What? Matthew and I are taking our honeymoon with bicycles!
Where? Southern Italy.
When? mid-March till mid-April.
Why? We needed to choose a place where neither of us has been before (ruling out Latin America), that had favorable weather in early spring, and was suitable for bike travel. And tie-breaker: Italy has more varieties of cheese than does Greece, so there we are.
How? Flying into Rome, we're taking the trains to Sorrento, then biking from small town to small town, eating ourselves into bliss and staying in little hotels along the way.
Little needs to be said of our red-eye flight to Rome. Matthew had a break in consciousness, and even though I was contained in a self sealed hat over eyes, ear plugs and mask, I mostly just rearranged my body from one bony discomfort to same.
The entry into Italy through customs made me laugh at it's nonchalance. The policeman at the usually intimidating counter slouched over his phone; he waved me forward disinterestedly and I opened my passport on the counter. He then returned to tapping out a lengthy text message as I stood waiting. Long enough that I wondered if he was aware of my presence. Finally, he hit send, looked up, briefly compared my face to my passport, and gave me a hardy stamp. No questioning what I was going to do in his country, how long I was staying, nothing. I laughed walking away.
Reuniting with our bicycle boxes in the giant luggage room felt amazing. Then we had impossibly awkward pieces of cargo to heft along with us. I carry my bike then my bike will carry me.
It's wonderful how my first experience of Italy has fit exactly how one would imagine: in the Napoli train station, the men in grey sweaters, elbows on the espresso counter, holding miniature glass cups all foamy, gesticulating pointedly with the other hand holding a cigarette.
Other Impressions in our first 4 hours here: so much smoking (ladies too, not just dudes, like in Latin America where I've traveled), terracotta roofs, narrow women sporting big mascara, bright white sneakers, moviestar sunglasses. Opuntia cacti grow as weeds! Farm fields are bright green, the surge of spring growth. Orange trees. Pastries and coffees.
We'd been wondering to ourselves, "what will be the first thing we eat in Italy", because indeed when we've announced we're traveling here everyone lights up and goes, "BUT THE FOOD!"
It was a train-station desperation purchase, feeling diminished from paltry sleep, and hauling two supersized boxes around, I had gotten that crash of hunger. Croissant sandwiches of various persuasions lined up under a glass counter and I chose one that would have been twice as expensive in Ithaca: smoked salmon. Its croissant was topped with flaxseed and the layers of it lifted off from each other. And in the layers were poppyseeds. Seeds! Rolls of goat cheese fell out the edges and flecks of arugula left me craving more green. It was heaven--no apologies for sounding trite here-- eaten in a dark subway tunnel as we leaned against our boxes.
Navigating the 250 miles from Rome to Sorrento (where we commence our cycle trip) on public transport has been a perplexing labyrinth of ticket counters, platforms, signage, immense time-tables. Surging crowds of fashionable people. Matthew, blessings on his head, researched the various train companies, departure times, and ticket purchasing options before we arrived. I would have been lost for days without him. Still, we spent no small amount of time with me posted up with our boxes parked by a wall, with him charging off to wayfind which turn down which crowded passageway would be next.
We carry the two boxes between us, each person grabbing a handhold of each box. Flowing along. How about that for a test of marriage success? My hands are red from the cardboard edges.
On the train to Napoli, I wove my way down the train cars to the beverage car and ordered an espresso from Snr Caffe. My first opportunity to try speaking a little Italian! And so it goes: my order for coffee and a little milk, please, all came rattling out in Spanish. Jaja!
While I was there, a squishy-looking British lad said in English to Snr Caffe, "toe wah tahs". Snr Caffe looked confused, and even though I couldn't even speak Italian, I translated for Squishy. "Acqua, per favore, duo." Seeing a look of recognition on Snr Caffe's face was most satisfying. Then an American lad came to the counter. "I want popcorn" he said. The way he said it, "Pop corn" has the same cadence as "acqua" and so Snr Caffe plopped him a carton of water. America looked confused. "No, pop corn" he said more carefully. "Ah!" crowded Snr Caffe, "Popp-oh corn-oh!" It was so spectacularly Italian, and I left the car weaving back with huge smiles.
1 comment:
What a brilliant idea for a honeymoon! Thank you for sharing your journey with us!
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