Geneva to Barcelona

Those who would rather follow our blog in a more-or-less chronological fashion will be used to episodes of slight asynchronicity. Here's another. I'm writing this from Buenos Aires, so our blast through France and across the top of Spain is a set of memories. Good ones though, mainly about miles on a motorcycle, and some good camp spots.

This was a ride. It's probably about 1500km from Geneva to Bilbao, but without a specific time limit we certainly didn't go the short way. That said, we did want to get down from the mountains and out of the cold. it was snowing in the lower parts of Switzerland while we were there, and as we set out to cross the alps, the mediterranean coast beckoned forcefully.

The certitude of rising temperatures as we descended helped to warm all but the bodily extremities as we went up the mountains and into the cold... we´d had a dose of alpine scenery and roads while in Switzerland - as we crossed the gotthard pass and from the top of the rigi, but we really did want to get up close to the big hills. Em was still nursing the idea of a day on skis too, so we decided to head directly south, crossing the alps near Martigny before getting a bed at Chamonix. As you see, there was no question of camping in the tent. It was our first time in a youth hostel for a long time, and was without particular interest or incident. we checked out a glacier museum before checking in, and that whet our appetites for the real thing - glaciers - before continuing our ride the next day.

It turned out we were a couple of weeks early for the ski season, bummer enough, but that we were there on the one day a year when the gondola to the Aiguille du Midi was closed for maintenance. A shame, but one less distraction to keep us from heading south. Andy, trina, tim and oli, molly and chris, hope you're carving as we speak ... anyhow we headed downhill, through endless curves, and down from winter to autumn once again. Sweet, stolen apples were delicious and memorable, as were the views, the rest stops and the shared trust over hundreds of miles of backroads.

Donations

A few days before Christmas we volunteered our time at a Christmas Party for underprivileged kids from the shanty towns of Buenos Aires. About 2000 of them turned up, and they had a blast. Nice one. Presents, games, food, Santa, giveaways - how could you go wrong? It was undeniably a good thing, mobs of fun for the kids and an opportunity to do something worthwhile as we travel. We were two of fifty-odd volunteers on the day.

We got onto it through the school where Em is studying Spanish - I'd tried to organise some volunteering myself too but ran into a bit of a wall. We are also in the process of sniffing out volunteering opportunities further along our projected path of travel - will keep you updated. We really feel a responsibility to use our presence here to worthwhile ends, and want to broaden the scope of our travels. But not only that - travels, thought, experiences and observation all keep pointing out to us the uneven playing field that we live on and contribute to. The western world has become rich - and continues to become richer - by taking advantage of what was the new world. Here we are, undeniably rich westerners despite our tight budget, banging around the world on a motorcycle because we can. And doing it relatively cheap because of the very inequality we see around us.

What has this to do with volunteering at a Christmas party for kids? There's a little connection. While Em was keeping the mob away from their cache of soon-to-be-given presents, I was making decorations for the shoe-giveaway area. A well-dressed man showed up there - an employee of the shoe company which had donated the 2000-odd pairs of cheap shoes. He came with a little film crew, and unabashedly explained to those volunteers who showed interest that these shoes were produced in Argentina and sold in the US for $US38 a pair. I'd have been interested to know how much they cost to produce, but given the poor quality of the shoes and the availability of cheap labour in Argentina, it would not be much.

Sorry if this makes me the eternal conspiracy theorist, but I can see the promos now - shop walls plastered with photos depicting generosity, maybe a video running and definitely a tag on the shoes explaining that "a percentage" of company profits are destined to support charitable organisations in Latin America. It's easy for companies to pull stunts like this, and they are easy to fall for. After all, nearly all of us buy whatever appeals to us without regard for where or how it's made, or what resources are consumed in the process. And few dedicate the time to ask themselves, retailers or corporations the hard questions about sweatshop labour, let alone the other myriad complications our consumption hurls at the world.

