Good sleep, woke to near silence from the wild animals, although still a few faint rumblings to assure me that the world hadn't ended.
Later discovered that the chief-expectorator was my Cashmere-e friend - he was in the cubicle next to me showering (i.e. the cubicle adjacent to mine - we weren't that friendly...) and sounded like he was trying to 'cough up' a lung through his right nostril.
After that torment I was then kicked out of the room early by the cleaners despite my insistence that they were early (which they were, did I mention that?) and walked to the station with Cashmere Man (TM).
Arrived at Genova after picturesque train ride through tunnels (the joy of darkness) and out into mountains and hillside towns. The guidebook gave me the qwrong directions to my hostel so I got off the bus at completely the wrong time, but I asked a girl in Italian what was going on and she directed me to the right bus which I just about got on. It was crammed full and with my sunstantial luggae, the slightest movement sent ripples down the bus resulting in hard stares for the locals. But it'll take more than that to stop me, oh yes. (OK, stop kicking me in the shins you bunch of miserable so and sos - I give in.)
Spoke Italian perfectly at the hostel reception after some Chinese chaps before me had no clue but the receptionist automatically switched to English. How dare she. Supposedly she wanted to practice, not that she needed it. Maybe some manners and understanding wouldn't go amiss but the English was perfectly understandable.
I ask you eh, I don't know. Oh Arthur...
Opted for the cheap 'home-cooked' food offered at the hostel 'restaurant' but was somewhat more than disappointed to find that it was hard, dry, microwaved pasta with a pesto sauce (ok the sauce wasn't too bad) and a sald drowned in vinegar and oil.
Welcome to Genova!
Wednesday 15 April 2009
Tuesday 7 April 2009
Pavia on a Sunday
Woke to sounds more akin to a cave full of wild animals than a youth hostel, such was the din coming from my dorm mates. I really don't know how it was possible.
Day trip to Pavia today and when I asked the railway man if it was the right train for Pavia he pointed out in no uncertain terms that it was pronounced Pavia. That was me told good and proper.
Pavia was a very quiet and peaceful town, accentuated by the shops being shut and hence not many people around. Sunday, Bloody Sunday. The shops are shit, there's nothing to do...
However, after strolling through the many narrow medieval streets, lined with cobbled together buildings and leading into squares without warning, I had a lie down in the sun by the river and collected my thoughts. I soon lost them but for a fleeting moment I felt like I had it all together.
Back in Milan for aperitivo time and Napoli v Milan on the big screen. The match wasn't great but food and beer for €7 saved the day.
In the hostel I met a bloke from Cashmerrrre (as he pronounced it). Still can't be sure of his name but I have his email.
He was saying all European cities were the same, despite admitting to having stayed in the hostels for most of his trip. He really wants to come to England. And get a job as a golfer or something.
He talked about cricket and how England haven't had any good players since 'Iron'. What? Turned out to be I-an Botham. OF course. I pointed out that he was talking complete tosh in the nicest of ways, he suggested exchanging emails and coming to visit me in England, and then I made my excuses citing good night's sleep requirements and headed for bed/away.
Day trip to Pavia today and when I asked the railway man if it was the right train for Pavia he pointed out in no uncertain terms that it was pronounced Pavia. That was me told good and proper.
Pavia was a very quiet and peaceful town, accentuated by the shops being shut and hence not many people around. Sunday, Bloody Sunday. The shops are shit, there's nothing to do...
However, after strolling through the many narrow medieval streets, lined with cobbled together buildings and leading into squares without warning, I had a lie down in the sun by the river and collected my thoughts. I soon lost them but for a fleeting moment I felt like I had it all together.
Back in Milan for aperitivo time and Napoli v Milan on the big screen. The match wasn't great but food and beer for €7 saved the day.
In the hostel I met a bloke from Cashmerrrre (as he pronounced it). Still can't be sure of his name but I have his email.
