The Diary
Days 1-10 Days 11-20 Days 21-39 Days 40-48 Days 52-59 Days 60-69
Day 40 Rest Day in Budva
Yesterday's endeavours have totally exhausted us and, in spite of the time constraints upon us, we have decided to use one of our precious rest days.
This has given us the opportunity to clean some of our filthy clothes and rest weary muscles, before heading on into an altogether different "medium" - that of tourist coaches, caravans and motorhomes, crawling along the coastal roads of the Adriatic.
Lunch was a truly spectacular affair, sitting within spitting distance of the sea, enjoying some of the freshest, and most substantial (how big was the Tuna!?) seafood ever tasted, and all for the price of a bus ticket to Oxford! (not from here, though!)
Day 41 - 22 May - (Budva - Privlaka) - Miles covered - 298
In spite of the fact that, price wise, Montenegro is some 10 years behind the rest of Europe, and enjoys beautiful countryside, AND benefits from a major influx of investment (mainly Russian money, it appears!), there is a an underlying sense of insecurity and distrust, that we are acutely aware of, and find disconcertingly uncomfortable. With each simple request, we are asked how and when we are going to pay, and are then "hovered over" whilst the attending "heavy" checks we don't "do a runner". It really is quite unpleasant, and makes us glad to be leaving.
Following the "main road" Northwest out of Budva, we soon found ourselves in the most wonderful coastal scenery to date, meandering next to the sea (GPS regularly believed we were actually IN the sea), passing through impossibly beautiful waterside villages, the road often being lapped by the tranquil waters to one side, whilst to the other, quaint terracotta-topped buildings delighted us with their practical simplicity.
The coastline here is blessed with an almost unfair profusion of beauty, from the dramatic mountains that literally dip their toes into the cobalt blue sea, to the Paint-box villages that have to be an artist's impression, to the little fishing boats that bob in the nature-dampened swell that is "just right" for all concerned. Add to this the occasional marina that shelters the acceptably beautiful pleasure craft (nothing too gaudy allowed!) and the profusion of local restaurants and small, privately run accomodation, and you'll definitely be back, again and again (we certainly will, although on the other side of the border. read on...)
We seemed to become happily stuck in a time-loop, as lovely village blended into lovely village, narrow lane connected to narrow lane, and essential ferry joined essential ferry, UNTIL WE REALISED WE HAD GONE FULL CIRCLE, AND WERE STARTING ALL OVER AGAIN! Somehow, we had taken a ferry back to the start, whilst believing we were crossing to Herzeg Novi. The compass seemed to agree with us, but we felt like complete idiots when the ferry staff welcomed us back so soon.
Having been put on the right path by a surprisingly erudite ferry attendant, we left the beauty that was Herzeg Novi, and found ourselves at the border, finding it more difficult to leave Montenegro, than it was to enter Croatia. We noticed an almost immediate lightening of attitude and, as the sun dried off the slight dampness from a brief shower, we continued to wonder at the endless beauty fo the coastline, as we made out way towards Dubrovnik. There is only one negative comment to be made about this area, and that is that it should be enjoyed when you have all the time in the world, NOT when you actually have to get somehwere, sometime! The never-ending turns, back in the direction you came from, as you round headland after headland, eventually make you believe that you're not actually going anywhere (even when you are!), and the incredible beauty, like the scent of an orchid, starts to "cloy".
The journey eventually quickened, with the assistance of some straighter roads after Makarska, although we were regularly treated to glimpses of relatively untouched beauty, nestling amongst deep ravines, where the sea had extended a delicate finger to allow the existence of a small marina, surrounded by a small village. Take note, this is an area to explore, before it turns into the rest of the over-exploited coastlines that are infested with "budget tours".
The visual experiences of the day could not be dimmed by even a harsh downpour, as we approched Zadar, but we were rudely reminded of the fallability of our machinery, as Andy's bike developed a slow puncture, having picked up a nail, somewhere on the road. How lucky we were, though, that this had not been a worse one, perhaps in the mountains of Albania. Tomorow, we will effect the necessary repairs, either at the dealership in Rijeka, or the local bike dealer in Zadar, if he can do it.
Privlaka sits on a promontory, right beside the sea, looking out across the bay to many of the other islands and spits that pepper this coastline. It is truly idyllic, unspoilt as young chidren innocently play alongside the gently lapping sea, and time seems to slow to an almost complete standstill. The family-run "HOTEL LAGUNA" is a joy, the service excellent, and the price, which MUST increase as "Europe invades", is almost insulting in its dimunitive consistancy.
