and the Bridge of Sighs. Unfortunately our local guide did not really seem to enjoy her job, or it may have been that she did not really like tourists, so the tour was a little bland. We were however, extremely excited about going on a champagne gondola ride. Unfortunately, it too turned out to be something of a disaster.
Again, our gondolier seemed as if he would much sooner be doing anything other than taking a group of tourists through the back canals of Venice. At one stage, a few of us fellows had to jump into action when he ran into a set of steps along the way. I think there were five of us tourists aboard and before we left the wharf, Mario handed one of our number a cheap bottle of champagne and five plastic cups. As we meandered through a few rather smelly canals, we did have a sip of champagne which, I suppose, is really what the brochure said. It was all over in about ten minutes.
One of our number on the gondola was an Afro-American on leave from the US military stationed in Afghanistan. He was super fit and good looking so he wasn't too popular with the rest of us blokes on the tour. We did, however, feel for him when he told us at the end of our short ride that he did not want to appear disrespectful but his long held dream of his first gondola ride did not include the company of four oldies and no partner of his own to hold on to. I was sort of feeling sorry for him the next day and I sort of told him as much. But that all sort of changed when he responded that Mario had arranged a date for him with the young female photographer who took our photos as we left the wharf in the gondolas. He sort of indicated that he had had a wonderful night/morning and that any regrets about his first gondola ride had been erased from his memory!!!
After breakfast we all gathered at the hotel wharf to catch our “private launch” out to a glass factory in Murano where optional shopping was available. For that reason, I suspect, there was no additional charge to attend.
There seemed to be a bit of a problem with the skipper before we set off but after a few quiet words from Mario, the problem went away. After an interesting tour of the factory we all gathered once again on the wharf to await the arrival of our “private launch” back to the hotel. It didn't show so after a couple of frantic phone calls from Mario, a water taxi arrived to pick us up. Again there appeared to be a problem but this time, in spite of the quiet words from Mario, it did not go away. It appears the problem was we were too many for one taxi and were well and truly overloaded. The driver on the way over had buckled to Mario's pressure but the one going back would have nothing to do with it. Such was Mario's excitement that his teeth seemed to be having a separate conversation of their own as he tried to coerce the driver into breaking the law and putting our lives at risk. Eventually, however, he was forced to ask some of us to hop off and wait for another taxi that he had ordered. It turned up about fifteen minutes later.
The rest of the day was free time so we spent it wandering through those parts of the city where you could actually walk.
Dinner that night was pretty good I must say and it was a fine prelude to our limoncello 'by night' tour of the canals. Our private launch was the equivalent of a hire car; fairly new with cream leather upholstery. Everything was going swimmingly until suddenly, about five minutes into the cruise, our captain went berserk. He left the wheel and was standing at the front of the boat's cabin, looking towards the back and literally screaming in Italian. The only person on board who understood what he was saying was Mario who was trying quite unsuccessfully to calm him down.
There being no one at the wheel, we started to drift of course towards a barge coming in the opposite direction. Things were looking a bit sticky so Rob screamed at the skipper certain advice about our impending doom. He was so upset that he either chose to ignore her or did not hear/understand her. However, when Mario grabbed the wheel it brought him back to reality and he reluctantly shut up and steered us out of harm's way. It turned out that he had spotted one of our number standing on a seat to get a better view for a photograph. Mario explained the skipper's concern to the person concerned who, of course, immediately hopped down.
Mario decided to defuse the situation by pouring us all a plastic glass of limoncello which he promptly handed around to his charges. Our poor skipper still had not gotten over his hatred of tourists when suddenly he was off again. Once again we all scratched our heads as he stood looking towards the rear of the boat screaming and flinging his arms around wildly. Mario was eventually able to get the message through to a lady down the back that the skipper was a little concerned that the glass of limoncello she had placed on the top of the cabin might be knocked over and thus stain the fibreglass. The night was altogether too much for the skipper so he turned for home, dropping us off at the wharf of the pub with nothing more than a scowl.
Such was his concern at the outcome of the evening that Mario offered us all a second shot of limoncello – after we had alighted.
The tour finished after breakfast the next morning but not before we had to fill out a critique form that Mario passed around for the purpose. I thought I may have been the only one to notice it but it was the source of much discussion after Mario had gone. On the back of the sheet was notification of the optional tours that were supposed to have been made available to us. As was confirmed to us by our Italian speaking co-tourists who had listened to the conversation between Mario and Salvatore on day one, there should have been only three tours and the price was considerably less than he charged us.
After collecting the completed forms, Mario hung around for a time but when no-one offered him a gratuity, he left. Maybe he got the message and maybe we should have given him something towards a denture glue.
In spite of everything, we had a pretty good time and reported as such in our appraisal. I bit my tongue about the lucky door prize incident and gave Mario a good wrap because he did spend a lot of time trying to teach us to speak Italian, particularly how to pronounce the names of the places we visited. Poor bugger didn't realize what a waste of time it was trying to teach me. I can never remember the English names of places we visit let alone remember their pronunciation in Italian.
Come early afternoon it was time for us to leave Venice so, with our luggage trailing behind us, we wandered over to the railway station where a train was waiting to take us to Milan for the continuation of our solo travelling.
We had very much been looking forward to arriving in Milan and catching up with Urs, a friend who we had met through our mate Bob Crampton. Alas, however, it was not to be. Prior to our arrival we received a message from him saying that he had to leave town for a few days and would not be able to meet with us. We nearly cancelled our two day, three night stopover but eventually decided to stick with out itinerary; and we are pleased we did.
