Italy
October 2003
Background
In 2003
I did a non stop "blitzkreig" tour of Italy. The idea was an
introduction to Italy and to try see some of
the sights that my late father had seen back in June of 1952. He rode his 1950 BSA 650 Golden
Flash from
England to France, Italy and Switzerland and then back across France to England.
Of course the
ultimate would have been to do exactly the same trip on the same or similar motorcycle. I do own a Golden
Flash but seeing as my Flash is currently and for the foreseeable future still
in pieces in the garage this was not a possiblilty. Maybe one day....after all
that is what dreams are made of.
Day
one: October 12th 2003
I leave
Coursan around five thirty on one chilly October morning. It is still dark when I
head out. I cheat, as I need to cover much ground early on as quickly as
possible, and so take the auto route from Beziers all the way to
Pisa in Italy
arriving around 1.00pm. (Nimes, Arles, Aix, Cannes, Nice, Monte Carlo, Menton,
San Remo, Genova, Pisa). Not the most fun route but the quickest.
Pisa*****
The
weather is sunny and warm(ish). 18°c .
The
leaning tower…one of the true wonders of the world and one everybody should
try to see at least once in their lives. I am amazed at how white it is
and even more so by how much it leans. Recently a large operation has
been completed to bring back the tower to a safe angle of lean close to that
displayed in the 1200’s. Even so the angle of lean is pretty acute and it
doesn’t take a genius to calculate that a slight bit of an earth tremor and the thing
would collapse like a pack of cards. Another thing new to me is the quality of
the Italian workmanship. The stone masons of their day were far more advanced
than we give credit for. I take some comparative photos as
the old black and whites of the 50’s taken by my father for my album, then
head back to the motorcycle. I have a lot of ground still to cover! Well worth a
visit…I will be back!! Definately one of the wonders of the world!
The leaning Tower of Pisa June 1952 and October 2003
From
Pisa it is on to Florence. I take the back roads
and cut through the Chianti countryside. Olive
trees and vines everywhere, interspersed with cedars and cyprus. What stunning
countryside. Not dissimilar to our own in the Corbieres or Minervois. Thousands
of years of civilisation and culture all immediately visible in the landscape.
Breathtaking. I enjoy every second of it. I am in heaven. The BMW performs
impeccably, bearing in mind that she has way in excess of one hundred thousand
kilometres on the clock...actually closer to two. All the servicing beforehand was done
by yours truly to the best of my
ability. Preventative
maintenance…..the way to go.....just like in flying. Why wait until something breaks to fix it?
Every component has a given shelf life, a certain amount of riding hours before
it will need replacing. I rather wish that the manufacturers would quote
serviceable items in terms of hour life; it would make life far easier. Although
these days they prefer you to take the motorcycle back to the dealer for
servicing; thus rewarding the manufacturer and their appointed dealer once again.
Soon us motorcyclists will have no choice but to vist their assigned dealer. Sad.
Arriving
in Florence I park the motorcycle up in the Roman Piazza della
Calza
and head on
foot through the old Roman city gates towards the Ponte Vecchio. The weather has
been just right for riding the motorcycle. Warm and not too hot. It is now early
evening. People are everywhere. Mostly young people in their early twenties,
students gathered in groups laughing and talking. In the Piazza and on the steps
of the Pitti Palace are hundreds of them. What a wonderful atmosphere.
I arrive at the bridge. It is a strange feeling seeing things and visiting places that my father saw and visited some fifty years before. I really wish that he were here by my side enjoying this with me and reminising about old times. I feel his presence in spirit and I know that he would be very touched by my making this pilgrimage to him and to Italy.
Ponte Vecchio, Firenze (Florence) June 1952 and October 2003
I cross
the bridge; tourists everywhere and I almost have to fight my way
across, it really is shoulder to shoulder. Finally I make my way to the Northern
side and turn right trying to find the same spot to photograph the bridge as my father did in 52. I get it close enough.
I sit beside
the bridge and relax for a few minutes before heading back towards the
motorcycle. I have not even scratched the surface of this old town, but it is
one place I will visit again.
Back on
with all my kit. I am feeling tired and really should look for a hotel here in
Florence.. In the beginning the idea was to camp but I have yet to see a
campground and to be really honest I think I have left it a little late both
timewise and seasonwise. There are a couple of hours of daylight left so I
continue on South.
I must
have ridden for a hour or there abouts. I come into a large town and see a tall
campanile and Duomo. I pull over to the side of the road to take a closer look.
Again like Florence tourists everywhere. I am not really too sure just what town
this is or where I am. It must be the fatigue starting to get to me....I really
could do with a hotel.... I take a few photogrpahs as
the sun is starting to set and back on the motorcycle. (Later that evening I will find that
this was in fact Siena! How could a person possibly miss Siena one of the most
beautiful towns in Italy if not the world?)
Siena
I
continue on South and eventually after getting totally lost end up at the
Albergo Hotel hotel just off of the autostrada. Seventy Euros per night for a
single room....a bit
expensive.....but by now I am totally shattered and would pay any price. My
motorcycle gear is hot and sticky and I want a shower more than anything. I am
wearing a pair of Motomod cordura trousers with all the body armour and a liner.