I just googled sweatshops and came up with this: http://www.sweatshopwatch.org/ .

MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM ARGENTINA!!!!!!!

It's quite strange being on the other side of the world when we would usually be with our wonderful families and friends. We have booked ourselves into a little retreat on an island somewhere up the Parana river delta (so can't complain!), but we will be thinking of you and missing you!

The positive side of being here at this time of year is that the Argentinians don't go in for the Christmas build-up, and pre Chrissy here has been quite hype-free. There's refreshingly few chrissy ads, and almost no santas, decorations or out-of-tune carol singers. Yesterday (three days before Chrismas) was the first time we noticed any extra shoppers, and we haven't even seen road rage. Apparently Christmas here is about spending time over a good meal with loved ones. Nice.

As we eat our Chrissy-eve midnight feast (as per Argentinian custom), we will be thinking of our dear loved ones. We hope you have a wonderful day, and would love to be there to give you all big hugs!!!

Much love to all
E&A xx

PS This is Iguazu Falls, on the Argentinian/Brazilian border. Awesome.

back up in Switzerland...

Up on the Rigi.

The Swiss, of course, are very punctual. We can't say the same for ourselves though. We crossed the Alps anything up to about two months late, going by the ideas we had as we left Australia. Biggi, Snups and Liz had been getting emails from us promising imminent arrival for at least two months - god knows, we had thought we might get to a music festival in Switzerland while the summer lasted! As it was, we finally crossed the Gotthard Pass long after the first snow had fallen. It was a bit cool, but bright and dry.First stop north of the Alps was Biggi's place in Zurich. Man, writing this I realise it just never stopped - reunions with old friends, easy times, and the opportunity to meet each others' important ones. It doesn't really matter what we did - autumn walks by the lake, chilly evening of city sightseeing, Tee im Teehuesli, a missed then caught appointment in Luzern, a day's hike in the hills of Zurich, dinner with family, shopping, baking, long breakfasts, travel advice. It was brilliant, warm. Here we are with the Zopf (the amazing looking bread) that Biggi taught Andy to make.

Leaving Biggi's place - too soon, though not quite early enough in the day - we did another of those things you do in Switzerland, catching very steep little train up to the top of the Rigi. One of the littler hills in the country, the Rigi offers some pretty flash views. Speak for themselves, really:

We were so excited getting these shots that we didn't realise this was the last train down the mountain! Once again, we were to be late for our dinner date (luckily Snups is about the most laid-back person in German-speaking Switzerland). We set out for the bike (8 kilometres and 1000 metres below) as it began to get dark - down the train lines at first, but then thankfully hitched a ride half way with a lady who gave a very full explanation of the Swiss higland grazing industry. Right from grass to chocolate.

Snups is a friend of Andy's from years ago too. Snups does what he loves - he makes music for kids! The kids love it too, of course, know all the words and sing along. We tried to keep up as well, at least for the chorus. Thankfully Snups signed our CD later, so we didn't have to queue for an hour.So, concerts, a party with friends, meals with family, conversation, a long night in a bar, brotherhood, a little reunion with other friends, more walks in our new home town. Good god, how many home towns have we got?!

Making sure we left late, Snups waved us off through the snow flurries. Departures can be hard. And of course it was further to Geneva than I had remembered, so we were late again. Em and I were very close during the ride, again, and not only because it was bloody cold.

Liz is a mate of Em's from years back, and now lives on the banks of Lake Geneva with her two little charmers and Yann, her man. We had a lovely weekend with them, exploring their (very lovely) part of French-speaking Switzerland, including a trip over to France for coffee and pastries at a village market on Sunday morning.

Tbest thing about it, though (as with Biggi and Snups) was spending time with such old mates, and getting to know new ones (in this case, Joachim and Adele).

It was with heavy hearts that we packed our bike again and headed across the mountains to Spain (however, the thrill of that trip soon had us smiling again! ...)

