From the Stelvio Pass to Switzerland

There were several striking things about the day, but the most amazing weather news was that it did not rain. At all. All day.

I made some tasty sarnies at breakfast and we set off for Morano which is a very elegant town despite being dug up and in chaos.

After leaving the town we followed signs for the Stelvio Pass, the mythical road for bikers. My DB was really looking forward to this part of the journey and had high hopes the road would present a challenge for both bike and rider. I just hoped for some pretty views. On our way we went past several castles more or less close to the road. This one is less precarious than it looks, it's just me holding the camera as straight as I could from a moving bike, which turned out to be not very straight.

We also saw Alpine scenery like this, with forests of 'weeping' pines - see how the branches hang, and vibrant green spots of hillside pasture where farms perched high up in cleared land.

This photo shows the mountain in the background with hillside farms in patches of pasture, then vines in the valley surrounding a small town with what I think is a castle in the middle. Lovely.

 

At last we arrived at the Stelvio Pass just before lunch. We decided we'd eat at the top, 40 odd hairpin bends later. We were greeted by the eccentric sight of totem poles

Then we set off. To my DB's fury, the bike did not work as he expected. It is due to go in for a repair tomorrow, something to do with the ball bearings I think, and so coming out of a left-hand bend he could feel something was a bit wobbly. Not life-threatening or anything, but not right. This meant he couldn't accelerate up the road after the bend as he wanted which was most frustrating. He was a bit grumpy when we got to the top, but I reassured him that we could always come back another time (it's basically a day's drive from Montpellier).

See the road twisting and turning up to the top

We had our lunch looking down the valley at the road we'd just come up. There is a man on the last bend there on the left who is a photographer and he takes pictures of all the bikes as they come up. You can then go to his website and buy the photo of you on the Pass. I wonder how many people do that. We haven't (especially as my DB has a mixed souvenir).

We came up this side

At the top the place was packed with bikers. This is a small selection.

We were not alone...

This is what we've got to look forward to

 I must admit, it was a bit hairy and I did hang on pretty tightly because while the bike didn't accelerate well onto inclines, it accelerated marvellously going downhill which meant braking hard at the corners, and my DB beat the frustration going up out on the road going down.

Going down the other side looking up at the road we've just been on

Just in case you had any doubts... I WAS there

At the bottom we carried on over another pass where my DB decided he wanted a snooze. We stopped here next to an abandoned motel (behind) and he got out his inflatable mattress while I sat on a rock, read my Kindle and admired the view which I thought resembled quite closely the Lake District.

Snooze zone

We crossed the border into Switzerland and discussed staying at either St Moritz or Celerina next door. I suggested the latter as I thought it might be less expensive. Whether it was or not I'm not sure, but it probably was, but it still cost the earth for what it was. We went to a hotel which catered for walkers, bikers, cyclists, families the lot, so it had dormitories, rooms and suites. The exterior of the hotel was finished in raw concrete in an industrial style that seemed to be quite popular from what we saw later.

The room was basic, decorated with stark black, grey and white speckled granite tiles, wood panelling on the walls, raw concrete on corridor walls and ceilings, and a bathroom walled off in red formica. There was no hairdryer or fridge and we paid 160CF for that. We should have stayed in Italy. My DB suggested we buy a picnic in a supermarket as the restaurants were bound to be exorbitant so we found a little corner mini-market and stocked up on cheese, rice crackers and black bread, plus wine (thank goodness). I got told off for dithering as I tried to make up my mind from the underwhelming display and felt rather despondent at the choice. Back at the hotel I asked for a bucket of ice for the wine which I was given and asked to return (!). We dined in the bleak room but did get through both bottles of wine. It was a fitting end to a frustrating (and grumpy) day.

The views were very pretty though, apart from the one from the hotel window onto the stone mason's workshop.

More coming.

