A Facebook post titled ‘Flying High with Newly Weds’, a cynical take by a sixty something flyer on a newlywed couple’s antics on a flight, lead me to write this post. Just to give you a little bearing of where I am coming from, this gentleman was sitting next to this couple and has poked fun at the goings-on during the flight, no there was nothing untoward or ‘mile high club like’ it was just stuff like mutual adoration, pulling out the longest noodle from their cup noodles competition etc. that he has commented upon and seriously doubted that these sentiments would last more than a couple of years.
This lead me to want to share my flying experiences as a couple. My partner and I have made dozens of flight trips together and to disappoint that cynical writer, the narrative has remained pretty much the same. Yes there is that wee bit of tension while locking the house and getting to the airport as I am happy go lucky to an extreme and he more circumspect about locking the house, needing to check things like the gas mains being switched off, the windows and doors being secured, not once but multiple times. He also likes to get to the airport three hours in advance, I resisted this for a few years fearing that the journeys were as it is so long and that this just added to them, therefore unnecessarily exhausting us further, but he has now won me over with the argument that the earlier we go to the airport , the earlier our holiday starts and I am now a convert to his way of thinking. What also helped is getting an Airport Lounge Membership, so its truly relax time, once we get through immigration and security.
The fun starts at the check-in counter itself, in more recent times, having web checked in and being at the airport three hours in advance we sail through check inn, this post is not about the minor skirmishes that we have faced at this stage thanks to incompetent staff so I need not elaborate on them. Then we head for immigration, we always go to the immigration guy together, yes they are mostly guys, the only time that I recollect the immigration officer being a lady was at Dubai Airport. We have a little chat with him, if he is so inclined, we have left most immigration officers, if not laughing, at the least smiling in our wake. Then it is off to security, we unfortunately have to separate ways for a bit, I always say a cheery Hello to the officer and stand like a scarecrow with my arms out at the sides for the body check and invariably get a compliment for being such a good subject. We then unite like long lost lovers and just as we reach the duty free shops, I let out a loud whoop, this whoop is unchanged over all the years, and even though I write of it here it is absolutely spontaneous. Then we head to eat/ lounge and get on the flight. When the configuration is such that there would be someone sitting alongside us, we get on the flight with some trepidation. Over the years I realized that rather than thinking of this person as the enemy, he or she should be befriended and since then, I have taught many a bucolic ‘Bebe’ (old lady) who would be petrified of the journey to relax, sit back, on occasion on her being willing to have a drink, Bailey’s is always a hit, and watch the TV. For us, her guffaws thereafter on the Hindi comedy she is watching simply add to our romance.
Now, about us love birds. On takeoff, we hitherto unreligious types, do say a prayer for a safe flight and another chanceless holiday.
The discussion about how many movies we are going to watch starts weeks before taking the flight, once we get on the first thing we do is check-out the movies, we then have a discussion over these and yes (fanfare) we must watch all movies in unison, so they are timed or when necessary paused while the other gets there as we want to have the identical flight experience. We hold hands, laugh and cry together. Then comes the discussion on the drinks and food, this is painstaking, yes we could well be in a Michelin star restaurant. The wine bottle is stared at to see if it is any good, the juice quality is considered and then the same drink is ordered, my partner will as at home land up feeding a part of his snack to me, cause I have gobbled mine up fast and he lovingly wants to feed me his. Drinks are matched, jokes are cracked with the air hostess, she is always ready to supply us whatever and whenever but other than getting even happier we have never drunk ourselves silly on a flight nor would we encourage anyone else to.
Now, starts the tango as two hours into the flight our hearty size and its infringing on the others space becomes more obvious, my partner sleeps more easily, so on occasion I will let him sprawl into my chair and go and stand in another quiet cabin so that he can spread out and have a good sleep, these days, as we invariably go on road trips and he has to start driving the moment he lands in a foreign country, letting him sleep is probably selfish rather than benevolent on my part. But, now I come to the most romantic part of my journey, it is when I need to use the loo, till date, not a flight has gone by, when he does not first clean the entire loo and only then let me enter, this act for me is the most romantic act of all, on these journeys and yes, it makes me feel like a queen and makes me think of him as an Olympic gold medalist.