Argentina / Australia

Here I go adding my ideas to what Em said below - just over a week's worth of first impressions.
Argentina looks a bit like Australia on first glance, and from certain points of view. The faces in the street show a grand mixture of diverse heritage - this looks like a country of immigrants. On the other hand, there's little variety in the architecture, and almost all streets cross at right angles, a hallmark of cities that were installed in the landscape rather than growing more or less organically. There's a privatised metro system that doesn't really work, and that hasn't been improved for decades.

The cuisine here seemingly owes far more to convenience than to tradition. The guide book we are using bangs on about Argentine cuisine, but it was written by a local. Lots of meat is in evidence, displayed, advertised, touted or spoken of, and otherwise there are lots of flour-based meals. Outside Buenos Aires there are loads of sheep and cattle stations - introduced and probably inappropriate beasts wandering all over the countryside to graze and compete with native species; ditto for crops. More memories of our wide, brown land. Meanwhile, back in Bs. As., we're getting stuck into home-made salads!

Argentina is a big country, well situated across a broad range of latitudes. It has grand rivers that rise high in the Andes and in the tropical rainforests, extensive plains, rainforest, mountains and a very long coastline. There are plenty of resources here. The population is about forty million, of which we are told fifteen million live in poverty. I mean, not the sort of poor we know in Australia, unless in Aboriginal Australia. Why should a land so rich in resources not be able to feed its people? The same question could be asked for the planet we live on, and the profit motive figures large in the answer from both historical and current perspectives.

As Em has said on this blog, financial hardship is very visible in Buenos Aires. In the evenings, in the streets of the city, many people sort through garbage for recyclables. Some target paper, working in teams to extract if from bins and bags, sort, bale and transport it away on hand carts and spluttering 1960's trucks. Others go for metals, targeting building site refuse; still others collect plastic bottles or glass. On the trains, streets and in the parks, people busk, beg or sell stuff, often trinkets.

The spontaneous appearance of musicians, comedians, magicians and others on the metro make a trip quite colourful, though those asking for pity can be very confronting. There are also plenty of markets around the city, with many citizens choosing not to participate in the mainstream economy. That would not be surprising - as recently as 2001 the Argentine Peso crashed, leaving even the middle classes in dire trouble. My new mate in Bs. As., Oskar, tells us they passed a law in about 1999 that specified that, when a person deposits money in a bank, the bank has to give the money back. Like, you have to be allowed to withdraw your own money from the bank. What a quaint idea.

So Buenos Aires bustles with life, with the energy of people whose living depends on grabbing attention, entertaining a crowd, or making a sale. This is very different from the energy of people who are just trying to pay off a car, a mortgage, a mobile phone or some other accessory. Besides anything else, it's a latin society in a warm climate, but it also seems to me more raw, more honest - and it reminds me rather a lot of Bangkok.

From 1976 to 1983, the Argenine populace suffered what is called the 'dirty war', or guerra sucia. About 30,000 people, mostly young, disappeared during this period, kidnapped and murdered by the Argentine state in acts recognised as genocide. At the end of this period, many of us will recall that Argentina invaded the Falkland Islands - a political stunt, it seems, aimed at whipping up support for the regime. The manouevre backfired when Britain, led by Margaret Thatcher who was herself in trouble in the polls, fought back.

Little wonder there is almost no confidence in the government. Numerous times we have heard words to the effect of "they just don't care about the people", "it's all just a circuit (of funds), and we don't get anything". The word "pigsty", or "porquerí­a" is most frequently to describe the activities of the political class. Political scandals here can be pretty hot, it seems. Hot enough for presidents - even several new ones in the space of a week - have to leave parliament house in helicopters. Though this hasn't happened for fifteen years or so, that's recent enough to live in the public memory.

