Early in the morning, at least by Italian standards, my family took off, bound for Fiumincino airport and a plane to whisk them back stateside. With a day to kill--and still unsure as to my next destination--I started roaming the streets hoping for some inspiration, or at least decisiveness. And so it was found as I made my way to Termino train station and purchased a night ticket to Venezia. With ticket in hand, I continued an afternoon of wandering, from Circo Massimo across the Tiber River to Gianicolo Hill near the Vatican and then down through Trastavere and back across the Tiber via Isola Tiberina and through the quiet streets near Campo de Fiori, finally back through the heart of Rome to the train station. I spent the evening reading and awaiting the train out to see the famous canals of Venice.
And so my evening train departed, and I settled in for a long ride northeast and arrived into the foggy outskirts of Venice at the Mestre train station early the next morning. Mestre, an outlying part of the city, is the not the Venice of the movies and so I exited the station early in the morning with no shops open and unable to figure my way into the Venice I had seen so many times on screen and in history books. An hour and a cappuccino later, I got on a bus bound for the heart of Venice and stepped off at Piazza Roma. A quick walk to the main station followed and I stowed my bags for the day, content to walk around the city for a day and figure out my next move. I procured a map and ended up wandering the streets in search of another wonderful cappuccino, and found one in a small cafe staffed and patronized only by locals (a rarity in Venice I would find), and I settled in to await a reprieve from the escalating morning drizzle. After my brief break, I headed out for a wander, taking in the vast network of alleys criss-crossing the island and marveling in the fact that I could be shoulder to shoulder with tourists one moment, and make a turn off the main street and have a beautiful alley to myself the next. A day of walking followed, seeing the main sights , but only entering one: the majestic St. Mark's Cathedral. I took in the Piazza and the Grand Canal as I traversed the islands reveling in the beauty of this classical city. But, by late afternoon I was sure there was not a hostel to be located and I needed to be on the move, so I decided Slovenia via Trieste would be my next destination. Back to the train station I went, purchased a night ticket onward and waited out the night watching as the cloudy afternoon light was steadily replaced by the city lights illuminating the bridges and churches of the city.
My second consecutive night on a train ended in the Trieste train station early the next morning. More accurately, it ended on the train. I woke in the morning to find myself alone in the train car with the lights off and automatic doors shut. So I arose and pried the doors open to find a sleepy Italian city awaiting. I found the neighboring bus station and got a cheap ticket on to Slovenia before finding a morning cappuccino. Armed with an evening ticket onward and the knowledge that my grandmother lived in Trieste as a child, I decided to try to find any information I could on our family's brief history in Trieste. My great grandfather was chaplain in the United State's Army stationed in Trieste after World War II and their family spent three years in the northeast of Italy. Their stay included the birth of my grandmother's brother in the city, so I decided to start my search at the hospital. Unfortunately, the hospital did not remember the monumentous occasion. However, the kindly staff was able to point me to the Anagrafe, or local records office. The nice manager even gave me a lift over to the office. As it was not yet open, I enjoyed a cup of tea and anxiously awaited the possibility that the visit would bear some fruit. And, in fact, it did! I entered the office just after it opened at 8:30 and was pointed to a very nice woman who was more than willing to assist me in my quest. She looked up the records and pulled the original birth certificate of my great uncle Jon and allowed me to examine. Completed with the handwriting of my great grandfather, the family record registered with Trieste's Demographics Office was an amazing document to hold. Unfortunately, I did not know my great grandfather well enough before he passed, but holding that document with his handwriting some five thousand miles from home was a truly moving experience. Finding that piece of history so far from home made me appreciate the impact that each life has on the world. The scope of each person's life, and the stamp that we leave on the world is so much larger than we might first assume. Although this was just a piece of paper, probably not called upon for years, the fact that something of my great grandfather's was sitting untouched in a closed drawer in northeast Italy for years represented a time when he was part of that community, the community I was visiting then and that was a powerful experience. But, I was abruptly aroused from my reminiscence by my Italian hostess at the Anagrafe who politely informed me that that was all the information she had, I could photograph it, but then--and again I stress politely--informed me I could be on my way. I asked her whether there was anywhere else I might go to seek information, and she recommended the Archivo Storico conveniently located next door. I headed over there only to be told that there really was not much information on the the U.S. Army's staff as the Army took all their records with them when they departed in the 1950's. For the second time in under an hour, I was politely dismissed. Unsure of another avenue, I tried some internet research but was unsuccessful in my attempts through the rest of the day and waited out my bus to Slovenia. However, just a few minutes before my bus, I was delighted to see a message from my friend Lodovico informing me that he was in Italy and would love to host me. So, I abruptly changed plans and decided to stay a few days in Trieste before meeting up with Lodovico after the weekend.