Hungary is a land locked country in Central Europe about the size of the Indian state of Rajasthan, with a population of about 10 million. It’s biggest lake – Balaton is often referred as its sea, it has a surface area of 600 km2 and is the largest lake in Central Europe. Hungary has a history of being occupied by foreign powers much like India’s. It formed its latest Republic in 1989 after gaining independence from its Russian occupier. Hungarians are known for their poeticism and literature which is poignant as it often resounds the angst of their freedom struggles. Hungary has had 13 Noble Laureates in a variety of fields from literature to medicine and the sciences.
Did Hungarian (the language) come into my life by accident, or was it my destiny? I am often asked why I am learning Hungarian? by my compatriots, by international students and by Hungarians. Having rarely done things in my life with any calculation, I really did not know the answer myself, I have always been one to go with the flow and I believe in learning just for the sake of knowledge. But how was I navigated towards it is what I share with you.
My first brush with Hungary was, when I, all of 8 years old was asked to do a school project on Europe, my grandmother sat me down with the directory, yes it was pre-Google and Email, and made me write postcards to all the European embassies and High Commissions requesting them for literature on their countries. Only a few responded, one being Hungary, which sent me booklets with pictures, which I used in my project, but I still remember the text was in Hungarian and indecipherable. It fascinated me, imagine a child, hitherto unexposed to foreign languages reacting to a sentence like “A Bükk hegység belső területeit 1977. január 1-én nyilvánították nemzeti parkká. A Bükki Nemzeti Park a hegységnek központi, nagyrészt erdős területét foglalja magába.” and wondering why there were so many splotches (the accents) and only the word Park written correctly. This could well have been the kindling of my interest in foreign languages.
Hungarian, in Hungarian is magyar, pronounced ma-jar. The country is Magyarország. I learnt this only when I started studying Hungarian. However, a distant memory kept niggling me, I remembered my mother once suggesting when I was getting a blouse stitched as a teenager to have Magyar sleeves on it, pronouncing it of course mag-yar. It somehow occurred to me that her mag-yar might very well be my ma-jar, so I looked it up, and lo and behold, I found that the “Magyar” sleeve which is usually cut more narrowly at the elbow and widened towards the wrist is based on the Hungarian peasant style sleeve, hence the name.
Still a teenager, I recollect, I once said to my my mother that I dreamed of buying my own house in the same locality as hers, when I grew up. My mother said that if I had to dream about such things I should at least dream of a house on Amrita Sher-Gill Street as that was the poshest street one could live on in New Delhi. This brought me to the question – who was Amrita Sher-Gil? She was a Hungarian-Indian painter, born in Budapest, Hungary on 30 January 1913 to to an Indian Jat aristocrat father, a scholar in Sanskrit and Persian, and a Hungarian-Jewish opera singer. Amrita has been called “one of the greatest avant-garde women artists of the early 20th century” and a “pioneer” in modern Indian art. She was avant-garde in more than just her painting and lived life on her own terms to unfortunately die at the young age of 28. In her short life, she lived in various places – Budapest, Hungary, Shimla, India, Paris, France, Florence, Italy and travelled to many countries before breathing her last in Lahore, then India, present day Pakistan in 1941. A truly cosmopolitan soul whose life and travels inspired me more to travel than to earning millions to buy a house on the street named after her.
Amrita Sher-Gill
In 1999 I watched the romantic Bollywood Hindi film ‘Hum Dil De Chuke Hai Sanam‘ (I have given away my heart darling). The second half of this visually stunning, unusual love story unfolds in Europe. In the film they say it is Rome, Italy, but having visited Rome previously, I knew it was not. The city was gorgeous, I wanted to be transported into it, but alas which city was it?
Two years down the line in 2001, I knew the answer, I travelled from Vienna, Austria to Budapest by boat on the Danube, a beautiful memorable journey. Just as the boat turned the bend and I saw the iconic Széchenyi Chain Bridge that spans the cities of Buda and Pest, I experienced a strong sense of déjàvu, had I been here in a past life? Maybe, but then I recollected Nandini, the female character from the above Hindi film running across the bridge and I knew immediately that I had found the city I had so longed to visit. My excitement multiplied manifold and Budapest did not disappoint. I do wish that the grave injustice of calling it Rome in the film could somehow be righted.