This week another new president was sworn in. Argentina's first woman pres, congratulations. But hang on, doesn't she have the same name as the last president? That's right, he's her husband! I can't claim to know much about her politics, but it seems clear that Argentines aren't too convinced that family ties are a good qualification for the presidency. People speak of her as the least worst option - 45% of the vote only means that, 45% of the vote, and it's not that dear to buy. Then again, there's the example of George and George W. Not only are they father and son, but they are also multi-billionaires with oil in their viens. Surely these are appropriate qualifications for leading the "free world", aren't they?

Anyway, back to Argentina. Our thus far limited peek speaks of squandered opportunities, which I guess, the citizenry was unable or unwilling to prevent. The Spanish colonisers considered indigenous south american peoples unworthy of existence, and walked all over their country in the name of profit. The gold, silver, wool and other riches were promptly sent back to the mother country to be wasted on opulence, war and such. This story will possible ring a bell for our Australian readers.

Today the place is full of foreign companies, with banks especially prominent, who continue to drain the place of its resources. This whole continent has a fiery history of colonisation, slavery, immigration and unrest; nearly all these countries have endured dictatorship, some of it recent, and American interference in their politics. Then again, who hasn't? I look forward to getting some insight into the other countries of this continent, and knowing more of Argentina.

I think we Australians are far milder than the Argentines, which I guess relates to the Anglo weighting of our heritage. But if we look a little behind the stories, I suspect we'll find we put up with some pretty serious porquerí­as as well.

At home in Buenos Aires

Good for Andy, updating our blog with our adventures from Europe. At the moment, my head is full of this language (I wake up to random Spanish words floating round my mind) and what is going on around here, but I look forward to doing the same! Until then, a couple of thoughts from this city ...

At dawn this morning there was a huge wind in our suburb. We are on the second story of a block of flats (in a hostel) with an open veranda outside our room. It's a bit of a low-rent area, and the structures all have temporary add-ons. The wind ripped part of the roof off our veranda, and as it was flapping and banging, parts of other buildings were shaking and vibrating amongst the rubbish that had been picked up from the streets. As a lot of people live in the streets here, I thought about how many of them would have woken up with their belongings blowing around them. It made me realise how much even small weather incidents like that one have so much more of an effect on people who live in less permanent homes than we do.

However, it seems as if many people here aren't fazed by the erratic weather and its possible effects. It´s almost as if some people are bolstering themselves up as if they are living in endless wealth, when clearly there isn't that much to go around. There are so many people going through rubbish to collect paper to sell to recycling plants, and on Friday nights they put it all in big trucks, and you can see people riding high through the streets on top of great piles in the back. It's like the crowning glory of their week! Also, many people come through the trains trying to sell things (like message cards or bracelets) by putting one on everyone's lap and then coming back and picking them up again, hoping someone will pay instead of giving them back. The other people are nice (or at least tolerant), holding onto the thing until the person comes back, and then usually giving it back with a smile. I've only seen two people buy anything in this way.

As for me and Spanish, I think I am experiencing one of the common hurdles to learning a language. It's very isolating being in a country where you don't speak the language, and branching out of the safety of your own language makes it even harder! Suddenly I am far and away the clumsiest speaker in the room, and sometimes, even when I do try, people still don't understand me.Anyway, I understand confidence is the key, and one way to that is knowledge ... so I guess I'd better get back to my books. Oh for the day that I am fluent!

hasta luego mis amigos,
Em

Pegaso Arabians - Autogrill

I worked on a horse stud in Tuscany for a number of months in '94. A great experience, it taught me a lot about horses and plenty of words in Italian that really can't be used in the street! Filippo was the original tough guy horseman, king of his domain and as strong, short and fiery as a Sicilian men are thought to be. He is still there, still passionate about his arabs, again disappointed that we were not able to stay a night. It was good to see him again, and to give Em another glimpse into formative part of my history. We had a cup of tea with him and rode a few laps of the menage, but we were heading north and had to go.
The road from Florence to Bologna is a mountain road, crossing the Futa Pass, or passo della Futa. During my time with Filippo, as a blackmarket labourer toiling (or relaxing) in the spring sunshine, I had watched the weekend day trippers zap past on their way up the pass, and wanted to do it myself.

