On 20 October 2011, after dropping off Bruce at the ferry terminal in Calais, my job was to get myself, my daughter, Sophie Bielenberg, and Bluebell (the car) to Puglia. The route: Paris, Reims, Strasbourg, Heidelberg, Munich, Venice, Puglia. Sophie had just spent five weeks traveling alone and with friends all around Germany, France, and Benelux, and the plan was to meet outside the door of the apartment in Paris where we were spending the night.
I had my first trial by fire, driving on the Autoroute from Calais to Paris. I was alone and trying not to be scared, driving Bluebell, whose top speed is 70 mph, on the Galactic Highway. I had exactly three hours to get where I needed to be, but I hadn't factored in the Boulevard Peripherique around Paris at rush hour, which was gridlocked. Then, I had somehow forgotten to write down the complete address, having only the name of the street, so I just drove down rue monge searching for my daughter...! Incredibly, she was standing just where she should have been, despite my being an hour late. We had a happy reunion, and then looked for that famous French cuisine. Weirdly, we had the worst meal of the trip that evening! Next day, we went in search of upholstery tacks, as the only good ones seem to be French. We ate the best croissant I've ever had in my life, and the best blue cheese I've ever had in my life (pictured above), and a very fine fig tart:
Then, precisely at rush hour (!), we left Paris for Reims.
We spent two nights with Luc and Noelle south of Reims, who took care of us like family. We rested, ate well, bought local champagne, and saw a fabulous sound and light show on the Cathedral of Reims. The countryside of north-eastern France is not very interesting, but the production of champagne has a certain romance in itself.
The great cathedral of Reims:
We bought champagne from a very small producer; it actually seemed to be just someone's house, and most of the other houses in the village seemed to have their own champagne label, as well. I liked seeing champagne simply, as a family farm product! I had barely dusted off my French when we left. It takes weeks for what French I have to resurface and be useful.
We then drove to Strasbourg, just for the sake of seeing it, and it did not disappoint. The city has a beautiful river running through it, with picturesque bridges, and an astounding cathedral with a unique appearance, because the exterior is all carved in vertical points. All of Strasbourg's architecture tells you that you are in Germany, but everyone is speaking French, so I felt sligthly disoriented. We felt a bit stupid being there for only one night, as it is a gorgeous city. The air was very, very cold, even in October, and I started to think, isn't it nice we're headed for Puglia!
The next day we went to Heidelberg to visit a first-cousin-once-removed, my mother's cousin -- arriving at rush hour, naturally. Heidelberg is also on a river, and very, very pretty. After spending a lot of time circling the old town and trying not to get arrested for driving into pedestrian zones (a bemused policeman asked, "Do you not have navigation?!?"), we finally parked, found our hostel, and met up with my cousin, who took us out to the nicest restaurant in Heidelberg, where we ate a truly superb meal, with about four hours of conversation of the most varied and interesting sort. Sophie had fallen in love with Germany, and was thrilled to be back after several weeks in France. Germany is wonderful, I agree. And it was fun to be trotting out my German. (Apologies for the lack of pictures; we seem to have misplaced a large chunk of pictures, so there's nothing of Germany or Lago di Garda!)
Next day we drove to Munich, stopping on the way in Blaubeuren, where I had studied German in a Goethe Institut when I was 18. Blaubeuren is famous for its Blautopf, a large blue pool that appears to be infinitely deep. It was a trip down memory lane, though I didn't seem to remember much of the town, but how nice, this time, to be there with my daughter, instead of being an unhappy, lonely 18-year-old! The contrast was worth the trip. We arrived in Munich well after dark, to the home of our truly delightful German friends Lothar and Petra, and their boys. The weather, which had been fine from the beginning of the trip, turned rainy, so we slept in, ate well, went to the Pinakoteka Art Museum (which was excellent, though we didn't allow anything like enough time, having a superb collection of Dutch masters), tried to speak German, and just had fun being in the bosom of their family. The youngest boy had a serious soft spot for Sophie.
After two nights we drove to Lake Garda, crossing the jaw-dropping Bavarian Alps, the Tyrolian Alps, through Innsbruck and the Bremmer Pass. Unfortunately, my camera battery died just as we approached. How predictable. It was challenging to stay on the road because of the scenery. The driving was horrendous because there were only two lanes of traffic: the right lane for bumper-to-bumper trucks going 60mph, and the left lane of people going 100 to 120 mph, neither of which suited us. It was a-mazing to see agricultural pursuits going up the 80-degree hillsides, where it looked impossible to stand up, let alone harvest grapes and olives. We arrived at Lago di Garda in Italy at the end of the afternoon, but in time to see the wildly dramatic mountains surrounding the Lake, and fortunately the air was clear. The drive on the west side of the lake is really windy and mostly a sheer dropoff to the water. I saw a village 600 metres above us and said, "thank God we don't have to go up there for our hotel!" Of course, it turned out that was where our hotel was located, a village called Tignale. It was a terrifying ascent, almost more than I could do, frankly. But in this village we had the BEST pizza I've EVER had -- baked in a wood-fired oven, with the tenderest crust imaginable. Wow. Now I know what the fuss is about.
The next day we headed for Venice to meet Bruce, stopping in Verona for exactly one hour, where we had our first gelato. It was the best one we ate on the trip, still memorable: one scoop mango, one scoop chocolate the colour of ... well, I don't how to describe it, but really, really dark! Verona was brimming with tourists, but beautiful. We looked for Juliet's balcony, never did find it, but saw many very similar, including this one, but not exactly Juliet:
Then we got back in the car and drove to the airport of Venice, picking up Bruce. We rearranged the luggage to stuff now another person and his luggage, parked the car, and took a vaporetto to Venice. It was nighttime, and enchanting! I had found a beautiful apartment to rent, overlooking a canal, for incredibly little money, in an out-of the way section of the city. We discovered that the best parts of Venice are where the tourists don't go, which fortunately is most of Venice. Every corner, every site, is worthy of a painting. It was very wonderful to spend four days without hearing a car, bus, motorcycle, or even to encounter a bicycle! We spent one day at the island of Murano, famous for its glassblowers, who at one point were all moved there, to limit the fire hazard to Venice. Some of it is wildly tasteless (a mystifying taste for clowns), but much of it is beautifully crafted. Bruce went to Torcello (another island in the lagoon) while Sophie and I toured the shops of strange glass objects, especially chandeliers. What I will remember the most about Venice was the sheer beauty of the buildings and colours and water glittering and reflecting them. How it handles all those tourists, I cannot imagine, but it does seem to.
An example of Murano glass:
From Venice we headed for Puglia. The east coast of Italy, as it turns out, is pretty boring. We did make a pitstop in Ravenna, and wandered around trying to see mosaics. It, too, was old and beautiful, but this was nothing more than a pitstop, so we continued on to our delightfully empty, off-season seaside hotel in Senegalia.
The final day we arrived at our new home, about five miles south of Ostuni. Puglia is pretty flat, and theoretically produces more olive oil and wine than any other region of Italy, and famous for trulli. A trullo is a funny little round house with a conical roof, insanely cute to look at, mighty uncomfortable to live in, except in the scorching summer heat, during which they stay delightfully cool. Our house is not a trullo (thank heaven), but is charming for having a cosy fireplace, big balcony where we eat breakfast and lunch, and olive groves all around. Nearby in all directions are small towns that have markets and every kind of small shop. We have already met some people who have become friends, one in particular who helps me with my Italian, yay! Everything in the shops and supermarkets seems to be local produce. The pears are sweet, juicy -- why can't they arrive that way in England or the United States? I eat a pear every day
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