In 2012, my husband and I visited Budapest, Hungary together and while doing the research in advance of the holiday, I learnt that Taxi drivers in Budapest were known for fleecing their passengers so I thought that if I could say the names of the places with a perfect Hungarian accent I could avoid being fleeced. One of the places that my guide book said was a must visit was the Váci Utca, perhaps the most famous street (utca) of Budapest. I goggled the pronunciation and found that the Hungarian ‘c’ has a pronunciation unknown to English, Hindi, French or Portuguese, the languages I then spoke, but was pronounced identical to the ‘च’ in Marathi, incidentally the same alphabet ‘च’ in Hindi is pronounced like the English ‘ch’ and the Hungarian ‘cs’. Being fluent since childhood in Marathi, the language spoken in the west Indian state of Maharashtra where my grandmother belonged, I had always adored the interesting rasp of the Marathi ‘च’, it is the pronunciation of this alphabet that marks the authenticity of the accent of a Marathi speaker as does the pronunciation of the Hungarian ‘c’ for a Hungarian learner. I was fascinated and charmed with the discovery of this similarity. In Budapest itself, I found English widely spoken and the taxi drivers still took us for a ride, I obviously was not pronouncing the place names convincingly. However, our interest in Hungary grew, thanks to the lovely people we interacted with.
One evening, while we were in there, we paid a small ransom for a taxi to get us to Margaret Island, an island in the Danube. I had booked tickets online, when in India, for what I had thought was a philharmonic which actually turned out to be a Filmharmonic, which was even more interesting. It was a live orchestra playing out famous film tunes while scenes from the movie were projected onto a huge scene – Benhur, Godfather and the likes. It was already 9 pm by the time they had the interval and we were very nervous about how we would find our way to Pest, where we were lodging, so late at night, we had no local mobile phone to book a cab and even if we managed to book a cab, we were worried about what the chappie may charge. In the interval we made enquiries and found that a ferry would leave after the show and dock at various places, one from where our hotel was walking distance, we breathed a sigh of relief and bought the ferry tickets. We then settled down to enjoy the second half of the show. When the show was over, everyone just seemed to vanish into the darkness, we had no clue as to which direction we should walk in to get to the boat, just as were panicking about this, as if by magic a tall, at least 6ft 3inch tall, strikingly good-looking man dressed in a beautiful dusky pink suit accompanied by an equally striking lady in a little black dress said ‘Follow me’, I looked at him questioningly and he said ‘you need to catch the ferry don’t you?’, we gratefully followed them to the ferry, all the while discussing the similarities between Budapest Taxi drivers and Delhi Autorickshaw drivers. As we walked onto the ferry and headed into the cabin, we bid the couple, who wanted to remain on deck adieu, a little disappointed that our cultural exchange had been cut short. We sat down inside and a couple of minutes later the Hungarian couple came in and the gentleman said that if we did not mind, he wanted to talk with us some more, we were thrilled. Unfortunately, his companion was not comfortable speaking English but did seem to understand us and never looked bored we talked of travel, food and clothes. He was a patisserie chef, with his own pastry shop, he advised us to eat Dobos, a Hungarian sponge cake layered with chocolate buttercream and topped with caramel and Eper Torta, strawberry cake. Too soon, it was time for them to embark, we waved them goodbye as if they were lifelong friends. This wonderful gentleman came to be referred by as the ‘Pink Angel’, every time we feel humanity is disappointing us, we remember ‘Pink Angel’ and the world seems just a little more tolerable.
My next contact with Hungarians took place in the first week of January 2017, my husband and I were on the island of Capri in Italy for New Year and soon thereafter the island was slowly shutting down for the off-season. One evening we were in one of the few restaurants that were still open and noticed that the couple on the table next to us were having difficulty communicating with the waiter in English. Being newly conversant in Italian, I did not miss the opportunity to translate for the benefit of all. This got us couples chatting and I soon found out that they were Hungarians, we chatted during the rest of our dinners, when we finished, we said goodbye and started walking towards our respective hotels, only to start wondering as to who was following whom as we were walking in the same direction, soon to discover that we were living in the same hotel. We invited them for a nightcap and chatted amiably for another hour. Our routine for the next few days, that remained of their holiday were set, we would meet in our suite post in the evening over wine and food and discuss all sorts of subjects – travel, the environment, politics etc., all in English of course. On the third night I got a call from Reception enquiring if the Hungarian couple was in my suite as there was another Hungarian guest who wanted to meet them, I told the receptionist to send him up. My Hungarian friends said that I should let him enter greeting him with ‘Szia‘ – Hello in Hungarian, pronounced exactly like the English ‘see ya’ and confound him. So that is what I did and the new acquaintance responded with a sentence of Hungarian to which I confessed that I was only taking the Mikey out of him and that I was actually Indian. He joined our little group and I soon discovered that he was half Italian, half Hungarian. We spent another evening, now the five of us chatting and dining on a lovely pasta dinner cooked by my husband. I remember that we all went for a walk after dinner and were chatting about Budapest when during a conversation about the Budapest train stations, I said ‘Keleti pu’ remembering the name of the Eastern Railway Station, the male counterpart of Hungarian couple was so touched that I pronounced this word so authentically, that he spontaneously hugged me. Such is the value of knowing even a word in a foreign language. As all good things come to an end so did our meet-ups the Hungarian couple left next morning and the next two days were spent in the company of the Hungarian-Italian, till my husband and I too left Capri. All in all, the Hungarians had endeared me to them once again.