It made for one of the more atmospheric motorcycling experiences we've had. I won't bang on too much as it's likely most of the people reading this have limited interest in motorcycling. But these were 87 kilometres of concentration, and a little adventure all to themselves. With new tyres on the bike and the moist evening closing in, we had to make a mile.

Motorcyclists love mountain roads for their curves. Some prefer tight curves and steep climbs, others smooth, wide bends - the best roads combine the two, usually with the wide ones at the bottom of hills, getting tighter as you approach the summit. A smooth surface is fun, though our bike is not troubled by scrappy ones either. This evening we had to get somewhere. We don´t travel excessively fast - haste on a motorbike is silly, and we ride with a wide margin for error, ours or others'. Chi va piano, va lontano, as the Italians say. (Those who take it easy go far).

On a bike you travel in the environment, not just through it. If it rains you get wet, if it´s cold you feel it, if there are blooms or wet autumn leaves around you smell them as well as feeling them under the tyres. And of course you celebrate the sunshine, possibly more than in any other mode of travel. Somehow the enjoyment is all the more intense now that the bike is our home, stacked up with everything we've got.

So on the Futa pass, chased by grumpy skies and shoved by hefty winds, we climbed into the clouds and into the dusk. We didn't have to share the road with anyone but the elements, and we jostled with them for space. There might be two peaks on this road, maybe more - for me it felt like a continuum of curves, one running into the next and all requiring mental effort. As the dusk closed in, so did the fog - we picked our way through in heavy weather, sometimes travelling at less than 20km/h. Generally though the fog allowed us to see about as far as the next curve, so rather than inhibiting the fun, it added to the atmosphere. Here and there floodlit castles and towers pierced the gloom, the odd guesthouse beckoned from the roadside.

Communication between us at times like this is by snatched phrases, by squeezes and by care.

Villages appeared and disappeared, more frequently as we neared Bologna and descended out of the mist into clear night. Getting closer to town, and with a little more traffic slowing us down, essence of pizza wafted ever more frequently into our helmets - this is Italy, after all!

We tucked into pizza in Bologna - why resist, given the appetising aromas, and particularly on our last night in Italy? - and headed out onto the highway to keep going north. Long, straight, arterial roads are a bore, but I just replayed the Futa Pass in my head while Em cuddled me and we cruised at truck speed in the slow lane. Somewhere south of Milan we stopped for the night. It was late and cold, and while it´s not one of our favourite camp spots it did the trick. Caffé latte wasn't far away in the morning, either!

Thankful for the public holiday, we skirted around Milan in light traffic, having another coffee in Como before heading into Switzerland.

a while ago in Florence

When we arrived in Florence after our jaunt through Tuscany, navigation was by memory. I was there and around for a few months in early 1994, and thought it would be easy enough to find the friends I had met then.

We were hot and sticky after a few days camping in the best of Tuscany's abandoned villas, so it was good to find the mercato centrale with a minimum of fuss and only one shortish conversation with a helpful old man. Sneaking around the inner city, we found a bit of space to park. I thought we would go into the market and ask around for Adriano and Beatrice, sellers of panini al lampredotto (bread rolls filled with Florentine meat specialties).

We´d just got our helmets off when a bloke on an old blue Vespa rocked up - some vague level of recollection rose in me. I watched as he walked across the road to a little door and sorted his keys, then turned his head... it was Adriano! Adriano?! Disbelief on both sides of the road. Andrea?! Ma no!! Invece sí!

So that´s how we met up, without making any prior arrangements. We couldn´t have anyhow, I hadn't had their number for years and they had moved twice. I was stoked - we'd bumped into the first friends I ever met in europe, genuine, down-to-earth people that Emily had already heard stories of. I mean, impossible; right there in the street, without chasing or asking or really looking at all, we had got ourselves to their storeroom just as Adriano was arriving too.