As we sat, watching the evening sun descend over the mill-pond sea, casting red and orange swathes across nature's mirror, the ice-cold beers and attentive service made us reflect upon the previous days' activities, and reminded us how lucky we were, and that so many perceived worries are as nothing, compared to the reality of the beauty that we had been privileged to witness, and the true substance of life's experience, that will live with us for ever.
Day 42 - 23 May - (Privlaka - Postojna) - Miles covered - 206
Owing to the slow puncture in Andy's rear tyre, we are forced to make our first stop in Zadar this morning, but not before enjoying a wistful breakfast, right beside the gently lapping waters of the Adriatic.
Bizarrely, on the short run to the Motorcycle dealership in Zadar, we encounter some "freak" weather, which includes bright sunshine, driving rain and even hailstones, all in the space of ten minutes!
Once the friendly and attentive staff at "Motoshop Zadar" had whipped the tyre off and sorted it out, we were able to push on northwards, towards Slovenia, the amazing scenery continuing to excite and capture our attention, certain that this is somewhere we will return very soon.
Sadly, as we came out of a particularly invigorating series of bends that lead from the Velebit National Park, we were met by what appeared to be the largest pile of sand we had ever seen. It turned out to be a complete island, off the industrial port of Rijeka, that was systematically being "removed", to provide the materials necessary for the major developments and roadworks that were taking place all over this coastline.
Rijeka is a perfect example of why, if you can, you should always avoid the cities and large towns. We seemed to go round and round in circles, with the frenetic shipbuilding, breaking, roadworks and industry completely failing to provide us with any redeeming feature that could ever persuade us to return. Sorry guys, you had your chance.
As if to punish us for labelling it as a "no return zone", in spite of its proximity to such contrasting beauty, Rijeka certainly had the last laugh, as a seven-car pile up five miles down the road forced us to risk our lives, "filtering" between the static crocodile of huge lorries and traffic on our side, and the charging line of demonic behemoths that appeared determined to add us to the large collection of "roadkill" that dotted the blacktop. Worse still, we were forced to a complete standstill whilst in the long tunnels, owing to the barriers in the centre of the road, compelled to inhale the choking fumes and dust that swirled in through our firmly closed visors.
It was with considerable relief that we approched the border to Slovenia, near Ilska Bistrica, that even welcomed us with some wonderful bends, smooth, clean surfaces and relatively little traffic, as well as a perfunctory glance at our passports by the solitary border guard, before we found ourselves in the 27th country on our journey.
With some considerable emotion, we realised that this border crossing would probably be the last that would involve much, if any examination of our documents for the rest of our journey. We took a moment to look back at the crossing point, both alone in our reflections on the many experiences gained at so many crossing over the last six weeks.
It was in a sombre and reflective mood that we rode the short journey into Postonja, hardly recognising the "new scenery" or appreciating the gently undulating and meandering roads that lead to our destination, and our arrival at the "Sport Hotel" was overshadowed by a quiet and pensive atmosphere. This bubble was soon burst by our discovery that several Harley riders were staying in the same hotel as us, and an evening of tall tales and even taller beers ensued, that saw us fall into our beds, emotionally, physically and alcoholically exhausted.
Day 43 - 24 May - (Postojna - Verucchio) - Miles covered : 251
This is the start of our week 7, probably half-way through our "trip of a lifetime"! Such a shame, that it starts in such an un-remarkable place. But perhaps the time event is momentous enough, not needing to be accompanied by any competing sensation!?
We are sure that Slovenia has many fine sights to satisfy any intrepid explorer, but we have been unable to "catch the hook" that so many other countries have made it so easy, for better or worse, for us to do. Our one assurance is that we will come back, and promise to find that hook on our next visit.
From a riding point of view, the deviation from the major road upgrade to four lane motorway, onto the tightly winding and steeply undulating by-road, provided us with a distinct frisson of excitement, some of the turns even tighter than any previously experienced, and we were happy to remember our parting moments in Slovenia as a biking-related pleasure.
Simply, we could have passed through the border into Italy at high speed, as the crossing point appeared largely deserted, and it was only once well into Italy that we realised the fact, and pulled over for the now customary acknowledgement of another milestone reached.
Our objective now was to avoid, at all costs, the sprawling suberbs of Venice, whose outlying roads can compete with Los Angeles as massive carparks, and we managed to reach the light-industrial port of Choggia, via what appeared to be floating roads, in good time, stopping only for the obligatiry "ristretto" (or three, Kevin!), to be followed by a more relaxed, coastal run towards the "country" of San Marino. We say "coastal", but the profusion of poplar trees (why?) which, although providing some welcomed cooling shade on our run, completely obscured any view whatsoever of the "sludge" that forms the waterways surrounding Venice.