In 2017, I came to know of the ‘free’ Hungarian lessons offered by the Hungarian Information and Cultural Center, New Delhi now Hungarian Cultural Institute Delhi/ Magyar Kulturális Intézet Delhi. I had till then only studied Romance Languages and wanted a more challenging language to study, it seemed providential that I had an opportunity to study Hungarian which is of the Finno-Ugric group of the Uralic language family. I was in Italy when the session started that year, so I waited a whole year, with excitement and applied for the Hungarian course in October 2018. I was hooked on the first day itself, the Hungarian work ethic was at display, the dainty Hungarian Teacher, the handsome and welcoming Director and the smart efficient administrative lady gave us an entrance test and the result and we were set to go.
Frankly just being in the company of the dainty Hungarian teacher was enough incentive to attend the classes, learning the language, that too for free an added bonus. The teacher was tireless, classes were always on time and never cancelled, there were no coffee breaks leave alone long ones that had galled me while learning other languages. Over the six months of the course I learnt of Hungarian history, literature and culture. We celebrated all the important Hungarian days reciting Hungarian poetry, learning Hungarian songs, there were cultural events when Hungarian artists visited India and I was fortunate to even socialize with some. It was the respect that the teacher and the Director of the Institute showed India that made me respect them even more. They exhibited no sense of superiority which I had observed in other such foreign language institutions in India.
The language itself has a fascinating structure. Hungarian is an agglutinative language that uses mainly suffixes to change the meaning of words and their grammatical function. For example, possessive pronouns and prepositions get added as suffixes to the objects themselves. The other challenge that Hungarian brought was the need to learn a lot of words. Unlike the Romance Languages which share a lot of words, be it may written or pronounced slightly differently most Hungarian words were completely new to me and required a lot of effort to memorize. I give you an example the word ‘National’ in French is ‘National/e’, in Portuguese ‘Nacional’ in Italian ‘Nazionale’ in German ‘National’ in Hungarian it is ‘Nemzeti’.
Having fared well with my studies, I recently had the opportunity to attend a four-week Hungarian Language online course at the MagyarOK-Digital Summer University / Digitális MagyarOK of the University of Pécs, Hungary due to the Covid 19 pandemic. Here again, the Hungarian efficiency was in evidence, the teachers were efficient, competent, graceful and kind. The only grouse that I could possibly have was, that the course was conducted a bit too much like clockwork, the syllabus was adhered to at all times, I would have liked more of the personal and cultural touch that I had got used to during my studies in India. I hope that someday I will get an opportunity to go to the town of Pécs and attend the summer course physically and absorb the sights, sound and sensations of the culture which are an important aspect of learning a language.
I have come to both admire and envy the Hungarian efficiency, anyone who craves such efficiency in the systems of their country will understand why ‘envy’.
I am not naïve and I know that there are all sorts of people in every country. I am well aware of the current politics of Hungary, another common denominator with India, with both countries leaning towards the far right, not something that makes me rejoice. But, the low notes in my Hungarian Rhapsody notwithstanding, Magyar has come to be an indelible part of my soul.
Perugia to Padova having been covered in my Fiat 500 the day before, my partner and I woke up in Padova, on the morning of Monday the 2nd of October, 2017, rested and bursting with anticipation as we were headed to the mountains – the Dolomites, le montagne dolomiti in Italian. We had a quick breakfast at the Hotel and were on the road by 8am. There was only a 200km ride between Padova and Prags, where we would lay our heads down for the night but we wanted to ensure an unhurried joy ride up the mountains and ample time to stop at the passes that we had planned to traverse.