I checked into one of the limited choices of guesthouses in Trieste and rested through the evening, ready to see some more of Trieste the next day. And so, for the next two days I wandered the streets of Trieste, heading up to the castle, around the city center and making a trip to the Castello di Miramare about five miles outside the city. The Castello was very nice and in remarkable condition and the surrounding grounds were nice to stroll through. Alas, on Sunday afternoon I headed back to the train station and hopped a train bound for Conegliano, back on the route to Venezia. And on the platform was my friend Lodovico, ready to graciously invite me into his world and show me around his piece of northeast Italy. Our first stop, after a brief tour of Conegliano, was the hilltop castle in town for a couple glasses of prosecco. It was here near the town of Conegliano that prosecco was invented, and we drank our glasses of local prosecco, before a cap of spritz--a carbonated apertivo made with campari--and then we were off. Our next stop was some authentic pizza just outside the town of Vittorio Venetto near Lodovico's house. After some fantastic local pizza, we retired for the evening with a big day planned for tomorrow.
We woke up early the next morning and after a light breakfast, headed into the Dolomite mountains for some hiking. After winding through the mountains, we ended up at a mountain town near the trailhead to Tre Cime, or the three tops. But before we hiked, it was highly necessary for a shot of local grappa in the town. With our bellies warm, we hit the trail and were quickly knee-deep in snow. After wading through the snow for an hour, we reached the summit greeted by sunny skies and a beautiful landscape. We took in the landscape for an hour, ate some sandwiches from the mountain top cafe and shared some beers before making our way back down the mountain to the trailhead. We headed back slowly taking in the mountain towns of the Dolomites and stopping frequently to marvel in the landscape. Back in Vittorio Veneto, we decided to hit a local vineyard so Lodo could purchase some of their bottles direct from the source. In we stopped and were greeted by the vintner herself, who gave us a personal tasting of four of her wines before Lodo purchased a few bottles. Then it was back to Lodovico's house for dinner with his wonderful parents. On the menu was a light summer meal of scrambled eggs, which was such a delight. Combine with the recently purchased red wine and sprinkle in a little broken English conversation and you have the recipe for a fantastic evening.
The next day we packed Lodo's bikes into his car and headed for Treviso, on the road to Venice. There, we unloaded the bikes and set out for a day of riding through the Italian countryside. First stopping in Treviso for a quick cappuccino, we then followed the river out into the countryside through many small towns and villages on a gorgeous northeast Italian day. Lunch consisted of a wonderful sandwich and red wine before we finished the ride back to Treviso. On the menu at Lodo's was a terrific summery meal of canteloupe wrapped in prosciutto and bruschetta with basil, chopped tomatoes and garlic. After that, we attempted to watch a film but only I made it through, and just barely, before we called it a night.
Wednesday, my last in northeastern Italy, was a fun day as well. Lodo had some work to do, so I set out solo on a bike headed for the countryside on the other side of Vittorio Veneto. I made it through to Revine, a hillside town just a few kilometers from Vittorio Veneto and took in the views of the valley from their magnificent church at the top of the town. After being barked at by some rather unfriendly dogs, I decided to move further on down the road, with the next stop being Cison di Vaimarino. This town had a hilltop resort, which although very quiet, had fantastic views of the valley below. I marveled in all directions before noticing the storm rolling in. I thought I better get a move on, but I was just too late. On the way back, the rain started to come down hard, with lightning on the way. Luckily, Lodo had a break from work and when I called him from the local roadside osteria, he was able to come to my rescue. As I waited for Lodo to generously fetch me, the locals in the osteria were gathered and chatting in full. Great people watching and one of the gentleman tried to make some conversation, but unfortunately, we could not bridge the gap between my lack of Italian and his lack of English. "Deutsch?" he asked. "Nein," was my solemn reply. So instead, I ate a panini and watched as they caught up on the local news. Little did I know as I sat watching the old men commiserate, that the raging storm outside the window was clearing at a remarkable rate and by the time Lodo arrived, blue skies were back. I felt a little red in the face at this discovery, having Lodo drive all the way out of town to pick me up because of...good weather. No problem, said the ever so gracious Lodo, and off we headed homeward bound. Back at the house, Lodo finished some work and then we headed off for some bicycle polo practice, a sport Lodo was trying out with friends. As Lodo and his friends practiced I sought out the young Moroccan boy who was practicing his soccer skills. I asked if I could join and he graciously accepted my offer, and we passed and practiced corner kicks (and all resulting goal celebrations). Alas, it was time to go, and we headed into Vittorio Veneto for a final tour which culminated at a pub in the old town with a number of locals enthusiastically discussing philosophy. How perfectly Italian.
The next morning I was off to Trieste on the train, and from there I was Balkan-bound yet again.
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