Padova ramble

One of the things we like most in our travels is connecting with locals and trying to experience life as they do.  In Italy we are very lucky to have some very dear friends that we have known for nearly 20 years.  They have lived in the city of Padova for most of their lives.  Donatella  and Ruggero have the connections and knowledge that only a local can have.  Another of our favorite things to do is wander the streets of a strange city and attempt to discover its' essence.  We especially treasure those times when we can couple a local's knowledge of a city with our explorations.  Our recent walk through the old city of Padova reminded us of why we travel; a chance to experience cultures different from our own, a chance to live life as locals do, a chance to experience "la bella vita".

We walk down a narrow quiet side street flanked by thousand year old buildings.  We enter a tree shaded cobbled square in the center of the University of Padova.  Founded in 1222, it was the academic home of Copernicus  and Galileo.   

University Square

We wander through ancient streets to a marketplace that has been in continuous operation for hundreds of years.  Sadly some of the market is full of cheap goods from China, but much of it is as it has been for a long time.  We walk through the fruit and vegetable section and see a bounty of produce from all over Italy.  Giant tomatoes compete for our attention with many items we rarely see in America.  Great bins are filled with mushrooms of every description and perfect fruits that give off the aroma of tree ripened wonder.

Tomatoes the size of cantelopes

  We walk through a long arcade past rows of giant hams (prosciutto crudo) swinging on hooks from the ceiling.  Hundreds of varieties of cheeses are side by side with salamis, cappricola and mortadella. As we walk, Ruggero shares his wealth of arcane knowledge.  On one corner he points out a stone strip embedded in the wall.  It is about the length and breadth of an arm.  Ruggero tells us that this was once the textile market and the embedded stone was the measuring unit for a length of cloth (ever heard of a  cubit?)  We meander back to the square to find the first clock tower in Italy.  It is a magnificent tower with eleven signs of the Zodiac embedded its face.  Ruggero tells us that the artist who built it was not paid by the patron so the artist left out the Zodiac sign of the  deadbeat patron in protest.

Ruggero then suggests we stop for a quick espresso in the best coffee house in Padova.  We order at the counter and sit at a sidewalk table and watch the parade of people going by.  While we sip the tasty brew, Ruggero receives a phone call from his son Fede and informs us that we will meet Fede and return home in Fede’s boat along one of the canals of Padova.  Ruggero says that Venice is not the only town in this part of Italy that has canals.  Padova used to have many more, but the city fathers decided to cover most of them. 

 We soon spot Fede and his girlfriend, Roberta,  in the street and walk over to the market to buy some cheese.  Fede asks us if we like raw fish, and being  the sushi nuts that we are, we say of course.  He steps into the fish store and  places the order. While we are admiring the freshness of the fish in the case and a lonely live eel in a tank, we turn and notice Fede and Roberta have disappeared. So we stand in the fish shop for a few minutes and watch the fish monger prepare some fresh sweet shrimp and and thinly sliced tuna.  Just about the time the fish is ready, Fede and Roberta return with glasses of crisp sparkling Prosseco.    We toast and start to eat the fish.   We squirt a little fresh lemon on on the shrimp and grab them by the head and suck the tails out of the shell.  The word succulent was invented to describe this experience.  The tuna is sliced paper thin and we grab it with tiny forks and it practically melts in our mouths; the equal of any sashimi I have ever eaten.

We savor the fish and wine but all too soon it is gone, so we start off down more narrow streets.  I look up admiring the architecture.  Ornate cornices spring from the tops of the two story buildings.  Here and there we see a bust or a plaque. Occasionally, I spot the remains of ancient frescoes crumbling from the facades. 

After a short walk we arrive at the canal.  The gate is locked so we climb over and go down a short flight of stairs to Fede’s boat.  I joke with Fede that he should have the key.  He quickly responds with a smile that  he does, but it is more interesting to climb over the gate.  It is a small motor boat that he built four years ago, but sadly it is in a state of disrepair having endured four years on the canal uncovered. He apologizes for its condition, but claims he has had no time to maintain it.   It is still seaworthy (despite some small plants growing up through the decking). The motor started easily so we put-putt down the canal to Fede’s house. 

The canal is a lazy green river with trees growing up and over the canal. It is a jungle river experience in the middle of the major metropolis of Padova.  After a few minutes we arrive at Fede’s house. He gives us after a quick tour, and then Ruggero borrows his car to return to our Italian home.

Find the missing Zodiac sign

Debbie loves dogs

Fede and his boat

Fede and Roberta share a quiet moment on the canal

Galileo's observation tower

La casa di Fedi

If this is Tuesday, it must be Denmark, Germany, Austria and Italy

Regular readers of the blog know that we are not leisurely travelers.  We cover a lot of ground in our trips driven by the curiosity about what is around the next bend.  Moving constantly as we do, our travels are truly about the journey, not just the destination.

We returned from Iceland on the ferry that connects Seydisfjourdur in the east of Iceland to Hirshals at the very northern tip of Denmark.  After three days of sitting idle, we had no trouble getting started (both us and the van).  We rolled off the ferry and zoomed off down through Denmark.  We dropped our problematic van and exchanged it for a sporty little Renault Clio.  I guess there is something about this trip, as Deb’s brother Michael wagged; French diesel  vehicles.  However, the Clio is brand new and quite fun to drive and does not spew clouds of smoke.

