28 June: Venice
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.
On the whole, we preferred our approach: we spent less time shuffling round in a crowd and having to stand and
listen to a guide droning on, plus we had time for a relaxed lunch
near the Rialto fish market. After a bit more leisurely exploration, we
took a vaporetto the length of the Grand Canal back to the station.
Having been instructed to be back there at 16:15, we began to
get a bit anxious when the water bus gave way to every gondola in sight. Anyway,
we made it with time to spare. The forecourt of the station was full of
life as the Venice gay pride was assembling: lots of signs round necks
offering free hugs and kisses, but one did not avail oneself.
I
deliberately took few photographs, since Venice must be the most
photographed city in the world. My shot of St Mark's and the Doges'
palace was taken only out of irony: the vast Nieuw Amsterdam cruise
barge was being towed through, dwarfing everything in sight. There were
a few other cameos I wish I'd captured: a girl in a long flowing blue dress
standing up in her dinghy, shading her eyes with
one hand, and, with the other, steering with a long tiller attached to
the outboard motor; the chap in the garbage boat sheltering from the sun
under a rose pink umbrella; the gondolier winding his boat-load of
Japanese tourists round bends and under bridges, nattering away on his
telefonino the while; the fellow chatting away on one telefonino while
texting on another.
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
Reasonable
night's sleep: the room was quiet and well appointed, and even provided tea,
proper cups, saucers and a kettle. Copious and varied breakfast laid on, so
we were well set up for the day. We got slightly sprinkled as we did
our little walking tour - on our own with the map. Very attractive
town, Colmar, probably a bit overshadowed by nearby Strasbourg. A lot
of timber-framed medieval houses survive, or have been restored, and
they are now painted in a pleasant variety of pastel colours.
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.
Storks
are nesting in baskets on top of some of the taller buildings, and
there were young birds in at least one of the nests we saw. We visited
the toy museum in town: quite fun, though the mechanical orchestra was
faintly macabre.
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.
There were some nice moments: Martyn playing the piano in the Gare de Lyon, a sparky woman bus driver who picked us up close to the exit at the Gare de l'Est and dropped us right at the front of the Gare du Nord, and the discovery that the train stopped at Ashford on the way home, which save us an hour at the end of a long day's travelling.
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.
Scintillating start to En Blanc et Noir,
a four-day festival of piano music, together with some song and choral
pieces, in the Halles at Lagrasse. You can see the programme yourself
at the link. The opening song
concert today at lunchtime was really good, despite competition from the
Tramontane, the Abbey Bells and some clanking of bottles in the
adjacent wine shop. One down, eleven to go. Virtuoso piano practice floating over the roof as I got the washing in from the terrace. Surprised at liking the Alban Berg songs, but I wished I'd
taken the initiative to read up the lyrics beforehand. And a
refreshingly un-Piaf-like rendering of Hymne à L'Amour by Penny Turnbull. 