They apparently do not breathe. Ok as long as you are moving and as long as the
weather is not too hot. It has been borderline. It is the first time I have
owned any motorcycle toursers of man made material and I cannot say that I am
overy impressed. I am sure from a protection point of view they are very good
but they need some ventilation zips for this part of Europe. Much more of the
same weatherwise and they will find themselves strapped to the back of the motorcycle.
I check
in and am shown to my room, a really nice large modern room. It looks inviting,
but at this stage I think that anything would appeal. I strip off and into the
shower. Loads of hot water. Brilliant. I use as much of the hotels hot water as
possible and by the time I step out I am squeaky clean, toes and fingers
wrinkled. Boy did that ever feel good. It is too late to eat in the restaurant
so I pull a chocolate bar from my tankbag and a half empty bottle of too sweet
and warm Coca Cola. It will have to do. I check my maps to find just where I am.
Seems I have almost ridden around in a large circle....well to be more correct a
180 would be more like it. I seem to be rather more to the North and rather more
to the East than I had thought! Apparently I am just outside of Montepulciano...after
having passed through Siena!! Still no problem. Tomorrow I will visit
Assisi and then
head South down towards Rome and Naples if I am lucky. It has been a hard days
ride. It was only this morning when I left Coursan but seems like days ago! As
soon as my head has hit the pillow I am in dreamland.
Day
two: October 13th 2003
I awake
bright and early. The sun us shining and there is not a sore bone in my body.
Quite amazing and a credit to that old BMW. Remember she is not the latest
plastic conception but a fourteen year old machine with a great deal of mileage
under her belt. She has behaved so far impeccably. She’s not fast, she
doesn’t handle fantastically it just that she seems to take everything in her
stride and do it all well. A good all rounder I guess the motorcycle press would
say.
I get
dressed and head down for breakfast. It’s pretty quiet today by the look of
it. They must have been glad to have my business last night. There is only one
other couple at the tables. A Swiss couple. Outside through the window I can see
their transport. One of those “people carriers” as they call them; basically
a large van. There is a trailer attatched with two large chromed cruiser style
motorcycles well strapped down, both with Swiss plates. There you go. Put the
motorcycles on the trailer, get down into Italy, stay at a fancy hotel and ride
the bikes on sunny days. A different way of doing things but who am I to argue?
I am in my full motorcycle garb...I don’t have any other choice...I travel
light, or as light as I can get away with. They smile and pleasant
“Bonjours” are exchanged. A little strange. We are in Italy....land of
"Buon Giorno's". They must have
been looking at the BMW in the car park with its French plates.
I finish
up go back to my room and pack my scrubbing up kit. At the front desk the young
girl wishes me a good day...or I assume she does. My Italian is limited to my 1960’s second hand phrase book which is
stashed deep inside a jacket pocket somewhere. It’s probably out of date
anyway. She may well have said “bugger off we’re glad to get rid of you
sir”...Either way it was said politely and with a smile, so we’ll go with
the first interpretation.
The bike
is packed and I fire her up and let her warm up. She is much more agreeable this
way. Otherwise she is liable to be unresponsive and jerky to throttle movements.
Not nice....or who knows...maybe it’s just me.
The BM
is all nicely warmed up. I hop on and having decided to take the smaller back
roads I head out. I much prefer these roads to the larger faster routes.
I’m here to see the scenery and experience Italy first hand and not from some
Autostrada at 130kmph.
Assisi looms in the distance. I have another old black and white photo to identify it by. Quite amazing and quite unmistakable. Again tourists everywhere, something that Italy did not probably have too many of just after the war. Tour buses and white haired old ladies with American and German accents are everywhere, but not necessarily together. I decide to save the visit itself to the Basilica for another occassion. I have a lot to see and not being a devout Roman Catholic feel that I will not be condemmed to eternal hell for missing it....this time.
I take
out the map and decide to start heading South. The basic plan is to head down
towards Monte Cassino and then hopefully to bypass
Rome (who wants to ride in a
big city, there is no pleasure to be had from such an exercise...although there
is much I want to see in Rome.....Bernini etc) heading towards
Naples and Sorrento.
From
Assisi I take the route to Spoleto and on to
Terni. What a
beautiful road (S3). The weather is perfect. The scenery is breathtaking and all
that I hoped it would be. I could ride this road forever. At Terni I turn South on the
S79 towards Rieti. Again a beautiful road through
the hills. Magnificent scenery and plenty of good fresh air. Then it’s on to the smaller
S578 as we wind along to Borgorose.
Simply heaven. My idea of paradise. When I am gone I hope that in the next world
I have a motorcycle (or at leat access to one) a continually full tank of gas
and all the time in the world to ride such glorious routes. That really would be
heaven.
I’ve
decided. My definition of Valhalla is riding an aircooled twin preferably a vintage
Italian, Brit or German, through the Tuscan countryside, an eternal summer and autumn
and an unlimited supply of leaded petrol. It has to be.....it simply can’t get
much better than that! I’ll put in my request early....there just has to be a
backlog.