Things moved pretty quickly from there. We went straight to the stand - well, maybe after a little aperitif - to see Beatrice. I guess we were all pretty stunned! I mean, where have you been, we thought you´d come back, we went to australia but couldn´t find you. What? Obviously you want a panino..? (Em took a second to get used to the filling...)
Then they laid out the plan: we´ll take you home, you can shower, we are going up to the mountains tonight, you´ll come, right? Sí, sí, how could we not? Such a pleasure to be greeted - again - by long lost friends.

So there we went, first to their place where once again we were given the keys to the city, the run of the house, all that proper hospitality. Adriano went back to work, and left us with the dogs who were also happy to have guests. We parked the bike in the backyard, unpacked and, as instructed, made ourselves at home.

Castagno di Sant' Andrea is in the mountains about an hour out of Florence. At the top of the village is Adriano & Beatrice's place. The track leading up the mountain from there leads into the castagni - the chestnut forest. It´s autumn, the middle of the chestnut season. Adriano, as his father was, is a man about town up there, just as Beatrice is a feature of market life in Florence.

The weekend was about hanging out with friends, and about chestnuts. Life in Castagno (note that the name of the place is the name of the trees) is lived at a slower pace. It´s tied to the collection of the nuts, their processing, the products that are made from them: flour, bread, sweets, liqueurs, and of course the nuts themselves. Em and Beatrice collected nuts most of the day, and there´s more to that than meets the eye, especially given that they are a commercial crop. Adriano and i collected a few here and there, but most of the time was spent discussing the technicalities of maintaining a productive forest - there's also more to that than you'd think. Here and there we all took various refreshments in the little cabin. More friends came up for lunch, and we took in the peace of the place.

Making a living from the land over the long term requires respect for and knowledge of the place and its nature. People look after the forest in Castagno, and the forest provides for them, too.

In the afternoon we went to the festival of the castagni, of course, given that it was on. More genuine, unhurried people, speaking the heavy dialect that confirms they are of the place - groovy down to earth people of all generations, in Em's words. And chestnuts, chestnuts, chestnut cakes, beer, chestnut talk, chestnut deals.

Then back to Florence, city of art, architecture, markets, home of friends. Beatrice, expert in the kitchen, taught Emily to make gnocchi and threw in another language lesson. We hung out more with Adriano and Beatrice, despite how hard they work. In the markets, at home, walking the huskies, once again we were immersed in the lives of our hosts.

They´re married now - they weren't when I met them - and had been to Australia for their honeymoon. Adriano still had my parents' number in his phone, and had tried to get people to call for him. In the meantime though, there had been a change to the phone system and this got in the way. And, had we come to Florence at any time in eight of the previous ten years, we would not have found them either. But as luck would have it...

Anyhow as you see, Em and Beatrice got on like a house on fire. Here they are making gnocchi.

Before we left Florence, Em appreciated the Uffizi Galleries while I got some new tyres on our bike. I was almost as impressed with the Pirellis as Em was with the Botticellis! Once again, we could have stayed longer, but we had to head north.

If you´re ever in Florence, look for these two! Mercato centrale, panini di lampredotto...

oh, and this bloke. He's a mate of David's.

Hola Argentina!

Well, we've made it safely to Argentina and are happily settled in our home for the next couple of weeks, the bustling Buenos Aires. I´ve enrolled in a Spanish school, and Andy is organising to do some volunteer work with disadvantaged people.

Some great things have happened since we arrived. Firstly, after struggling through a teach-yourself Spanish book through Europe, the other night, I became truly motivated to learn the language. On Sunday evening, after drinking beer on the grass at the sunny Recoleta markets (think Bangalow with a Latin American soundtrack), we headed to San Telmo for a change of scene.

What a blast! The cobblestone street had been closed to cars by a bunch of buskers playing the fattest latin tunes blasted out on string, brass and percussion. This time think a mix of Newtown/Brunswick and Woodford, within a circle of clapping, salsa-ing city kids. We were only too happy to be a part of it!