We drove due north from Hotel Garibaldi, Padova via Borgoricco to Castelfranco Veneto and picked up the SP (Strada Provinciale) 667, a provincial strada – road, till Cornuda, in the province of Treviso where we took the SR (Strada Regionale) 348, a regional road that spans the provinces of Treviso and Feltre in the Veneto region of Italy. The scenery was unremarkable thus far, suburban homes and industrial zones, aesthetic relief was provided by the occasional pretty church and ornate cemetery. We had driven 40kms, when the foothills of the Dolomites started teasing at the horizon, the thrill was on. With the mountain climb imminent we made a quick pit stop at Le Rive Autoristogrill, our conditioning prompting us to top up the petrol as a precaution against any infrequency of gas stations later.
Now driving on the SP 1 the river Piave our companion, we crossed the river at Villapiana, turning right at Busche to follow the SR 36 onto the SP 12 and eventually to the SR 203 crossing the pretty Lago di Alleghe on our left, past Caprile, where we took the winding SP 20 to Selva di Cadore. From Selva di Cadore which is at an elevation of 1350 mts. we took the SP 638 up to the Giau Pass at 2236 mts. The distance only about 10kms, but an enthralling visual feast.
Lago di Alleghe
The drive took us past pine forests interspersed with green meadows, the regal grey Dolomite peaks starting to dominate the skyline. As we drove higher the proof of autumn was upon us and soon there were clumps of trees that had decided to precede their verdant neighbours in donning their fall attire, much to our delight.
The pockets of fall colours
Driving through tunnels the landscape became more barren the green giving way to the brown and the brown eventually to the majestic grey swathed in white cloud at Giau Pass.
The Giau Pass
You can see the Refugio Fedare (refugio is a mountain hut/refuge) in the photo above, you can walk up to it for a snack, meal or a stay. Walking enthusiasts can head further up to Refugio Nuvolao, the oldest refuge in the Dolomites, located atop the flat Nuvola peak, stay overnight and continue ahead for the various treks or mountain climbs available in the Dolomites, booking accommodation in advance at the refuges is a must. This aside about more strenuous pursuits is for your benefit, it was not on our agenda. We were out to enjoy the solemn beauty of the Dolomites from the comfort of our beloved Cinquecento and we stopped admired and drove on, on the SP 638 till Pocol from where we headed west on the SR 48 towards Passo Falzarego.
The SP 638 a Bikers delight
From Pian di Falzarego we took the SP 24 north towards the Badia Valley in the autonomous Italian province of Trentino. The landscape turning rather otherworldly, grey and white boulders, strewn across the now flat mountain top.
Pian di Falzarego
The otherworldly experience
The Badia Valley down below
The SP 24 becomes the SP 37 when you cross the border between Veneto and Trentino – South Tyrol and as you enter the Badia Valley you are treated to a heavenly display of colour, the lush green meadows, the trees green-yellow-red, the brown wooden chalets, and the more basic wood and stone baita, proudly embellished with flower boxes, with red, yellow, white, lilac or purple flowers dancing in the wind. It is a view that runs on loop in my mind’s eye!
The Badia Valley
Hunger pangs caught up with us at about 2.40pm, we were too late to find a restaurant as in Italy they generally stop lunch service at 3pm and in Trentino, the Austrian culture coming into play they usually stop even earlier. While driving through the beautiful commune of La Villa in Badia, we spotted the Bar Pizzeria Ariston and turned into its parking. We ordered a Capricciosa, a pizza topped with Artichokes, Mushrooms, Pepperoni and Ham, its range of colours and flavours mirroring those from nature we had just witnessed. We sat out and gazed at the beautiful flower lined building opposite us and the rolling green hills beyond it, with the Dolomites towering above and savoured our delicious pizza.
Pizza Capricciosa
The View from Bar Ariston
Lunch over, refreshed and sustained we drove on. Next stop was at the nearby Despar Supermarket in La Villa, the next few days we were going to be in a self catering apartment, we had just another 45kms to go before we reached our temporary home so it made sense to stock up on wine, meat, fruit and vegetables. We already knew from the reviews that we had read of the apartment, that in all likelihood our hosts would be providing milk bread and eggs for the duration of our stay.
The ensuing drive, now on the SR 244, through the stunning valley left us spellbound my hand cramping from all the photos that I was taking along the route. Pretty little villages winked at us from the surroundings their proud church spires rising above as if in competition with the mountains in their backdrop. At Floronzo we turned right heading east on the SS (Strata Statale) 49.
Floronzo, South Tyrol, Italy
By 4.45pm our trusted Tomtom had brought us easily to the doorstep of Apartments Jagerhof, in the municipality of Prags in the province of South Tyrol in Trentino. Booked in advance via Booking.com this was going to be home for the next three nights
Apartments Jagerhof on the left
A beautiful Apartment on the Second Floor of the building with a fully equipped kitchen, including dishwasher and a washing machine just outside the entrance to the apartment to be shared with the one other apartment on the floor.