I see an
old abandoned farm house. It is painted a beautiful terracota colour but is all
overgrown and abandoned. I decide
to photograph the GS in front of it so pull in off of the main route. I
park the BM in front of the house and get the camera out and click off a round.
I have bought one of the new digital cameras just for this trip. As yet I have no idea
how it works. Although simple enough I hope it is as reliable and sturdy as my
old 35mm Minox. Time will tell, but just to be on the safe side I take a double
with the 35mm. As I am getting back in the
saddle the front door of this abandoned hovel creaks open and an old man
appears. He says something to which I just smile and show him the camera and
gesture at the motorcycle and his house nodding the international OK? He
understand nods back and smiles a
near toothless smile and waves as I ride off. Bloody strange tourists...he is probably
thinking to himself.
Avezzano
is the next stop and now we are on a much faster road with tunnels and bridges
everywhere. I have never seen so many tunnels and bridges as I have seen in
Italy. Never....anywhere. From the North where you cross the border from France
to down here. A veritable nation of moles these Italians. Quite a feat of
engineering and very impressive. Still I can’t help but wonder just how many
of thee bridges and tunnels were here back in 1952. The alternative looks very
slow work indeed. This road takes us into Cassino.
Cassino*
I arrive
in Cassino in the late afternoon. The town is very crowded and busy with traffic
everywhere. Maybe it’s always like this, maybe its just being close to the
main Rome Naples autostrada. Who knows? I look up on the mountain. There it is
high above.
The Abbazia di Montecassino. Above it tall in the sky stands a crane. The
finishing touches are being made to the Abbazia. It’s resurection is almost
complete. Very apt I think to myself (being a bit of a cynic). This edifice has
been completely reconstructed, after being bombed and shelled
during world war two by the advancing allied armies at a very great cost of
life.
The
Battle of Monte Cassino
This was a costly
series of battles fought by the allies intent on taking Rome and linking up with
Allied forces contained within the Anzio pocket..
The first battle
started on January 4th 1944 and the monastry itself was subsequently
totally
destroyed by Allied bombing on February 15th. Allied aircraft heavily
bombed the ruins of the monastery and an assault was staged on March 15th.
During three failed
attempts to take the heavily-guarded monastery of Monte Cassino from
January through March 1944, the allied forces (USA, UK, India, Canada,
Australia, South Africa and New Zealand lost approximately 54,000 men.
Losses on the German side were approx 20,000 men.
The Fourth Battle for Monte Cassino was fought by the 2nd Polish Corps
between May 11 and May 19. Indian
divisions helped capture the main Gunnery, a member of the
Indian armed forces was awarded the Victoria Cross for this action.
The capture of Monte
Cassino allowed the British and American divisions to begin the advance on Rome,
which fell on June 4, 1944 just two days before the Normandy invasion.
In the course of these
battles the Abbey was entirely destroyed. Eveyone blames the Americans today,
but they were sure glad to see them here in their hours of need. How easily we
forget our gratitude. A lesson for today. Freedom is anything but free.....Freedom
comes with a very expensive pricetag! I don’t care what those politically correct bleeding
heart liberals will have you believe today. It would be nice agreeed but this is
the real world people.
A bit of a side note here: The Abbey housed a famous and irreplaceable library. This had been carefully removed by the occupying German forces and delivered to the Vatican for safekeeping before the start of the Battle.
I personally am not sure
if it is a good idea to rebuild in such a way. Is it not an attempt at re
writing history? How can we be expected to learn from our mistakes if our
mistakes are hidden from us? To my mind it should have been left as it was, as a
prime example of mans ignorance, not to mention as a memorial to all those who
paid the ultimate price and were spread all over the hillside so that you and I
have the freedom we enjoy so much today. Enough of the lecture.
It is
now early afternoon. I decide to head on towards Naples following the ancient
Via Casilina. How the countryside has changed in appearance. Tuscany was a rich
countryside full of beauty . The further South I head the poorer the country
appears to become. It is as if Italy is two separate countries. I cross a
pontoon style bridge that still shows signs of a war that ended almost some
sixty years before. Bullet and schrapnel holes are all through its
structure...it’s a wonder it’s safe and hasn’t collapsed into the river
below years ago.
I come
to a set of traffic lights in the absolute middle of nowhere. Nothing to be seen
anywhere. Why are they here? At the side of the road are some urchins
panhandling change from the few passing
motorists. I used the word urchins. I describe only what I see and can hardly
believe my eyes. Am I not in a modern Europe? Surely this type of abject poverty
no longer exists in our countries? We are in the twenty first century. Europe is
rich by world standards. No? The children are in ages from five to ten. None of
them wears any footwear and only the barest of rags clothe (if you can call it
that) their skinny frames. They really do need the money. They need a lot of
things. There are three cars in front of me at the light and I dig into my
jacket looking for change. I gesture at the kids to approach but they seem to be
scared of me. One of them shakes his head refusing to approach. I gesture again.
Still no; Finally as the lights turn and the cars roll forward I slowly let my
change ( a couple of euros and some other pieces) drop to the floor by the side
of the road as they watch. I continue onward. Looking in the
rearview mirrors I see the children run and scrabble to pick up
the loose change I dropped as if it will disappear before their eyes and be
forever lost if they don’t hurry.