He was saying all European cities were the same, despite admitting to having stayed in the hostels for most of his trip. He really wants to come to England. And get a job as a golfer or something.
He talked about cricket and how England haven't had any good players since 'Iron'. What? Turned out to be I-an Botham. OF course. I pointed out that he was talking complete tosh in the nicest of ways, he suggested exchanging emails and coming to visit me in England, and then I made my excuses citing good night's sleep requirements and headed for bed/away.
Monday 6 April 2009
Beer Festival Italian Style and a Big Arena to Watch Football In
Italy has a beer festival, yes it's true.
However, before that I was conned by an African selling me some dodgy wristband. The problem was my Italian must have been better than his and he didn't respond to my questioning and just persisted with his hand cupping. I gave him some shrapnel and fobbed him off - my little bit for charity.
So to the main event. I stumped up my cash and was presented with a beer glass and a yellow pocket holder to hang round my neck. With that I marched in and was greeted with a whiff of beer in a delightful setting of a sports hall. Isn't that where all beer festivals are held?
I sampled as many beers as my ten tokens would allow (which funnily enough was 10) and during which had several successful conversations in Italian with the various purveyors, including a chap who genuinly was interested in exporting his beer to England (I have his card) and a man with a rather distunguished curly moustache. I was complemented on my Italian which came as a bit of a shock especially as I was struggling to string a few words together, but then the miracles of beer happened and soon as was regailing the young ladies with my stories of made up nonsense.
OK so a fair bit of blagging must have gone on but I was dashed pleased with myself. And perhaps a little tipsy.
The next appointment after the festival was the relatively nearby San Siro stadium. It turned out to be in the arse end of nowhere, as most fooball stadia are I suppose. Unfortunately Milan weren't playing that weekend (and I wasn't going to pay to see Mourinho's lot) but I got to see the stadium nonetheless. And it's big. And concretey.
However, before that I was conned by an African selling me some dodgy wristband. The problem was my Italian must have been better than his and he didn't respond to my questioning and just persisted with his hand cupping. I gave him some shrapnel and fobbed him off - my little bit for charity.
So to the main event. I stumped up my cash and was presented with a beer glass and a yellow pocket holder to hang round my neck. With that I marched in and was greeted with a whiff of beer in a delightful setting of a sports hall. Isn't that where all beer festivals are held?
I sampled as many beers as my ten tokens would allow (which funnily enough was 10) and during which had several successful conversations in Italian with the various purveyors, including a chap who genuinly was interested in exporting his beer to England (I have his card) and a man with a rather distunguished curly moustache. I was complemented on my Italian which came as a bit of a shock especially as I was struggling to string a few words together, but then the miracles of beer happened and soon as was regailing the young ladies with my stories of made up nonsense.
OK so a fair bit of blagging must have gone on but I was dashed pleased with myself. And perhaps a little tipsy.
The next appointment after the festival was the relatively nearby San Siro stadium. It turned out to be in the arse end of nowhere, as most fooball stadia are I suppose. Unfortunately Milan weren't playing that weekend (and I wasn't going to pay to see Mourinho's lot) but I got to see the stadium nonetheless. And it's big. And concretey.
Saturday 21 March 2009
Technology Conquered & A Splash of Culture
Aha! Ahahahahahahaha!!
They said it couldn't be done. They said I was mad to even think about it, let alone attempt such a feat. But I've done it. (Well assuming this actually works of course - I may end up being encased in an oversized humble pie and baked for all eternity should I fail to pull this off...)
This is the aforementioned largest Gothic cathedral in the whole wide world. Known to the locals as il Duomo, it is the third largest Roman Catholic church in the world, not quite surpassing St Peter's in Rome and the leviathon in Seville.
And this...
This is another picture of said gallery. It's opulent and possibly even a bit gaudy too. I have more pictures of it but I'm sure I've talked about it too much by now already.
