GONDOLA GLIDING
By: Ashley McHale
A trip to Venice would be incomplete without taking the time to ride a real, authentic gondola. The city is infused with waterways that give you the opportunity to gently flow through it and listen to a short history of how the buildings originated.
Riding a gondola with at least four people will be the best way to do it, so your driver can balance the weight and you will be able to divide the cost among a good number of people. The standard price of a ride during the busy summer season is about 100-150 euro for 45 minutes. An Italian student gave us some good advice and said that we should say another driver is giving us a better deal, that way you can bargain with them and get a lower rate.
Taking this advice my group and I were able to have a 45minute ride for 100 euro as opposed to 150 euro. Our driver, Andres, was soft spoken and welcoming reaching out for my hand to let me on his gondola with red love seats and black silk benches.
We sat and relaxed while he took us under the Bridge of Sighs, which was unfortunately under construction, and he told us how the bridge was the last thing for prisoners to see before they were incarcerated. He also mentioned how this is a long told legend as we glided past the dark prison with rod ironed windows and cracking brick walls.
One of my group members asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be singing?” Andres laughed and shook his head, “ You wouldn’t want me to do that,” he said. He then pointed out Marco Polo’s house and said hello to his fellow gondola drivers. The drivers wear the quintessential black and white stripe shirt, straw hat, a great tan and for the most part pearly white smiles. Their charm alone gives you good reason to commit to taking a ride.
HIKING TO THE ELUSIVE COVE
By: Christen Calloway
Secluded, quiet, and adults only, I am determined to find the magical cove I read about in guidebooks. Guvano Beach is the only “clothing optional” beach in Cinque Terre, which means “five lands.” The villages that make up the lands are, from south to north, Riomaggiore, Manarola, Corniglia, Vernazza and Monterosso.
A UNESCO World Heritage Site, Cinque Terre has been restored and preserved in large part because of fees hikers pay to walk the often steep and rugged pathways that connect the five villages. Although not entirely car-free, the area is remarkably clean and unspoiled. You can reach Cinque Terre by train from any major city with several trains per day and it is also possible to drive to the five lands, though parking is sparse.
With the sun glaring, we walk the least challenging flat coastal path toward Corniglia for 45 minutes, and stumble upon hand-carved maps showing us stairs and the tunnel to Guvano. We pound up the stairs past where the path is closed for repairs and continue north to the foot of the steps to Corniglia, a dead end. Confused as to where the path continues, we find stairs leading to a small house and a gate leading to beaches below. A woman and her daughter appear with a key to the gate and I yell “Mi Scusi!” In broken Italian, I ask where Guvano Beach is. She smiles and says, “Oh! Guvano!” and she gestures to go around the corner of the house. I interpret her next movements as button pushing, and she says “Light? Bzzz.”
We round the corner to find a tunnel with painted scenes of nude figures on a beach, “Guvano Beach one kilometer through tunnel” one sign says. In mouth of the pitch-black tunnel there is an intercom with the words “Push here for lights,” so we push. And we push. And nothing happens. Our group of four young women begins to have second thoughts about the black abyss before us. Tech-savvy students, we pull out cell phones, no good. Cameras, better, but not enough.
One of my companions wants to turn back, but I offer to lead the way with the LCD screen on the back of my large camera. We stay to the left and walk slowly on the sidewalk of the cavernous tunnel. Every step, incline, and slippery spot we shout “STEP!” to warn the girl behind us so she doesn’t trip.
The tunnel takes a curve and we are suddenly in a darkness I had never experienced. We imagine what kinds of creatures lurk in the blackness. I block the terrifying thoughts of bats and focus on the ground before me: it is cool and wet, and the girls wearing flip-flops call it muddy and slimy.
We hear a loud noise coming towards us, like a train or a truck, and I have the sudden urge to bolt. We stare into the abyss like soon-to-be road kill and the train in the tunnel next to us passes.
Timidly, we proceed, rounding a bend where – at last! – we see a tiny light. Our pace quickens. Then we hear footsteps behind us. Muggers? No, just two better-prepared beach-goers with flashlights.
The tunnel opens up to an oasis of trees and a clearly marked gravel path. We pass three men at a table under an umbrella, half expecting to pay them a fee to use the beach, but no one stops us and the beach is free.
One member of the flashlight couple, from Atlanta, asks, “How did you find out about the gay beach?” After I tell him about the guidebooks I read, a naked man with no shoes walks leisurely past, smoking a cigarette. We giggle for a moment about the man’s nudity and get it out of our system.