From Cortina to the Italian Tyrol

Breakfast was dire in the poky hotel in Cortina. Even the coffee was bad, and there was no way I could make sarnies with the miserable stuff on offer. The bad start to the day was compounded by getting lost trying to get out of the damned place. Signs to Belzone just disappeared once you were on the wrong road without any directions as to finding the right road. After three futile attempts we put on the sat nav and were directed round some tiny little routes to join up with the right road. Bizarre.

To our daily storms was added hail as we went over a pass. It stung as it struck my jacket like being poked by lots of little knitting needles.

Belzone was a lovely little town where the temperature got up to 27°C so we were quite glad to move on and up the valley of many little tunnels and precariously perched castles.

Mountains become hillsides good for cultivating vines

Castle

Another castle

We then came across this old man returning from visiting his bee hives, carrying honey comb on his back.

Honeycomb man

By now we were leaving the Dolomites and coming to the Italian Tyrolean Alps where they speak German and seem to have more in common with their Tyrolean cousins across the border than their countrymen from further south.

Little ski station.

 We went past many of these little ski stations. They looked very friendly and accessible. We stopped at this one to put on wet weather gear as it was starting to rain again. Hence my loser cagoule look.

This is typical of the fantastic windy roads that go up and down the passes. Every now and again there'll be a hotel or bar which are very handy when a storm looms and it becomes imperative to find shelter before one is caught up yet again in torrential rain.

We came off the last pass and into the town of St Leonhard in the Passeier Valley where we stayed at a lovely hotel residence the Bad Fallenbach. Our room was a studio with kitchette, freezer (handy for the wine) and fantastic views from the large balcony.

We went into town for dinner and found a restaurant which served up one of the best meals of the week - a pork chop covered in a creamy mushroom sauce of tiny, delicious mushrooms and chips. It was so tasty it was an absolute joy to eat, and made up for the tasteless cheese toastie I'd had for lunch at one of the posher ski stations. What a mistake that was!

To be continued.

From Austria into the Italian Dolomites

After a hearty breakfast which included smoked bacon and fried eggs and provided ample material with which to make lunch's sarnies, we headed off south into the Dolomites.

We kept to the small green roads which were often in poor repair but pretty nonetheless.

We went past villages with sometimes colourful roofs (note the green section in the middle of one of the buildings).

From clean, picture perfect Austria, we crossed the border into a much grubbier Italy. The contrast on the other side of the border was remarkable, with half-finished houses, unkempt buildings, corrugated iron roofs instead of tiles and general air of careless disregard for their surroundings.

Never mind, we were not there to wonder at the houses but to gaze at the much more spectacular Dolomite mountains. They are one of the UNESCO World Heritage sites for their highly distinctive mountain landscape and exceptional beauty.

They also look slightly ephemeral with the effect of the scree slopes suggesting frequent landslides and heavy weathering. How long would they last...

We had our picnic lunch on the balcony of what looked like an abandoned holiday home. It obviously hadn't been used for a long time looking at the overgrown garden, but provided the perfect spot by a quiet road, and offered protection from the predictable storm. After it had passed, we carried on and came across this stunningly blue reservoir.

Fantastic mountains. Note corrugated roof and shutters badly in need of paint

 

After a glorious day's ride, we arrived at Cortina d'Ampezzo and, for some reason, fixed on a modest biker hotel which had a poky bedroom and huge white bathroom. The owner was a very amenable jolly guy but we didn't really get to appreciate the 'ambiance Cortina'. After a shower and a rest, we mooched into the centre all of 100m away and found a pizzeria to test the Italian pizzas.

My DB has rarely had a great or even good pizza experience in Italy and our meal was no exception. I found the base while lovely and thin and crisp had no taste, and the veggie topping needed a lot of help too. However, we followed it with a delicious dessert of lemon sorbet with vodka and white wine. I think they also managed to dredge up a bottle of rosé for us. We were considered a little peculiar I think for not wanting red (or even white).

View down the busy street from the hotel

View looking the other way from the hotel

Naturally, that evening there was storm which kindly stopped just as we were walking back to the hotel. 

To be continued.