Well that's enough technology (and culture) for me for the time being. I need a lie down before a day's beer drinking at the Beer Festival, or perhaps la festa delle birre, whatever suits.
They said it couldn't be done. They said I was mad to even think about it, let alone attempt such a feat. But I've done it. (Well assuming this actually works of course - I may end up being encased in an oversized humble pie and baked for all eternity should I fail to pull this off...)
This is the aforementioned largest Gothic cathedral in the whole wide world. Known to the locals as il Duomo, it is the third largest Roman Catholic church in the world, not quite surpassing St Peter's in Rome and the leviathon in Seville.
And this...
is, and I quote from the Rough Guide, 'the gaudily opulent Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II' which is now a big gallery full of shops and cafes. But it used to be a big gallery full of not much which served as a walkway to La Scala. It was built by some chap in the 1800s and tragically he fell to his death from the roof a few days before the opening ceremony. Who knows what he was doing up there - surely it was finished by that time and where was the Health & Safety red tape preventing such an untimely death? Ah yes it was in Italy...I understand now.
This is another picture of said gallery. It's opulent and possibly even a bit gaudy too. I have more pictures of it but I'm sure I've talked about it too much by now already.
Well that's enough technology (and culture) for me for the time being. I need a lie down before a day's beer drinking at the Beer Festival, or perhaps la festa delle birre, whatever suits.
Friday 20 March 2009
Learnings
The Milanese (and perhaps all Italians) wear sunglasses come what may - day, night, sun, shade, they have them on.
The locals try to confuse travellers such as I by speaking English then Italian then English then Italian. Then English. Fact. They do this deliberately I'm quite sure.
If you go to a bar between around 5:30 and 8 and order a drink (which is customary), it unlocks the doors to free food.
The Milanese wear coats and scarves and sometimes gloves when it is 17+ degrees C and sunny. Maybe they paid so much for their designer clobber that they can't bring themselves to remove them. Or maybe they are just very cold people.
I didn't bother getting my permesso di soggiorno yesterday and the police didn't kick me out or shoot me. I think taking the laidback attitude and not bothering is the way forward.
The unfriendly person who was neither Italian or English turns out in actual fact to be Italian. I was sure he said he didn't speak Italian or English and then I heard him speak perfect Italian later in the day to someone else. I'm still shunning him.
The Milan Beer Festival starts today. Here in Milan, a festival of beer! A festival, featuring beer, in Milan, in a meatsuit? Surely not...
Seeing as I'm here in Milan and like beer I might have to go along. Although I don't have a meatsuit, but my inside sources tell me it's a red herring. And what's more, it's not just today but the whole weekend.
That's enough learning for the moment. But I do need to learn some Italian football words, pronto, in order to improve the football watching, beer drinking experience. (I admit the football and beer parts are the main bit but I'm aiming for the top.)
From now on I'll be wearing sunglasses and going to bars in the early evening much more. I think this fitting into the culture thing is going to work out just fine.
The locals try to confuse travellers such as I by speaking English then Italian then English then Italian. Then English. Fact. They do this deliberately I'm quite sure.
If you go to a bar between around 5:30 and 8 and order a drink (which is customary), it unlocks the doors to free food.
The Milanese wear coats and scarves and sometimes gloves when it is 17+ degrees C and sunny. Maybe they paid so much for their designer clobber that they can't bring themselves to remove them. Or maybe they are just very cold people.
I didn't bother getting my permesso di soggiorno yesterday and the police didn't kick me out or shoot me. I think taking the laidback attitude and not bothering is the way forward.
The unfriendly person who was neither Italian or English turns out in actual fact to be Italian. I was sure he said he didn't speak Italian or English and then I heard him speak perfect Italian later in the day to someone else. I'm still shunning him.
The Milan Beer Festival starts today. Here in Milan, a festival of beer! A festival, featuring beer, in Milan, in a meatsuit? Surely not...