We look down the rockslide below, “Is that the only way down?” my friends ask. I tell them I have done this before and give tips on how to make it down the scary slope. As we begin our descent, one of the gentlemen from Atlanta offers to help us down. I say I can handle it, but nearly fall all the way down the slope when a rock underfoot gives way and sends me sliding on my butt. But then I gaze on the elusive Guvano Beach, paradise achieved.
DRIVING IN ITALY: Fi-Pi-Li
By Pamela Birchard
Florence, Pisa, Livorno: I’ve plotted those destinations and relentlessly head toward them, despite confusing road signs symbolized by arrows and exclamation points, the obvious anxiety of my passengers, the protesting car horns as we lurch forward, whether it’s our turn on the roundabout or not. No stopping us now!
In a packed rental Fiat Panda, the Italian outer bound [Fi-Pi-Li] seemed overwhelming. My only compass is the speedometer and the street names, which I don't understand at first glance. All I know is I must exit at Empoli Oeste. That means west! I'm getting the hang of this. Just drive for an hour and make it to Certaldo, a small countryside town and home to the Mercantia festival.
As my courageous test of driving skills begins, excitement fills my stomach as I switch gears. I reach my first bump in the road, a roundabout, and forget to yield. Cars come from behind me, to the right of me, and in the meantime I’m looking out for the ones ahead of me. It was 20:00 after all, traffic continued throughout and everyone on the road headed for a different exit, crisscrossing madly.
The passengers’ alerts exclaiming, “watch out!” and “turn here!” shake my senses, and I accelerate quickly, jerking forward. At least we survived the first left turn.
Until a fancy, more familiar European car honks loudly at me. This Mercedes must have been within a meter of my brake lights. My chair and my foot are as forward as they can be. The poor Fiat will not go fast enough. Go! Go! is what the honks yell. To swerve or to stay, I guess I am in the left lane after all.
How can they get away with driving this fast? Since the police rarely speak English, I just took advice from the receptionists at both the Europcar rental and tourist information offices. They both recommend not driving within Florence. On the “outer routes” the speed limit is 90 km even though at 110 km, cars still zoom by me.
Finally getting off FI-PI-LI at Empoli, since I didn’t need to reach Pisa or Livorno, another roundabout points me in an unfamiliar direction. I stall. My first mistake, then grinding gears in fear of more horns and tail gates. The road becomes narrow and empty, with trees on either side.
At last, an affirming sign, no need to reverse. I know the cracks and humps in the road keep me at a steady speed. It is bumpy and dark and I am concerned for the other riders and drivers. But it is a straight transition into the town and next thing you know, we’re there. Let the Mercantia festivities begin. I park and lift the brake.
Coming back, well after midnight,I watch out for one ways that look like two ways, roadblocks, and blind spots, particularly from those on Vespas. Pedestrians roam aimlessly and parking spots are hard to come by.
The rental process seemed pretty straightforward. The agent let us park the Fiat at the shop. To rent a car, you must be 18 years or older, but if you’re not 25 or over, you must pay an extra 12 euros. Insurance was 30 euros, and as long as I didn’t go over 100 kilometers, the total price was 104 euros, since I was an Italian resident. They provided us with a map and directions, even though for an additional 30 euros, GPS would have been nice
TAKING THE FUNICOLARE
By Nancy Day
Certain steep hillsides in Italy are equipped with funicolari. The one I traveled on was the Funicolare di Montenero, in a village just south of Livorno. When my daughter and I visited in July to escape the Florence heat, we met no other Americans, nor were there any other visitors to our hotel who didn’t get there by car. We took our backpacks on the train from the Santa Maria Novello main station in Florence to Livorno, then took City Bus 2 to its last stop in a Montenero square, right across the street from the entrance to the funiculare. For one euro each (you buy a ticket, just like at the train stations), you are allowed through the turnstile to await the next run of the driver-less cable car, about 20-minute intervals on a weekday. The ride back down is included, and the views from the top are worth it, even if you aren’t staying overnight or hauling groceries, kids or luggage.
I also recommend this quiet hotel, La Vedetta. On weekends, dinner is served al fresco to hotel guests, freshly caught seafood a specialty. It felt as if we were at an Italian villa with our own staff, surrounded by flowers, fresh breezes, and dining by candle light, with a sunset view of the sea.
www.hotellavedetta.it