A sad sad sight and deeply moving. I will never forget this sight. Everyone and every traveller has seen beggars by the side of the road. This was something far more touching and far more real. This was real and abject poverty on our doorstep. These kids had nothing.
Naples**
I
continue onwards. Forty minutes later I am in Naples. A city of 3,000,000 people
situated right next to the mighty Vesuvius. So close in fact that you can smell
the sulphorous odour in the air North of Sorrento and East of Naples. Very
interesting. When Vesuvius decides to reawaken,......a city immediately in its
path.....just a matter of time...a disaster just waiting to happen.
How
different Naples is from Florence. Night and day. A large large city jam packed
with people and traffic everywhere. It is hot really hot and the traffic is so tightly
packed that there is no way that I can weave the BMW through the traffic. I am
stuck. I gain a place or two whenever the opportunity lends itself but it is a
hard slog. Horns are blaring, car drives yelling at each other and pedestrians
yelling at the car drivers. Total chaos. All I want to do is to be out of here
and that looks like it might be easier said than done. To top it all off, I hear
people shouting and a horn blaring. There on the wide sidewalk a motorcyclist is
literally forcing his Hayabusa through the crowds pushing them out of the way
with his machine, thumb glued to the horn and revving the engine and slipping
the clutch. Desperation or idiocy? Maybe a desperate idiot. Everybody should
experience driving in Naples at least once in their lifetime (but preferably not in
rush hour!). Total anarchy reigns on the streets of Naples.
An hour
and a half later I am out of it. At this point I don’t care what treasures Naples has to
offer the tourist, to me it was pure hell. The motorcycle is overheated and I
wouldn’t dream of leaving the motorcycle unattended in this city for one
moment. I am quite sure it has its nice areas but .....
I take
the coast road to Sorrento. A welcome change from the hell that I found Naples.
Sorrento is so much different from the old hand coloured postcard that my father
sent back to England to my grandmother,
probably taken in its heyday long before WWII. How times have changed.Can this
really be the same place? A now sprawling commercial container port hides much of the old
town. I find a restaurant along the frontage road and stop for a bite to eat. I
have been so busy travelling that I have forgotten to eat lunch. Thankfully the
food is good. Very good. I eat up my folded pizza and order another. I even go
as far as to treat myelf to a cold beer. Then it’s back to the motorcycle.
Darkness is upon us and as usual I have waited too long to find a hotel. Here
they are all full! I decide to ride along the coast road back towards Naples and
see what I can find on this side of the city. I stop off on the coast road to
take a nightime shot of Sorrento.
Sorrento by night 2003 & postcard of the Panorama da capodimonte from 1940/50's
On the
outskirts of Naples I find a hotel. The majestic Hotel Ponteverdi. It looks
rather like a hotel out of a 1950’s American movie set. How strange. They have
room available and even better a secure garage for the motorcycle. Nothing fancy
but a large large room decorated in the latest 1960’s deco. However, very
clean, a high priority on my list. Not bad for 50 Euros a night including
breakfast. It will do nicely. It is a small family business and I head down to
the bar/restaurant for something else to eat! Shame that I do not speak Italian
and they do not speak English. Conversation limited....very limited but very
nice genuine hard working people all the same. Much better than staying at a
large, consortium owned, indifferent, designer packaged, non genuine, money
making institution where the fake smiles are switched on when the employee walks
into the building and off when they leave. These people love what they do and it
shows. I would far rather give them my money than some group of get rich quick
shareholders.
I take a
long hot shower and then turn in for the night. I sleep good, very good, but
then again, I am tired and have overdone it...again.
Day
three: October 14th 2003
I get up
early, get showered...again....good for the aching bones.(knew they’d start to
ache at some point!)...must come with age...or too many accidents...or
both...and head down to the restaurant. Breakfast is self service and the coffee
is excellent and strong. You think that French coffee is strong...just wait
until you try Italian. To order a
normal weak type coffee is a “Café Americano”.....otherwise it’s the expresso....which
I love but which gives you a bit of a caffeine jolt if you’re not used to it.
Back in
my room I pack my shower kit and take the insides out of my motorcycle trousers
and jacket. Far too hot down south for all that. I strap them to the back of the
motorcycle and we head out.
Today is going to be Pompeii. Easier said that done. I follow the signs....but they end....and not at Pompeii. I find myself in an extremely impoverished neighbourhood and feel just a little vulnerable. Finally I find a new sign and follow it. It leads me out of town but suddenly the new road ends in a car park that has had lava flow across it in the last few years! Not a car in sight. I continue on the lava track...being on the BM and being invincible. Just as I am thinking that I would not like to break down in this forlorn spot I drop the motorcycle. How did it happen? I have not a clue. Apart from the obvious that I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing and the lava is like soft but very dense sand. Luckily I was just rolling along but the impact rips off my tent and my backbox is ripped from the frame breaking open and strewing my camping gear and clothing everywhere. Me? I’m fine. Just fine. I pick up the motorcycle and wheel it to a hard spot where I can put it on the main stand. Then it’s back to pick up the rest of my gear. Fortunately I have some large nylon cable ties which I am able to use to put the box back onto the rack and then I strap everything else back on. My spare oil can has ruptured and mixed clean engine oil with lava sand. Nice. What a mess. I use an old pair of socks to wipe this from the motorcycle and good as I can, then everything loaded I thumb the starter. She starts, clunks into first and onwards we continue.