Seeing as I'm here in Milan and like beer I might have to go along. Although I don't have a meatsuit, but my inside sources tell me it's a red herring. And what's more, it's not just today but the whole weekend.
That's enough learning for the moment. But I do need to learn some Italian football words, pronto, in order to improve the football watching, beer drinking experience. (I admit the football and beer parts are the main bit but I'm aiming for the top.)
From now on I'll be wearing sunglasses and going to bars in the early evening much more. I think this fitting into the culture thing is going to work out just fine.
Thursday 19 March 2009
Day 1 - It's gripped, sorted - let's travel Italy...
OK, so it's day 2 now but that's hardly a good way to start a blog is it. Hmm, hmm?
Don Adriano (or rather me to brutally honest), successfully arrived on The Peninsula using fare means and foul, tried his hand (so that's my hand really - do you see what I've done there) at the ol' lingo and navigated his way to the hostel of choice for the first three days, namely Ostello La Cordata. The guidebook recommended it as the numero uno whic means the rest of the bunch must be pretty bad indeed.
Still I do have free internet. Free I tells yer, free!
I had a wander in to the centro and saw a huge Gothic cathedral (it's the world's largest you know), various piazze and a lot of shops. And then some more shops, ans then a shopping arcade and then some tree lined avenues containing shops. OK so they weren't tree-lined but they had shops on them all the same.
I also found the main police station which was to find out if I needed a permesso di soggiorno in order to avoid being kicked out of the country. The policeman seemed impressed with my pigeon Italian and didn't shoot me so I take that as a victory. But I do have to go back this morning so who knows what might happen.
Then a bit of supermarket food and back to the hostel whereupon I encountered my dorm-mates. They murmured a response to my perfect 'Ciao' but that was it, so I shunned them. Haha! That'll teach them to mess with Don Adriano.
I found a better area of town later in the evening for eating and drinking and again survived without being shot (which I see as a positive boon) and then opted for an early night considering the recent lack of sleep I'd had in preparation for this whole escapade.
And having spent a night and morning in the company of my friendly dorm mates I conclude that they are not Italian or English, they snore a fair bit, and spend half an hour in the bathroom expectorating. All of them.
Well that's it for now. I have to use the facilities before the cleaners kick me out and then it's off for more exploration and such with the continued aim of not getting shot.
Don Adriano (or rather me to brutally honest), successfully arrived on The Peninsula using fare means and foul, tried his hand (so that's my hand really - do you see what I've done there) at the ol' lingo and navigated his way to the hostel of choice for the first three days, namely Ostello La Cordata. The guidebook recommended it as the numero uno whic means the rest of the bunch must be pretty bad indeed.
Still I do have free internet. Free I tells yer, free!
I had a wander in to the centro and saw a huge Gothic cathedral (it's the world's largest you know), various piazze and a lot of shops. And then some more shops, ans then a shopping arcade and then some tree lined avenues containing shops. OK so they weren't tree-lined but they had shops on them all the same.
I also found the main police station which was to find out if I needed a permesso di soggiorno in order to avoid being kicked out of the country. The policeman seemed impressed with my pigeon Italian and didn't shoot me so I take that as a victory. But I do have to go back this morning so who knows what might happen.
Then a bit of supermarket food and back to the hostel whereupon I encountered my dorm-mates. They murmured a response to my perfect 'Ciao' but that was it, so I shunned them. Haha! That'll teach them to mess with Don Adriano.
I found a better area of town later in the evening for eating and drinking and again survived without being shot (which I see as a positive boon) and then opted for an early night considering the recent lack of sleep I'd had in preparation for this whole escapade.
And having spent a night and morning in the company of my friendly dorm mates I conclude that they are not Italian or English, they snore a fair bit, and spend half an hour in the bathroom expectorating. All of them.
Well that's it for now. I have to use the facilities before the cleaners kick me out and then it's off for more exploration and such with the continued aim of not getting shot.
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