The Apartment
The next two days are devoted to this region of South Tyrol, join us for a walk around Lake Braies, Lago di Braies (in Italian), Pragser Wildsee in German and a pilgrimage to the Tre Cime – Three Peaks, where we meet a young local who kindly recounts the history of this autonomous region of Italy, which I will share with you.
This Diary, which I will bring to you in parts, is an account of my three week adventure in a Fiat 500 car in Italy in October 2017, retold from an audio and visual diary maintained during the road trip.
In August 2016 I suggested to my partner that we study Italian. He was hesitant, bilingual since childhood, but unlike I, who had studied both French and Portuguese, he had never studied a foreign language and felt it was not his cup of tea. I seduced him with the prospect of a classroom romance, with me, of course, and a romantic code language for us and he was sold.
We took weekend classes at our local Istituto Italiano di Cultura and our love for the language and the culture began to grow. Contrary to his belief, my partner picked up the language with ease and studied with much gusto, all the while casually flirting with me. Incidentally the word gusto’s origin is Italian and in Italian it means taste, and Italy Is all about taste isn’t it. We became ardent Italophiles, feeling more at home in Italy than at home.
In this backdrop I come to the Fiat 500 car or the Cinquecento (five hundred in Italian) as it is fondly called in Italy, being one of the icons of Italy we decided that we must do a road trip in it. The road trip was to begin in Perugia, Umbria.
We booked a car through Economycarrentals, a site we had used before and were satisfied with, there never having had any problems with the booking and the terms, never having had any hidden charges foisted on us. As you know, when you book a rental car, you book a category so our booking said ‘Fiat 500 Automatic or similar’, there was no guarantee we would get a Fiat 500, but when choosing the service provider we had opted for ‘Sicily by Car’ having researched through reviews etc. that they did actually have a fleet of Fiat 500s.
Perugia is a lovely Italian hill town. It is the capital of the region of Umbria, Tuscany’s neighbour to the east. It is famous for its universities the University of Perugia and the University for Foreigners which since 1921 teaches Italian language and Italian culture to foreign students. It is easy to navigate as there are escalators on three sides of it, which reduce the trudging up and down hills entailed in other hill towns and the Minimetro that is burrowed into the hill connects the train station, which has direct trains from Rome, to the upper town. To get to Perugia from Rome there is also the cheap and comfortable option of Flixbus which stops close to the Pian di Massiano stop of the Minimetro.
Piazza IV Novembre, Perugia
Perugia has a perfectly preserved Centro Storico or Historical City Center and numerous restaurants to savour Umbrian cuisine. It is well connected to other towns in Umbria by train and by bus and makes for a good base to visit Assisi, Spello, Arezzo, Corciano, Lago di Trasimeno, Fogliano by public transport. The students make the town vibrant and rather noisy till late at night over weekends.
Fontana Maggiore, Perugia
Passageway, Rocca Paolina, Perugia
Steps to Aqueduct, Perugia
Porta Trasimeno, Perugia
Oratorio San Bernardino, Perugia
We reached the Sicily by Car office in Perugia on the morning of 30th September, 2017 and were ecstatic on getting our Fiat 500, one because we wanted an iconic road trip and two because a compact car is a boon to navigate the narrow roads of Italian towns and villages. The Fiat 500 is a two-door car, which, there being just the two of us, was not a problem, the boot is small, you can fit in one cabin luggage size suitcase and one medium, the rear seat of the car, if there are no passengers, provides ample space do dump stuff. The car looks small but even with our longer than average limbs and ample proportions we felt no discomfort getting in or out of the car, nor did we feel cramped for leg space even during long journeys. We carry our own Tomtom, satellite navigation device as this not only saves on the additional rent entailed in hiring one from the car rental company but also enables us to pre-programme the addresses and avoids the feeling of having a new stranger to adjust to on every trip. We were headed to the Dolomite mountains due north of Perugia, with our first night stop planned at Monselice, a village which was chosen because it had a reasonably priced hotel with good reviews, just off the highway.
Part Man Part Machine
We enjoy the countryside so avoided the fastest route via the Autostrada-Highway which would have taken us west to Florence and then north and instead took the Strada Statale-State Highway via Lake Trasimeno, Arezzo and Ferrara to Monselice a total distance of about 350 kms. It was a sunny day yet cool and we were in our element. We listened to great music on the radio, parroting the presenters to improve our pronunciation watched the rolling countryside and vineyards go by and felt we were in Utopia.