Finally
I find some ruins that look like Pompeii. I’m here! I get off the motorcycle
only to find that this is not Pompeii but some other historic site. However the
overall manager of these historic sites comes over introduces himself and offers
to show me the way. What luck. I am to follow him. Impecably dressed as only a
well dressed Italian can be, he gets into his shiny new Audi and takes off at
the speed of sound through the back streets. I am hard pushed to follow. God
forbid a car or van pull out in front......we will both be like the people of Pompeii......history. Finally he pulls up at the main gates of Pompeii, gets out
walks up to me and after I lock up the motorcycle accompanies me through the
main gates. A big shot indeed as I go to straight to the front of the queue in
front of all the tourists that have waited for goodness knows how long. Feel bad?
Not really. He shakes my hand and I thank him for his generosity and he is off.
Vesuvius as seen from the autostrada in June of 1952 Return ticket for autostrada Naples Pompei from 1952
Pompeii....there
is only one.....and you really should see it. Everybody should see it. It
covers an area far larger than I had imagined and from what I understand only a
fraction of the city has been excavated to date. Far more still lies many meters under
the rumble & dust. Not a single photograph I have ever seen can give the
visitor any idea as to the size and the magnitude of this disaster.
I have
with me the old black & white guide that my father bought here in 52. It
serves me well. I am surprised that many of the exhibits seem to have fallen
into a state of neglect between times. I would have expected quite the reverse.
As an example; there is a photo of a dog frozen forever in it’s death throes
in my black and white guide. It is in a glass case and part of an exhibit in a
reconstructed building of the period. I find same dog in same glass case in a
sealed off (but visible through the bars) open to the elements storehouse. The
glass is filthy and it is covered with layers of dust. So dusty you can barely
make out the dog! A shame, but it would appear that many of the treasures of
Pompeii were in a better state of conservation in the early nineteen hundreds
than at present.
The
city was destroyed during a catastrophic eruption of the volcano Mount Vesuvius
in 79 AD. The volcano buried the city under many feet of ash and it remained
lost for over 1,600 years before its accidental rediscovery. Vesuvius could
erupt catastrophically again....and is still classified as ACTIVE!!. Since then,
its excavation has provided an extremely detailed insight into life in a
Roman city at the height of the Roman Empire.It is one of Italy's leading
tourist attractions and pretty much goes without saying is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
I
am hungry ...being a tourist gives me a great appetite so stop at a restaurant just outside of the main gates of Pompeii.
The owner prides himself on his use of English and apparently on his Lasagna. I explain
that I do not like Lasagna...to which he asks looking at me dubiously if I have
ever eaten Italian Lasagna. The honest answer is no. Then obviously this is why I do
not like Lasagna. If I had ever eaten Italian pasta I would love it. He snorts
and apparently I am booked in for a Lasagna....oh yes and a cold beer to go with
that please.
I kick back in my chair watching the tourists and trying to guess what country they are from. The easiest to pick out are of course the Americans. The stereotypical American tourist is out in force today. The elderly gentleman with the two Nikons hanging around his neck (digital now of course...but he still finds he needs two?!), an Hawaiian shirt (that probably glows in the dark), the neatly ironed and creased safari shorts, white skinny legs and socks with loafers. When he has something to say........and he seems to have always something to say and always of importance if volume is an indicator, he talks at the same volume as that shirt he is wearing with an annoying grating nasal accent. His wife, infinately better dressed but ruined by a set of pearls hanging around her neck the size of golf balls. Lady, for your sake I hope those are fake.....or well insured.
The
modern day English tourist is easy to spot. Oh yes. They’re the badly dressed (and I
mean badly dressed) ones, both male and female, with the totally uncontollable
horrid horrid offspring. To call them children would be to do children the world
over a disservice. As
if on cue..a shrill womans voice screams out...“Put that back.........Get over
here....and...If you do that again.”. Ruins it for
everyone. Give that child a slap and be done with it. You’re not in namby
pamby England now lady, here you’d probably get a round of applause. Do
something or someone else is going to give your kid a slap for you on everyones
behalf. I can see an Italian postcard seller sorely tempted. Go on ...you know
you want to! He catches my eye and gestures a slow strangulation by the looks of
it. Wouldn’t have had such bad behavior and the blatant filching of his
postcards in “IL Duce’s” time you can bet.
My
Lasagna arrives. Mine host hangs around whilst I taste it..several mouthfuls
worth..to prove his point.
And guess what, he’s right. I give it the thumbs up and a smile (I am rather relieved
myself). He shakes his head as if to say I told you so, smiles and moves onto
the next table. The lasagna is really good. No, I mean really. I normally cannot
stand the stuff but he is right. I find myself enjoying my meal in the sun. I
stretch it out as long as I can but it is still over way too soon.