As the band packed up, we sat on the curb with a longneck and got talking with Diego, sitting next to us. He told us part of his story - how he was affected by the Argentine economic crisis of 2002.

'The sky from my world came completely down around me'.

For five whole days he (and many around him) had literally nothing to eat. Afterwards, there was no thought or prospect of going back to his old life, and so he took his hands and began making leather goods to sell at markets.

He also spoke of the internal revolution that he experienced. This is the sort of thing that cannot be easily translated (even by someone as practiced as Andy), and as I watched and listened, I realised just how valuable it would be to be able to speak this language, and to be able to properly understand people's stories.

I am glad to report I am now taking to my Spanish homework with vigour :)

Perhaps I am as yet imagining it, but the beat of this continent may be felt, even through the cobblestone and the concrete. It's with growing excitment that I am looking forward to the adventures ahead of us! :))

Tuscan safari

We´re pretty used to delayed departures. I mean, we thought we'd be in Poland for about a week and instead ended up staying far longer, and then going back. Same story for Rome, where our stay blew out from four days to over a week. And then we only managed a five o'clock departure.

It's about a three-hour ride from Rome to Florence, taking it easy. So we took it easy, and turned it into a three-day camping safari. An hour out of Rome, still in Lazio, we found ourselves an olive grove. It was easy to get there - after getting off the highway, sourcing some tucker and wine, we just chose the smaller road at the next half-dozen or so intersections.

Setting up the tent was second priority after rolling up, so dinner was late and simple, but accompanied by good wine. With activities in the same order in the morning, breakfast took a while to happen too! Then while Andy faffed around reorganising the bike, then reorganising again, Emily took the sun in amongst the olives, took photos and appeared to study Spanish. Departure was definitely an afternoon thing...

On the recommendation of our Roman friends, we headed vaguely in the direction of Radicófani. Thankfully this was a distance of not more than 60km, as we managed to get there only in the late afternoon.

You know, coffee, photos, wine and food restock. Again following the little roads, but this time in consistent drizzle, we were looking to avoid setting up the tent. Having poked around in the morning looking at holiday home villas, finding comfortable lodgings was on our minds. You know, a Tuscan villa to call our own. We found one, albeit at the bottom of a steep, muddy and quite treacherous driveway.

You couldn't access the living room, given the condition of the stairs, but the stable was dry and inviting. While Em filtered drinking water from the horse trough up the hill (don't worry mums, all very sanitary!), I took my leatherman to the brambles to clear a path to the doorway so we could invite our steel horse in too. This is the joint, our Tuscan villa. You'll have to come over next time we're there!

Comfortable lodgings in the stable...

As said, our villa is located just below the mediaeval village of Radicófani. Here's the view from the house - we're sure it will be charming in spring and summer, but it was very atmospheric in the late autumn.
Despite the drizzly, humid night, we slept well and happy after another wholesome, simple dinner. After we checked out the castle in the morning, we continued in the direction of Florence. On the minor roads all the time, as is our style, curve after curve. We stopped at Buonconvento for lunch, then Siena for coffee. Then we slipped over a little pass into the Val di Chianti. Wine lovers will have heard of this place.

Tonight we splashed out on good wine. Chianti classico, can't remember which winery. Great wine, but we didn't drink it this evening. Try as we might, and despite the encouragement of the rain, we couldn't find a spot to quite match the olive groves or the villa. We did feel at home behind the little church with the Etruscan statues though.

Free as birds, but rather grubby, we again took our time to get to Florence.

Tourists in Venice

A while ago we bolted away from our Polish friends´place, in order to get to Venice for a little rendezvous.

What fun - a couple of dinners, lunches and some canal-cruising, some time with another group of people who really seemed to have the travelling thing sorted...

A little feeling of home for a couple of days, a hug of my mum and a little tear on the station!