We first drove along Lago di Trasimeno or Lake Trasimeno which is where Umbria meets Tuscany, a beautiful lake with several pretty towns, each with its own hill fort, dotting its shores. There are three islands in the Lake and a boat ride from Passignano sul Trasimeno to Isola Maggiore, the biggest island, a steep yet satisfying hike up to the beautiful 15th Century church and a peaceful amble back admiring the fauna and the twinkling blue waters of the lake, stopping to savour your tasty picnic lunch makes for a wonderful day trip in itself. Or, go to the island and come back for a delicious and beautifully plated meal at Ristorante B43, as we had done on an earlier date via train from Perugia.
Passignano sul Trasimeno
View from Isola Maggiore, Trasimeno
Pork Medallions at Ristorante B43
Next we drove past Arezzo, a town made famous worldwide by Roberto Benigni’s epic film La Vita è Bella – Life is Beautiful. Arezzo for a lazy or tired traveler has the added advantage of not requiring any uphill treks other than the gentle slope of the Piazza Grande-the main square. Also, a town where we ate very well, the Pizza al Taglio, or the pizza by weight, from the Pizzeria del Corso on Corso Italia is the best we have ever tasted in Italy. There are also good slow food restaurants I must mention the Trattoria Saraceno where we have on an earlier trip had delicious meals.
A Passageway, Arezzo
Duomo, Arezzo
Piazza Grande, Arezzo
Trasimeno and Arezzo, had been visited by us earlier so today we stopped at Ferrara in the region of Emilia-Romagna for a late lunch. Thanks to the Tomtom we located a Parking at a comfortable walking distance from the town center, got a two-hour pre-paid parking ticket from the machine, displayed it on the dashboard and pranced off to visit this new town. Another reluctant walker’s delight, no steep climbing necessary, a wonderful town square with the ubiquitous Pizza al Taglio shops in the many lanes that run off the town square for a quick lunch or a snack, the beautiful 12th Century Duomo-Cathedral, with its three-layered marble façade admired within and without, we stopped to pick-up gelato or ice-cream as we mere mortals call it and got back to our car and drove off towards Monselice in the Veneto region.
Façade of the Duomo, Ferrara
Piazza Cathedrale, Ferrara
Such is the wonder of Italy that we knew in advance that even poor Monselice, chosen only because of its proximity to the Highway would have some treasures in store for us, we were not disappointed. A quick check-in done at the Hotel Blue Dream, booked well in advance without any pre-payment through Booking.com, town map in tow, we left our car at the hotel, crossed the highway and walked into Monselice, a quiet town, well worth a visit, it was getting dark so we did not climb up to the Rocca-Fortress or to the Seven Churches instead we roamed the town center, admired the shop windows, observed from a café in the Piazza Mazzini the gentle rhythm of the towns people winding up their shops, heading home and figuring out dinner from and then proceeded to have yet another fantastic meal with excellent local food, wine and cheese at Kairòs Wine & Food and took a leisurely stroll back to our Hotel and fell asleep pleasantly tired and satiated to the beat of the DJ playing at a wedding function taking place at the Hotel.
Torre Civica, Piazza Mazzini, Monselice
San Paolo, Museum, Monselice
We woke up early the next morning, had a sumptuous breakfast and headed off to Padova, which was only a stone’s throw away. We had chosen Hotel Garibaldi on the outskirts with a bus stop out front so we could leave our car parked in the free hotel parking and head to Padova center by bus, to avoid the tension that ensues in driving through a busy city center, however this was not to be, it being a Sunday there was no bus service, this is often the case in Italy. The weather was inclement, the car beckoned. Not wanting our spirit to be dampened and emboldened by our previous day’s hassle-free parking in Ferrara, after briefly considering taking a Taxi into the Padova city center, we let Tomtom lead us to a huge parking lot just a 200 mt. walk from Padova’s mammoth square, aptly named Prato della Valle – Meadow of the Valley measuring 90,000 Sq. Mts. It is the largest square in Italy, and one of the largest in Europe. It is like a solar system with an elliptical orbit, the people circulating around it on foot or cycles the planets, cars are not permitted, the park in the center the sun, which everyone eventually gravitates towards. One can, I guess on a sunny day just spend hours lounging around the park. We had the added attraction of a fair being underway. We walked around with the locals admiring the stalls having a chiacchierata-chat here and a merendina– snack, there. We then strolled raincoat hoods up, in silent bonhomie, to the Basilica of St. Antony, where we were blessed to see a discretion of priests, resplendent in their clerical formal wear of red, white and black, walking in ceremonial configuration in the preparation of Sunday Mass.