The time
has come to depart. Where shall I go? I walk back to the motorcycle and decide
that in order to avoid the hell that is Naples I will take the autostrada to
Cassino where I will exit and head towards the coast road.
I hop
onto the Autostrada take a ticket and start heading out of town. Pompeii was the
greatest. I will definately be back for a better look, although I already spent
the best part of four hours walking around the site. I could spend days.
As I
grow closer to Monte Cassino I am surprised by how visible it is from the main
autostrada. Now I think I understand more as to why the Italians decided to
rebuild it. For millions of Italians to drive by the ruins for every day since
1944 could not have done the moral of this country any good at all. A constant
reminder of its troubled past?
I am surprised
in a different way, as something whips by my face and disappears
forever. My ticket for the autostrada! Brilliant, now what do I do? Being a calm
collected (sort of ) person (sometimes), I try not to panic. I can see what is
going to happen here. I am going to have some Italian at the strada toll booth,
yell, jump up and down and gesticulate as I try to explain. I seem to remember
from my previous visits to the autostrada thinking that the gap was rather large
between barrier and the booth. Large enough to have thought on several occasions
that it would be in fact possible to ride a motorcycle through the right side of
the barrier without stopping. I arrive at the toll both ten minutes later. My alter ego takes over I swear. I slow down,
check the width of the gap....after all I didn’t want to find this one to be
any different.....and continue. Yes!!! Done it!!! But no!!!
All hell breaks loose and from such a small toll booth. Bells and sirens
clang and hoot. Anyone would have thought this a war ship being summoned to
action stations. I continue on for all of 400 meters maybe before an Italian
Carabinieri motorcycle shows up from nowhere behind me, lights and siren. Oh
damm. I stop and get off the old BMW. The motorcycle policeman gets off his
machine walks over and starts yelling jumping up and down and gesticulating! I
might just as well have stopped at the booth. I am a little worried....well
truthfully more than a little worried. I have heard all kinds of nice stories
about Italian police and how shall we say...their misinterpretation of human
rights from time to time. Damm. I try to explain. I point to my tank bag and
make gestures of my ticket flying out and disappearing into the bright blue
Italien sky. He continues to jump uo and down, yell and gesticulate. He stops,
motions for me to stay with my motorcycle, walks back to the toll booth where
the toll booth attendant is jumping up and down, yelling and gesticulating
inside his booth. Must be the national past time or a stressed nation. Finally
he marches back over towards me. By this time I am starting to wonder just where
I will be spending tonight....my hopes are not too high ....and visions of being
in a cramped Italian prison cell somewhere go through my mind. The Carabinieri asks
for the papers for the motorcycle. He goes through each one writing detailed
information onto a long form he has with him. Then when he is satisfied he motions for me to stay with the
bike and back off to the booth he goes. I wouldn’t dream of running officer.
Serious pistol on his holster and probably a nice semi automatic rifle in the
panniers. I’ll stay right here thank you. When he gets back he hands me a long
piece of paper, part of the form he was writing. I look at it and to my horror see that it is a ticket for non
payment of the toll fee. the amount? A fine of 149 Euros. A bit steep.....and
all my petrol money gone! As he starts to put his gloves and
helmet on I ask what I am supposed to do with the ticket (as in france we have
to pay immediately on the spot). He takes it from me
and removes the counterfoil which he then rolls into a ball and throws down by
the side of the road. He motions for me to do the same. Whilst I am
still standing there gobsmacked he gets back on his machine fires it up and
disappears up the road. Who am I to argue with the Italian police. I look back
at the booth. The chap there has obviously seen the outcome and is none too
happy, arms waving & pointing at me.... I think he’d have prefered a nice public hanging or some such. I shrug
my shoulders, pocket the evidence, put my gear on and head on out, thankful that it’s all over and
tonight I’m a free man.
I take the S630 some 40 kilometers down to Formia and to be greeted by the sun reflecting off a shimmering coastline. Brilliant. Scenic and hot. Perfect and so relaxing after the autostrada saga. Some of the buildings here on the sea front are still riddled with bullet holes from WWII. Uncanny, you’d have thought that they would have patched them up. I’m so impressed by the amount of holes in one house that I turn around and pull over to take a photo. There are so many that I’m sure this house must leak in rainy weather. Quite amazing that it’s still standing. Reminds me of Bonny and Clydes car.
I
follow the coastal route down to Gaeta and then Sperlonga and
Terracina. A
beautiful bit of coast road winding around the cliffs with their sandy beaches
below. Offshore and visible is the obviously volcanic island of Ponza. It looks
to me just like a large volcano with the crater blown out.
The Commonwealth Anzio War Cemetery and Beach Head War Cemetery are located In Anzio.
Anzio
has the air of a 1930’s seaside resort. I ride through the town and find my
way to the British war cemetery. What can I possibly say or add that has not been
said tens of millions of times. I hope that Europe & the world has learnt from all of this
death and destruction but I fear not. The further we get away timewise from
these tragic events that took so many lives, the more likely it is to happen
again. The old generation is dead and dying, the young generation knows only
what they read about in books or see in films. They do not understand or have
not heard first hand of the pain and suffering, therefore they cannot know. They
are too far removed.