Inspector Montalbano

I don't know about you but I like watching police detectives at work in foreign languages. Wallender springs to mind, in the original Swedish with subtitles. French tele doesn't seem to have discovered it yet, but thanks to my Sky Digibox, I can enjoy it unfettered by a dodgy dubbing into French.

Yesterday evening, by pure chance my TWDB and I happened on an episode of Commissaire Montalbano, the Italian police series. It was being shown on BBC4, with subtitles. Set in the Sicilian town of Vigàta, the series is filmed in Ragusa, Punta Secca and Licata with scenery that has you itching to get on the next boat.

This evening, amazingly, France 3 was showing another episode of Commissaire Montalbano, dubbed. How bizarre is that? I discover it on Saturday evening and see it for the first time on French tele on Sunday evening. Quel coincidence!

Anyway, if you don't know it, and like Wallender, do catch it if you can. Montalbano is a cool detective, as Wikipedia says:

the fractious detective's character and manner encapsulate much of Sicilian mythology - brooding philosophy, whip smart dialogue, rugged beauty, superb food - and astute detective work. 

What is there not to like? I must admit, it was much better in Italian with subtitles. The character loses something dubbed into French, especially as French tele only seems to have half a dozen dubbing actors so you know all the voices already, most of whom you already associate with a particular film character. It's most disconcerting.

I will also look out for the books written by Andrea Camilleri, and they may even give me a reason to go the local library although I'll check out Kindle books first...

Elisa Bramante's Story

None of us are relentlessly cheerful. We all have our down moments when we think that things are going badly, our life is shit, and our worst nightmare is just around the corner. However, for most of us, this is just a bad patch, because life isn't that bad, and it can even be rather terrific. Although one should never lose sight of the ephemeral nature of money and success, and that we are one serious car accident away from dire straits, hopefully we'll struggle through with but a few knocks and bruises.

For some however, the knocks turn into beatings with a sledgehammer. My attention was drawn to an English lady in Umbria, Italy who wished to retire to Italy, did her homework, took her time, and placed her faith in professionals to provide reliable reports on potential property.

Elisa Bramante is now living in poverty because of:

the dishonesty & negligence of those who have been involved with my house in Umbria, some of whom are working illegally in Italy, all of whom are related directly or indirectly with the agency which sold me the house. Their negligence has resulted in my poverty & a daily struggle to stay alive.

She has a website through which she aims to bring the reality of what has happened to her to the world so that others may not go through what she is suffering. It makes very angry reading. She has been defrauded on all sides - by the agency, the lawyers, the Law, and the workmen.

These malpractices should be exposed, the slowness of Italian law should be exposed because it enables cowboys to practice with impunity. If it takes so long to sue someone that they're probably dead before the case goes to court, who has the patience or money to go through with it? The result is that these guys think they are untouchable and can defraud without punishment.

Read her site if you have a strong stomach. It's not for the faint-hearted, but if you are thinking of moving to Italy it is a MUST READ. Elisa has been reduced to a life of total misery:

I have spent 2 months of each of the last 3 winters in the cold, without heating, also I've lived the last year on the charity of others. I've not left my house for the last year, other than to go to our local town & can only eat, when others are kind enough to buy or give me food. I know what hunger is, I live with it every day now !!!!
I had done enough homework to know that there would be many difficulties in starting a new life in Italy, but one doesn't expect that the level of dishonesty would be such, that I would cry my eyes out every day, suffer hunger & pain, turn from being a happy person, to one living in misery, thinking only of death as a way out of my suffering, or that I would see every penny that I have earned spent on paying for the damage which they have caused, leaving me to live in poverty.

A guy I know said that when he thinks things are getting really bad, he thinks about how life was in the trenches, and that helps him put things in perspective. It's unlikely that we can even imagine how ghastly it was for those poor guys in the trenches. Elisa's situation is one that we can all too clearly imagine however.

Please help publicise Elisa's website. Perhaps the publicity could help achieve a Petite Anglaise-type fairytale ending. Or at least warmth and nourishment!