Prato Della Valle, Padova
Basilica of St. Antony, Padova
We stepped out of the Basilica and continued our meandering through the city, a city of numerous beautiful shop lined squares. In Piazza delle Erbe we chanced upon a group of hospital employees preparing fresh gnocchi, a pasta, to sell and raise funds for the Hospital. Gnocchi literally meaning ‘lumps’ in Italian, it is made from potatoes and flour, we had found lunch, we opted to have it with Bolognese sauce. It was piping hot and scrumptious and the steps around the fountain were put to use for wonderful al fresco dining, the rain giving welcome respite. The lunching locals sitting around this public dining room chatted amiably and lunch done at an economical 8€ a piece we wandered off in search of our daily dose of gelato.
Gnocchi Preparation, Piazza delle Erbe, Padova
We walked ahead into the Piazza dei Signori, bought our gelatos and wandered beyond the clock tower to a small square with artists displaying their paintings, admired their work and eventually completed the orbit around Prato della Valle back to our car, we had left a prepaid parking ticket for 6 hours, not a second was wasted.
Piazza dei Signori, Padova
Tired and Padova dusted we drove back to our Hotel for a much needed rest in anticipation of our impending drive into the Dolomites the next day. Follow the next part of the journey on winding mountain roads, through high mountain passes to the Italian autonomous region of Trentino-Alto Adige.
Driving through San Ciascian, South Tyrol, Italy on 2nd October, 2017
Hello there! Writing a blog is a new adventure for me. I have been unsure on how to start this endeavour and since opening this account a few months back, have been mulling over what to write about, how to start, whom to address etc. After much vacillation I conclude that this Blog will be a bit about something, a lot about nothing and include everything that I love, hate, like or adore. Some posts will be about my life experiences where I may wax lyrical about something beautiful I have seen, others may go into orgasams over something I have eaten and in some I may vent about things that get my goat.
Ergo, my Blog is a manifestation of my vanity, where I presume that someone would like to read about what I do, think, eat, feel. So this is the first glimpse you get of my persona, I am vain, I consider this my biggest failing and as I write, I wonder that, while I try constantly to overcome this flaw in life, will not writing a Blog feed it? We shall see.
So after a not so flattering an introduction, let me tell you a bit more about myself. I think I live a life less ordinary, indeed most of the time I think I am special and immensely lucky. I am a professional but suffer from a tendency to rest on my laurels, heck, I am downright unambitious, the reasons why I am that, we shall discover by the by.
A ‘Bon Vivant’ would be the best description of me. I know how to be happy and the prospect of a simple croque monsieur would dry up the most sorrowful of my tears quite easily. I am more often than not in a state of elation, which explains part of the name of this Blog. I love to oscillate ie. travel the world and my life seems to be more about planning the next holiday than anything else hence Oselation!
I speak several languages and can cook up a storm. I detest crowds, I am opinionated to a fault and always think I know better. I am loyal to the upright and champion of the underdog. I must mention that I remember learning the word underdog as a young girl during a Wimbledon Final thanks to my beloved Boris Becker or Baby Boy as I had nicknamed him. So I have given an indication of my age and my hobbies. I am the kinds who will remember and honour a cult figure like Rahul Dravid rather than become a crazy fan of a selfish sports star.
People say I am good looking and often compliment me for my flawless skin, I think I am gorgeous. There speak both my honesty (in as much as I say what I honestly think) and my vanity (in that I think I am gorgeous) .
I am a cosmopolitan, a vibrant cocktail, born in a big city, educated in a boarding school and a porte parole of sorts by profession.
I start this blog just before I embark on a new adventure. I will be heading to Perugia, Italy this September (2017) to study the Italian language at the University of Perugia for Foreigners. I go with a certain sense of trepidation as I have never lived alone, and even though, I will do this for only three weeks, it will be a new experience. I go with excitement as I get to relive my experience of doing a similar course at the University of Coimbra, Portugal some 18 years back. I go with the desire to excel as I am on scholarship. I go with enthusiasm to discover more of Italy. I go with patience to overcome Italian bureaucracy. I go with an immense appetite to partake Italian food and absorb the culture.
With this post I invite you to join me on my future oselations!