After
visiting I ride
back into Anzio and find the Hotel
Lido Garde. From the front it is a rather modern hotel but on entering you
cannot help but notice that the interior is far older than the exterior. Far
older and in a completely different style. Strange. Thankfully they have a room,
although this does look a rather up market place and I do look rather grubby and
tired. Fifty five Euros and I am shown to my room. Again I have missed the
restaurant but the manager who is the owner and who is also impeccably dressed,
gold rolex and all, shows me on a map where there are several good restaurants. I
thank him go to my room, shower and scrub up before heading out to get a bite.
On my return the manager motions me to wheel the motorcycle off of the street
and onto the front terrace which I am only too glad to do. Then it’s up to my
room and I am asleep before my head has hit the pillow! Another long hard days
ride....but never a dull moment.
Day
four: October 15th 2003
This
morning is bright and sunny so I decide on a pre breakfast stroll on the
infamous beach at Anzio. I decend the steps onto the beach and there are still
the signs of a battle fought a longtime ago if you look closely. Bits of
buildings still hanging from the cliffs. Vacant lots where houses once stood.
Bits of bricks and floor tiles or what more correctly were once the floortiles
in someones house litter the cliff bottoms.
The beach at Anzio
Anzio:
Possibly the allies greatest
military blunder of WWII.
The Germans were taken totally by surprise and as a result the initial landings on Jan 22nd 1944 went pretty smoothly and good progress was made. There was the occasional straffing by the Luftwaffe but by midnight of the same day, some 36,000 soldiers and 3,200 vehicles had landed on the beaches and a total of 13 Allied troops killed, with 97 wounded; and some 200 enemy prisoners taken. This first stage was a success but it was not to last.
The
opportunity was totally missed when US General Lucas did not issue immediate orders
for the troops under his command to attack and push further inland. Initially
Kesselring,
the German commander, did not have access to the forces he needed available to
drive off such an attack. However the Germans reacted quickly and their 88mm
mobile anti aircraft guns were relocated to the beachead and employed as anti tank
guns. In addition German battle toughened units including the 3rd Panzergrenadier and Hermann Goering
Panzer divisions were recalled from action on the Gustave Line. The delay
caused by General Lucas lack of decision making was the direct cause of heavy allied
casualties.
Finally by January 30
Lucas had decided on an all out attack. Both the American Rangers who
attempted an assault at Cisterna di Latina and the
British forces who intended to take Campo Leone failed. The allied forces
who had pushed inland were pushed back to defensive positions. A few days later
on the 3rd of February the Germans launched a massive artillery bombardment on the British
sector, following it up by
a ground assault cutting off some of the british units. Some of these units were able to escape under cover of
darkness but during this
battle the British lost 1400 men.
The German counterattack began on February 16th (Operation Fischfang). The allies were forced to withdraw and suffered heavy casualties. By February 17 the situtation was so critical that all allied air forces available in Italy were ordered to launch attacks on the Anzio zone to stop the German advance. The allied beachead itself was now threatened. In desperate hope of weakening the inevitable final German assault that would have destroyed the allied forces totally, massive air strikes and an attack on Cassino were ordered in the hopes of forcing German units from the Anzio zone to support Cassino. The Germans reply was to bring forward reinforcements concentrated in the area of Aprilia for the attack. The following days, February 18 and 19 saw the continued German advance and it seemed that the landings would end in total failure and the total destruction of the allied armies . A counterattack by British forces at this time amazingly abruptly halted the German advance. From February 20th until May 1944 with both sides completely exhausted it was a case of stalemate. The Germans sustained 5,400 casualties, the Allies 3,500 at the end of Operation Fischfang. However, both had suffered more than 20,000 casualties each since the initial landings. This stalemate was finally broken in May of 44 when the allies launched an offensive effectively breaking the Gustav line and ending eventually with the capture of Rome on June 4th 1944.
As I am
walking back towards the hotel something in the sand near the waters edge
shimmers in the sunlight. I go over bend down and pick it up. It is a jagged
piece of alloy worn smooth by the action of the sea but unmistakeably the head
of an exploded mortar round. The graduation numbers are still visible stamped
onto the side. A fitting souvenir. I put it in my pocket and head back for
breakfast. Breakfast is a really good affair, good quality orange juice and
coffee and fresh bagels. Breakfast over it’s time to hit the road again. (Later
back in France this round will be identified as a 7.63mm mortar of German origin
by a visiting guest a serving UK army munitions expert!)
My
planned route for today is to follow the coastal route towards Rome
then bypass
Rome once again, this time to the West, rejoin the coast route and follow it
Northwards. So far so good. I finally get around Rome and avoid all the signs
for the Vatican....must be big business, then it’s onto the Via Aurelia
and
we’re free. It’s turned hot again so I decide to strap the liner of my
jacket to the motorcycle. I do this only to notice an hour or so later when I am
pulling into a service station smoke pouring from the motorcycle. Alarmed I pull
over way away from the petrol pumps and get off.... quickly. Relief...of sorts.
