The last of the organised tours, this time by coach to Desenzano, and by train on to Venice. Our reserved seats in the train had us sitting apart again, and one seat had no window. Fortunately, there were empty seats so we promoted ourselves, and had good views. The ride across the causeway is an impressive experience, specially when the sun is reflected off the ripples on the lagoon. We had a private boat counter-clockwise around the main island to S Marco, where we were met by our guide. After 10 minutes or so of history lesson, we melted away when the group moved off, and explored the back streets for ourselves. The disadvantage of going private was that we did not visit S Marco: the queues were endless. The group got in through a side door with the guide.
Before we left for Venice, though, I'd had to go to reception and report that water was, once again, dripping from the a/c intake grille, as it has done each time we've had heavy rain, ie most days. I'd noticed that one of the down pipes next to our balcony was blocked, and water was running down the outside wall. I drew them a diagram to explain, and we went on our way. On our return, it was dripping worse than ever, and they'd placed a bucket on a heap of beach towels to catch the worst of it. Soon after we got in, there was a call from reception, apologising, and asking if we wanted to change rooms. We opted to stay put, whereupon they said our wine bill for the week would be settled by the hotel. It's an ill wind, eh?
Sunday 29 June
Last day in Italy. As I write we're in a train heading for Domodossola and the Simplon, after a short layover in Milano Centrale. Superb edifice, with no fewer than three monumental station halls. The place is crawling with beggars and thieves, however: helpful young people who offer to lift your bag into the train, for example. Unhelped and unrobbed, we press on northward.
The rest of the journey went perfectly, as one would expect when much of it was in Switzerland and all of it on an SBB train. Our train was an almost new Pendolino, but our seats were at the end of the carriage, hence not the most comfortable place to spend four hours. Unfortunately for those who were seeing Switzerland for the first time, the weather was dull and damp. The last stretch to Colmar was in a rather tired Belgian train that continued to Brussels. That said, the 1960s vintage seats were upholstered (more recently...) on proper sprung bases, so would have remained comfortable all the way.
From the front, Colmar station looks superb: I think I'd blogged that it dates from 1906, based on the same drawings as those for the main station in the then also German Danzig. It's a different story when you get off the train: we had to climb through an enormous weed that had been left for weeks growing out of the edge of the platform, which is seriously unkempt. I wonder what the restructuring of the French railways will achieve. Probably higher costs and lesser efficiency, as in UK. At the time of writing, the hotel Bristol seems OK. We have a room overlooking the courtyard rather than the station square, which is a relief. One of our party had his pocket picked in the reception area of the hotel, however: another disadvantage of travelling in a crowd of obviously foreign tourists.
In my tiredness after nine hours' travelling, I came close to throwing a wobbly when the dinner menu was presented with no choices. We enquired into the possibility of changing one course that one of us couldn't face, and the response was prompt and helpful, so we stayed. The meal was by and large better than we'd had in the hotel in Italy, though I wouldn't build an itinerary round it.
Monday 30 June
On a previous visit to Colmar in 1974, the entire UPU centenary Congress was invited to lunch by the French PTT in some vast hangar in the outskirts. In the best French lunch tradition, it went on for many hours, and I had to carry one of my colleagues back to the coach. We were a shade more circumspect this time.
Lunch in the old station buffet, then back to collect the bags and off to catch the train to Paris. Quite a long stretch on conventional track - and on the right-hand road in the German fashion - before we joined the high-speed line. Once on that we whipped along briskly, and far too fast to recognise the few station names. I did recognise the Montagne de Reims as we passed it, but as with the motorway that follows roughly the same route, the view is of vast tracts of farm land.
So, time to take stock. At various points in the trip, I had to admit that I was most definitely not in my element. It was rather like being on a school day trip: 'stand still while I count you!', 'back here at 16:45, because the bus won't wait!' etc. I had to be restrained a few times from getting up and walking out, and I often felt a 'fuck off!' coming on (but managed to restrain myself). We visited some wonderful places, and loved the views of the lake from the room (from day 2) as well as from boats and vantage points on land. The catering was rather mixed, and I did not take kindly to being shunted into the second-class citizens' dining rooms for depleted menus. The planning was not brilliant: after a hot and sticky day in Verona, I could have done with a shower and change of clothes before dinner, but we went straight on to an agriturismo venue for an indifferent dinner and an uninspiring wine tasting. Dinners at the hotel were very disappointing: choice was limited to two primi, one of which was always hot soup and two secondi, which were by and large better, though not always well-planned. Having asked for the trout one evening, I sat with an empty plate for quite a while after the others were served, and eventually got a freshly cooked fillet of sea bass - another ill wind... It took little effort to recognise the part played by leftovers. The desserts were awful without exception, which was galling when, on leaving the dining room, we had to walk past a copious pudding waggon, the contents of which would go to waste. The hotel was otherwise good (notwithstanding our room's unplanned second shower), but if you decide to use the Savoy Palace in Gardone Riviera, go bed and breakfast. Value for money: Awful.
Wednesday 2 July
It's always good to get home and see what the garden has been doing. Lettuces are filling out, carrots seem to be surviving and some of the beans are climbing their stakes. The roses are flowering like mad and the recent plantings seem to be surviving, thanks largely to Celia and Andy's watering visit. We did vast amounts of laundry yesterday which was helpfully warm and breezy.
Off again on Sunday: it's actually quite hard to leave the garden at this time of year, but we'll be back to enjoy it in August.
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