A positive comment about our Sat. Nav.'s : As if their "chagrin" at being taken from their "home safety" of Western Europe, and after so long refusing to "play the game", the crossing into Italy could not have been more dramatic, if a fanfare of trumpets had sounded, accompanied by fireworks and tumbling troubadours, than their return to pinpoint accuracy, even providing an entertaining "cross-country" route on minor roads, that avoided nearly everyone else (except some intrepid enduro-riders, with whom we had to "play"), bringing us to the impossibly stunning town of Verucchio, perched on a steep mountain, that looks out towards many similarly balanced hilltop villages and towns, in a region that is breathtaking, as if some giant model-maker had chosen to use this entire area for his "whimsies".
Day 44 - 25 May - (Verucchio - Termoli) - Miles Covered : 244
Our overnight stay at the picturesque hilltop town of Verucchio came to an end just before lunch when, just as we were about to leave, we were treated to a display of vintage and classic Motorcycle and sidecar combinations which visited the town's square. Many of their riders were in full costume and had really made the effort for the occasion.
The "rude awakening" to their arrival, apart from the wonderful notes from their elderly, almost asthmatic engines, came at us like a scene from the war film, "Monte Cassino" or, perhaps to be a little kinder to the "actors", the opening scenes from "Captain Corelli's Mandolin". As we emerged from our terrific "bijou hotel", the instinct would have been to "reach for our guns" as three motorcycles and sidecars, one in full Nazi Desert colurs (complete with SS Stormtroopers, Spandau mounted on the front, and both sporting Schmeisser machine guns!), and two others, close behind (!!), resplendent in full Italian Carabinieri regalia (including several Peacocks sprouting from their hats!). We were astounded, indeed, by the efforts made, and a little surprised at the pursuit of their authenticity.
Once released from the events of the day, we wound our way down the hill and on to San Marino where we just had to stop at a local Cafe for Coffee. Our Hostess, Luciana, was fascinated by our travels and keen to show us the panoramic views of 'The Republic of San Marino'from the windows of the Cafe. Suitably refreshed, our journey continued onwards south east as we followed the coastal roadway through numerous tunnels and over viaducts. With the Sea in view most of the time to our left, and more spectacular views of hilltop castles and churches, to our right.
It was with increasing regret that we had to pass through the exquisite hilltop towns, dominated by their crumbling "Castellos", as each invited a lengthy stay, promising hidden treaures in abundance. This route is another that we shall put on the list for further examination.
With every intention of sourcing a suitable "field" for our night's accomodation, it was as if the "accomodation Gods" were continuing to take a hand in our comfort, as we happened to pass a beach-front hotel complex, that was definitely "on its last legs". Deciding to give it a go, we turned about, and pulled up outside a '70's style edifice, half of which had obviously been shut down for some time. The receptionist was very helpful, and the derisory price included a sea view (sore neck, Andy?), breakfast, bags of hot water (but no cold, Kevin!), and a comfy bed for the night. This place looks ripe for renovation, and we discovered that only 11 rooms of the 80 total are actually available. I am sure, with its dated and tired styling, this place will become a major "Four Seasons-style" complex, with gates, guards and "ginormous prices", in the near future!
That night, a short stroll along the main road, with motorway, railway and sea for companions, brought us to a wonderful, family-run restaurant (four generations!) where, with a mixture of French, English, and our newly acquired Italian "bits and pieces", we were treated to a memorable supper of the freshest ingredients, locally caught, before returning to "Hotel *** Residence Pollice" (!) for a well-needed rest.
Tomorrow, we push towards the toe of Italy, to the Puglia region, with the anticipation of more sights, sounds, smells and tastes of this, our 29th country!
Day 45 - 26 May - (Termoli - Molfetta) - Miles covered : 157
Owing to our continuing good fortune with the weather, we have determined that, tonight, come what may, we WILL be camping!
Our very helpful receptionist, Wendy (perhaps due to there only being 7 rooms occupied in the entire complex) has offered to assist us in locating a suitable camp site, as she informs us that the season definitely hasn't started yet, and we may have problems in finding somewhere. Indeed, this doesn't surprise us at all, as Italy is well known for closing completely, during the month of August, and it has become obvious that we are passing along the coast well before the "madding hordes" arrive.
Sadly, Wendy keeps being informed, when she is able to get some response, that the sites are "Chiuso", so we decide to "wing it" in true biking fashion...