My motorcycle is not on fire. However the liner of my jacket is....well and
truly....flames and all! I unstrap the jacket and pull it from the motorcycle
throwing it onto the ground. After several frantic hops up and down on it with
my thick soled motorcycle boots all seems under control ....all this to the
delight of an impromptu crowd. A somewhat large hole in the lining of my
motorcycle jacket, a burnt spot on the exhaust but apart from that nothing.
I wheel the machine over to the pump and fill her up, buy a pastry and a
cup of expresso before taking to the road once again.
I make
it past Civitiavecchia before deciding that the scenery has become so boring I
would rather turn inland and ride back through the Chianti
and Tuscan
countryside once again which is what I do. I cut across on a small market road
from Montalto di Castro, Manciano,
Scansano, Roccalbegna to
S.Quirico d’Orcia.
Amazing scenery and off the beaten track. My idea of heaven once more. The
scenery has slowly changed back to that of the Chianti/Tuscany region. Perfect.
Whilst riding along in the middle of nowhere I enter a small oak forrest. The
sheep are grazing on the hillsides and the whole scene looks something of a 17th
century oil of an Italian landscape, nothing has changed. Here on the edge of
the woods and just in the shade I come upon an elderly German motorcyclist long
white beard with his BMW leant up against a tree, sitting on a fence eating a
sandwich and enjoying life. I smile and think to myself that this is what I
would like to be like when I grow old. He raises a hand in salutation, I do
likewise and continue onwards a large grin on both our faces as if he has read
my mind.
Then its
onto the S2 towards Siena. It’s obviously chestnut gathering season. They are
everywhere and I have to be care where I ride to avoid the motorcycle slipping
on the husks. There really are that many. People are parked wherever they can
and are everywhere gathering chestnuts. Quite dangerous. When I come across a
quiet spot I decide to pull over stretch my legs and gather a few myself. When
in Rome....etc and so forth. Then it’s on to Siena. I don’t stop but I will
be back I promise. I follow the S2 Northwards to Poggibonsi
and then head
towards S Gimignano and its famous towers. Apparently the nobles of the middle
ages built towers as a way of flaunting their wealth and social status. You
weren’t anyone if you didn’t have a tower...so a little village like S.
Gimignano has thirteen or so of these towers all within the city walls. Quite
impressive. As usual and as with most things it has become a tourist resort. I
have no desire to mingle with all the tourists today and decide to do a rolling
tour as I ride through and promise myself that on a subsequent tour of Italy I
will visit S Gimingnano in more depth. The scenery in this region is simply
breaktaking. We are on the fringes of the famous Chianti producing region so I
promise myself that I will pick up a bottle next chance I get, preferably one
just like my dads straw covered one from 52. As luck would have it the next
petrol station I pull up at has Chianti for sale. I pick up a bottle. It’s not
the straw covered bottle but i am assured by the owner that this is “ vairly
good”. I assumes he means very good as opposed to fairly good. Maybe he’s
just covering himself. Maybe he’s just trying to flog a bottle of plonk to an
unsuspecting tourist who will be a thousand kilometers away before he finally
breaks open the bottle. I will find out....eventually...but not now.
San Gimignano and the Tuscan countryside
Its
starting to get into late afternoon and I mentally calculate that if I ride
until eleven or twelve I will be in Nice. Further extrapulations on this say
that if I can get to Nice then I am close to home so why stop there.....I might
as well just ride on in.......By ten I am just leaving Pisa. I am shattered. I
should stop but do I? No. Like the idiot I am I keep on riding, getting onto the
autostrada and riding into France during the night. I arrive at the French toll
gate early in the morning hours. Being France the young man asks me if the wine
strapped to my tank bag is a good bottle of Chianti or not. I tell him I’ll
let him know when i’ve opened it...but that it had better be. He smiles and
laughs. Just outside of Nice I stop for fuel. Hopefully it will be my last stop
and I can make it into Coursan on this tank. The weather is now bitterly cold,
maybe it’s just that I’m so tired. Maybe it’s both. I decide to take a
short break and lay out on one of the tables in the parking area with my tank
bag as my pillow. I must have nodded off, the next thing I remember is waking up
and seeing white flakes falling onto my face. Snowflakes? October? Surely not?
But yes indeed. I decide to continue onwards. I warm my hands on the still warm
engine covers, load up the motorcycle and set off, direction Coursan. Heated
motorcycle grips could be of benefit here, although for the past twenty plus
years I have always derided people with heated grips as being a bit soft. I must
be getting old, but I make a mental note to keep my eyes out for some on my
return.
The
kilometers slowly roll by, so slowly it seems almost painful. Finally I pass
Beziers and then it’s off the autoroute and onto the old N9 into Coursan. For
once I’m quite glad to see this old town. As I pull into the drive the sun is
coming up and I am completely shattered. Straight to bed. What an adventure.
Next time I promise myself that I will give myself more time to do the journey
and definately not push myself as hard. After all it was supposed to be a
holiday. The BMW behaved itself . I could not fault it. It did everything asked
of it and did not make a single fuss. The only slight issue was a mild cramp in
my left foot. I think probably from all the constant viabration of the big twin,
although since changing my boots I have not had the same problem even on long
hauls.This annoying cramp stayed with me for several months. Now it’s back to
planning the next trip to Italy, a country that i have fallen in love with.
Total 3,456km