We did the open top bus tour of the city which we really enjoyed. However, there were three aspects of our visit that make the city very memorable. One was a little out of the way Italian pizza restaurant not far from where we were staying. It was run by a family of Chinese descent but was obviously authentic Italian as all the other patrons were locals. We enjoyed it so much that we had dinner there on two of the three nights we were in town.
The second experience came in two parts and brought home to us in a big way the generous nature of the Italians. We arrived in town about five o'clock in the afternoon and, unusually, were having difficulty finding our way to our pub using the tourist map we had picked up at the station. Eventually, after walking for around fifteen minutes, we gave in and asked a couple of young women passing by for assistance. They couldn't have been more helpful. It took them about five minutes going into local stores and getting directions before they led us to the hotel.
The second part of this experience happened on our last morning in the city. We were trying to find the local laundromat but with no success. Eventually, Rob went into a shop and asked for help. Another customer waiting to be served told her she knew where it was and that it was a few blocks away. “Come with me” she said as she marched out of the shop with Rob in tow. I caught up with them and started talking to our benefactor. She was originally from Sri Lanka but had lived in Milan for eight years. For some unknown reason, I wished good fortune on the Sri Lankan cricket team which pleased her immensely. As a result, instead of getting to the street and pointing out where the laundromat was situated, she continued on, entered the shop, told the proprietor what services we required, negotiated a favourable price on our behalf and, with a cheery wave, bade us farewell. How good was that!!
The last experience we had that made us so happy to have gone to Milan was our visit to Como. What a beautiful little town on the shores of a magnificent lake that bears the same name. We were due to leave Milan at midnight on our third day accepting that we would not get to see Como because the tourist season had finished and the tourist services had stopped. However, early that afternoon, Rob decided that we should go by ordinary train and do our own thing when we got there.
When we arrived we wandered outside the station and not seeing any sign of a lake, had a look at a map of the local bus routes. In our ignorance we decided on a bus to catch and after a lot of loud talking and waving of arms were able to buy a ticket from a young official whose understanding of English was as good as our understanding of Italian. That having been achieved, we settled down to await the arrival of our bus. As we waited, however, it began to dawn on us that our proposed journey was quite long and we had left ourselves no leeway if anything were to go wrong. After a bit of soul-searching we decided to see if we could get our ticket money back and head back to Milan. Fortunately Rob encountered an English speaking Italian in the line-up at the ticket counter and he was able to assist her get a full refund. This having been achieved we relaxed a little and decided to go for a walk into the town. How happy we were that we did!
After a short walk we reached the lake and a quick check of ferry services showed us that a one hour return ferry trip was about to leave. We bought our tickets and with the two or three other passengers, climbed on board. The journey was just spectacular, stopping at four little villages along the way to load and unload passengers. On the way back we noticed a funicular shooting up a mountain by the side of the lake so, upon our arrival back at the wharf, headed straight for it.
I think I have mentioned on previous occasions that I am not one for heights; but I stuck it out and, in the end, had to admit I enjoyed the experience immensely.
When we got back down from the mount we wandered back into town for a quick look around before heading up the hill to catch the train back to Milan. It seemed a little silly going back because in about five hours we would be on the same line heading for Paris.
Although we had checked out from our hotel that morning, they were kind enough to store our bags for us and to allow us to use their lounge while we awaited the 1.00am train. I thought it would be a real drag sitting around after we returned from dinner at our special pizza joint but, was I wrong.
We were the only guests in the lounge for most of the three hours we had to wait so the young lady looking after the area had very little to do. She was looking fairly bored with life until a fellow arrived that she seemed to know fairly well. After a few pleasantries they wandered over to a booth very close to where we were seated. The noises that ensued were something else again. After waiting for what seemed to be an age, we started wondering just how long it could continue; then another guest arrived. After a short delay and a quick smoothing of clothing, the young lady emerged, attended to the new arrival and saw him out the door with a friendly smile. She then literally rushed back to her friend, with barely a glance towards us, and proceeded to carry on from where they had left off. By the time we left at about midnight, Rob and I were totally exhausted.
Our train to Paris was an overnight sleeper so as soon as we boarded we jumped straight into bed and it wasn't long before we both drifted off to sleep. We were due into Paris Bercy station at mid-morning but we found ourselves awake fairly early, excited about our first visit to the city of romance. Our next tour had been arranged through Scenic Tours of Newcastle here in Oz but part of it involved a three day pre-tour, fully escorted, stopover in a five star hotel in the centre of Paris, the Hotel Scribe.
We had been a bit concerned that we were too early to check in, but, as we wandered into the Reception area, from behind us came this young Aussie voice that said, “Ah, this looks like a couple of my wonderful Scenic people. Welcome to Paris.” We had given him a big hint in that I was carrying a Scenic Tours backpack but, just the same, it gave us a great feeling being recognized. .
We explained to Geoff, our new Tour Director, our concerns at our early arrival but, in what turned out to be his normal unruffled way, he assured us that we would be looked after. And we were! After booking in, Geoff gave us a number of options that we could do during the day until we were to meet in a hotel function room for welcome drinks and the formal start to the stopover activities. This was promising to be a beaut second half of our European adventure.
After our three star tour with our previous tour operator, imagine our surprise and delight at this reception. The Scribe was fantastic. We almost decided to go out and buy a couple of bells to hang around our necks so that we wouldn't lose each other in the room. The hotel has a very fine history. During the period 1863 to 1913 the first floor was occupied by the prestigious Jockey Club de Paris. The ground floor was occupied by the Grand Café and on 28 December 1895 it was in there that the Lumière brothers' invention, the Cinematograph had its very first public showing.
We spent the remainder of the day on another open top bus marveling at the sights of the city and getting our bearings in preparation for the next few days. Come five o’clock we made our way to one of the function rooms in the basement of the hotel and thus began our next big adventure.