The bar I went to for my morning capuccino, was run in a incredibly smooth and professional manner: a 40'sh year old boss behind the till, one well trimmed pensioner at the coffee machine and another well trimmed pensioner at the door on the lookout for the local regulars shouting the orders back to the coffee machine:
-Arriva Giovanni, un caffe macchiato.
-Ecco il dottore, un caffe, un acqua lisica.
-Un capuccio per Andrea.
And so on. More or less 20 people had their morning libations in this bar while I had my cappuccino, pasta and glass of mineral water and - I promise you - I don't like to hang about with that stuff in the morning! |McDonald claim to serve their customers within 2 minutes, or whatever it is, but they haven't got a clue of how to run a place, compared to this operation (and they sell cr**).
After purchasing a paper and bus ticket at the newspaper stall (that's the way it works here, in this spot of Italy, more about it later on..) I located the bus stop where another white nun was waiting. I'm sure my unholy remark at the Hotel desk has been reported in her hierarchy
Creamy orange bricks in the morning light against the little murky river. I just about figure out which is the right side of the road to stand on when bus arrives. Great bus services in Italy. Cheap and regular, and sometimes on time.
I thought I would be more or less on my own on a bus ride out of town to a place where all you can do is walk up the hills (and NOBODY does this around here, I still get funny looks I struggle to describe when I mentioning what I'm doing).
I wasn't aware that ABANO TERME is something like Vichy to the power of five: This is dreamland for whoever did the site locations for the FOTOROMANZI that got me completely hooked in the 70's.
Hotels, marbles of any sort of creamy shade you care to imagine and neatly cropped grass during a ten minutes bus drive, White plastic deckchairs. Empty everywhere. Not one strolling guest in sight. I don't know what sort of people they put into these hotels, but there must me tens of thousands of them (I'm later told by the lady in the Bar you will hear about a bit further down, that they are GERMANS' but then the Italian stereotype of a tourist IS a German, I mean a dutch is a german, a swede (and I am German, mostly) is a German because they drink beer and eat pizza (not the English, they drink as well, but they misbehave at football matches: different kettle of fish).
It would be great to stop and do some photographs here but I must go on, this would be a full day job.
Reach TORIGLIANO, where the bus driver gives me a desperate look when I tell him I am walking to ESTE.
The walk through the hills is quite tough and the maps are pretty useless put it is cloudy and windy so at least I?m not too hot and somehow manage to get myself through the hilly labyrinth to end up in VALNOGAREDO.
(I do apologize for putting in all these place names that don?t mean anything apart to people who actually live there or blokes like me that are trying to find their way and have a very bad memory for geographical names. ( I also might want to hyperlink them actually).
VALNOGAREDO (and that is another reason I should remember that name and put it in capital letters) is where I stopped for a drink and sandwich (both delicious: more about it in the food section, coming up soon), served by a lady who?s wig was about one third of her own age. She and her hubby are running the bar and trattoria opposite the church. There is not really much more in that place.
I would put this woman?s qualities as following (apart from the wig):
1)Business acumen with elderly charm
2)Honesty (Yes: that is no contradiction to point 1 as you will see)
3)Caring
Clicking on the different numbers will give you explanations
It was now raining quite hard but the nature of my gastronomical and relational transactions in that bar put me in the positive frame of mind that was needed to walk the last 10km to Este (over a very steep hill).
ESTE, I don't really have too much to say about apart from the very nice guys at the albergo.The only thing I need to mention here is, that I had another attempt at location a barber that could get me rid of the stubbles on my chin and cheeks. After asking round, I was given three possible locations, out of which I tried two. To no avail. Hair only (not facial, cranial)
Damn! One of my Italian myths crumbling!
I gave in and bought some Gillette plastic throw-aways for Lira 6'000. Gilette has won that war I grumbled to myself when turning round the corner there was a another barber shop: and he did do facial hair!!
Lira 8'000 for a purpose shave against 5 flimsy bits of plastic that scratch your skin: war's not over!
Quick bite of Bigoli al cinghiale and thin steak with parmesan chippings and very nice aubergines and the good night cap with the crew at the Centrale hotel: the spider bicycle man, the corrupt laywer form Padova, Annie Lennox and Davide and Pierico: thanks for the hospitality, I:m sure you've undercharged me on the extras, because there was quite a few, but I think you will have to talk to ALDO about that one!!!!!
Buona notte
Link1 Although I was stopping to try a glass of the local white of Colline Euganei, which is really delicious, I ended up with ¼ of a litre, a delicious sandwich of her own cured peppered neck of pork, a coffee and her own grappa, an invitation to come back for a weekend with my, relatives etc, because her son was running an Agriturismo and her promise that she would tell me where to get the best wines. All sold to me, I?m very open to these sort of activities. Being Italian is about networking, n?est-ce pas?
Link 2 When I told her I was walking from Venice to Rome: she said: ?But you are MAD!?. That?s honesty! It could have put the above described business relationship in jeopardy.
Link 3 Even though she speaks local vernacular, she seems to care about the result this produces on my understanding process. Her teeth are also actually her own age and in good shape (or somebody?s done a very good job on the). Her husband has a funny dental constellation of about three teeth and a half, mainly somewhere below his tongue, which results into me being very embarrassed when he wants to discuss the meteorological situation with me.