After a quick clean out of the camper we loved to hate we were off.  I downshifted onto the ramp happily noticing that there was no puff of blue smoke and we were soon speeding along at 120 kilometers per hour down the expressway.  After a month in the lumbering old van, and now much lower to the ground, it felt like we were going 120 miles per hour. 

I set the navigation in the car and noted that it was 1100 miles to Padova,  I thought with a little luck, light traffic and the high speeds of the German Autobahn we could make it in two days even though it was afternoon by the time we got on the road.

The trip down through Denmark was uneventful and we continually marveled at the trees.  This was not because the trees were special,  but just that Iceland was as devoid of trees as the California desert.  There was not much to keep us entertained other than the backlit huge cumulus clouds in the clear blue sky. 

Within a few hours we crossed the border into Germany (which was barely noticeable in the modern EU).  However, there was a fairly major change in road manners.  Even though going 120kph, suddenly I felt like I was standing still as cars rocketed past me going well in excess of 100mph by my estimation.  Even though the speed limit was only 130kph, I realized that this seemed to be only a suggestion.  So, I put pedal to the metal and was soon cruising along at about 140kph (about 87mph) and still felt like I was not going very fast in comparison to much of the other traffic on the road.  

At 140kph, the kilometers unwound like the altimeter of a diving plane and we found ourselves deep into Germany late in the day and, after some dithering on the internet, we found a hotel for the night the old fashioned way, by driving up to the first place we saw.  It fit the budget and our requirements of clean, relatively quiet and nothing moving in the room other than ourselves.  It turned out to be a charming little hotel and after a restful night and a very nice included breakfast we were on our way again.

We zoomed past Frankfurt and skirted Munich in the rain.  Then, in the late afternoon, just as we entered Austria the clouds started to lift revealing our first glimpse of the Alps.  After miles and miles of flat land followed by rolling foothills,  the first views of the Alps through the mist was quite dramatic.  The granitic spires rose out of tree cloaked hillsides interspersed with vivid green meadows.  Castles seemed to spring from rocky outcroppings.  The road wound through a river valley that splits the Alps from north to south.  The transit took a few hours and as the sun was setting in brilliant orange flashes through the clouds, we  rolled out onto the Veneto plain near Verona and in another hour arrived in Padova to be welcomed by our good friends Ruggero and Donatella.

We had not seen them since Nico’s wedding (their son and, as we fondly call him, our Italian son) we had a lot of happy catching up to do.  After a little  Prosecco, a lot of Cabernet Franc, a “light supper”  of antipasto, soup, and Mackerel  in pesto sauce we tumbled into bed exhausted after our two day, four country dash.

Ruggero prepping lunch

The magic of Iceland

Our trip through Iceland has been an adventure. As our son Chris likes to say, “It is not an adventure if nothing goes wrong”. By this measure, we have had a grand adventure.  At times we have been miles from any chance of help and every time we go down remote roads, we always have to wonder,  “Will the camper start again?” Nights of anxiety are followed by mornings of frustration. Cold engine starting procedure is copious amounts of starting fluid coupled with ten minutes of manually pumping on the fuel injection primer pump followed by thirty minutes of billowing blue smoke .  Wherever we are  we are confronted with glares from other travelers and at times angry confrontations. One morning the smoke was so bad that the campground host came running across the field with a fire extinguisher certain that we were on fire.  After three weeks of  this, we finally found a mechanic who could diagnose and fix the problem.  This is not to say the camper is now a joy to drive.  It still billows blue smoke at every cold start, downshift and often for no reason at all.  However, it now starts reliably and runs well, albeit all the while polluting the environment.  Other than dying of embarrassment a thousand times a day, our trip has been on track for the past several days.  We have finally been able to relax a bit and fully appreciate the beauty of Iceland.

Rolling along the south coast  of Iceland on Highway 1, we spot a gravel road that angles off towards Mt Katla.  We love to get off the beaten track so we turn off the tarmac to bounce, jolt and rumble down the rough track for a few miles dodging potholes and larger rocks where the road ends at a thirty foot high embankment.

We lace up our hiking boots, pack some water and rain gear just in case. We step out of the camper and climb the embankment warmed by the late afternoon sun.  Before us are two tongues of massive glaciers that flow down the
gentle slopes of the mountain.  Huge seracs look like a thousand fantasy castles.  A multi-tiered ice fall reveals the impossible blue only found in the face of freshly exposed glacial ice.  Clouds of fog creep through the saddles and passes of Mt Katla under the brilliant blue sky above.

We walk along the top of the embankment that was constructed to retain the wandering river that flows out from the glacier across a moraine many miles wide.  At the end of the embankment we find a faint trail through a fairy garden of thick lichen that hugs the contours of hidden rocks.  Deb lies on the lush greenery for a moment and sinks into a cushion that cradles her body.  Patches of wild ground blueberries and heather are scattered amongst the carpet of lichen.  Mushrooms of every size and color spring through the lush greenery. 

Deb naps on a bed of lichen

Glaciers on Mt Katla

 In the distance we  spot a feathery waterfall cascading from the cliffs above.  We follow the track for a few miles but the waterfall is still a good distance away and the sun is sinking in the sky.  The wind has come up and the temperature is rapidly plummeting.  Reluctantly we retrace our steps back to the camper.  When we reach the embankment we both gaze at the panorama of glaciers and mountains.   Deb and I look at each other and smile.  No words are necessary.  We both realize that we have found the magic of Iceland.

One of thousands of waterfalls we saw

Looking up through small slot canyon

Our last night in Iceland we were fortunate to see the Aurora