Our initial push out of Termoli, along the coast, provides us with a refreshingly cool interlude from the onshore breeze, and we are treated to spectacular views of the Castello-dominated towns and villages that predominate this area of Italy. Seeing these incredible edifices, precariously balanced on the steepest of the hills around, makes us wonder as to the considerable efforts necessary to achieve such a result.
We have decided to include in our route, a slight detour to the largest of the Castels in this region, the "Castel del Monte", a 13th century "Folly" built by Frederico 2nd. This oddity, whose origins and reasons have never been conclusively explained or jusitifed, describes an octagonal structure, each corner of which supports further octagonal towers.
The long and winding road that led to what appeared, from several miles distance, to be a modern castle, built in the fantasy imagination of some "recently promoted" Russian Oligarch, showed us that this area is definitely one for the well-heeled. The closer proximity to the Castel required more magnificence, combined with greater seclusion and security, resulting in the final approach being lined with imposing walls, security fencing and firmly closed gates.
The turn off up to the castle itself was guarded by a parking attendant, who pointed us in the direction of the public car park which happened to be situated some 2km away, necessistating a bus journey to come back to where we were. Our arrival in the car park was greeted by what must have been half the schoolchildren from the Andria district, athough another, more kindly parking attendant took pity on us, and insisted that we park our bikes next to his "office" (NOT another loo, as we first believed!) to prevent excessive interest from "prying eyes". He even went to great lengths to reccommend a place for us to eat, once we had done the "cultural bit", which became an adventure in itself (read on...)!
Castel del Monte is certainly worth a visit. Confusing in its origins, and magnificent in spite of the progressive ransacking that took place over centuries, before another "UN grant" permitted the considerable expense in its renovation, this place evokes "memories" of eras long past, and the cooling interior, defiant to the increasingly angry midday sun, made us realise how much man has lost over the millenia, and how much we still have to "find".
Leaving the peaceful and thought-provoking Castel, we ventured out into the burning sun, returning to our bikes and a beaming attendant, who insisted in describing for us, a tenth time, the route we must take to his favourite restaurant, which would delight us with its fare, and only take a nibble from our wallets.
Following his explicit directions to the letter, we soon found ourselves.........completely lost in an enormous national park, peppered with "Hobbit-like" huts, and very little else! We seemed to have entered the "Land that time forgot", and even the ubiquitous olive trees had disappeared. The roads became narrower and dustier, ever more winding, and continuously tried to take us away from any route we wished to follow.
Eventually, we popped out in Andria, at the start of the road up to the Castel and, in desperation, stopped for lunch at the first place we came to. Tired, dusty and very hot, we entered a "gift shop" that happened to serve meals, albeit prepackaged and re-heated, but surprisingly tasty. Taking pity on our condition, the waitress couldn't have been more helpful, and she made her laptop computer available for our search for a campsite for the night (yes, a CAMPSITE!), and even putting in several calls on our behalf. Sadly, it appears that the majority of Italy, from a tourist point of view, is still closed (Chiuso) and we resolved to "brave it", by hitting the coast at Trani and trying each site until we found one that would have us for the night.
Roads in Italy are confusing, expecially in and around the towns, as there seem always to be two of the same (i.e. ss16, ss16bis, etc). The "bis" actually means another road entirely, that runs parallel to that of the same name, but avoids the epicentre of the town. This didn't help us much, as we intially found ourselves on a "motorway" that avoided anything that remotely resembled somewhere to rest our weary heads.
After missing what must have been several likely sites, the first sign that we found directed us to the sea itself, and we almost missed "Campsite Baia" that lay, behind high walls, next to the public car park, and a stone's throw from the sea. By this time, we were dripping with sweat, the bikes were near their temperature limit, and we had had enough! Luckily, they were open, and the delightful lady and her son made us very welcome, offering us a choice of...... everywhere, as the site was completely deserted!
The absence of any other "camping-type" was, perhaps, a good thing, as this would be our "First tent erection", and our efforts would have been critically observed, accompanied by peals of laughter!
In all honesty, the tent proved perfect for our requirements, perfectly simple to construct, with nothing missing (despite a "moment" believing that the entire innards had dissappeared!), each with his own "bedroom", and the living room and veranda ample for everything, including the bikes, had it proved necessary.
Once the camp was set, we looked as if we had been swimming in the sea, and a "freshen up" before supper included washing all our clothes.
Camp food: Gone are the days of "compo-rations" and packet soups. Since the "last time", things have improved greatly - Whilst Andy tucked in to a delightful casserole, I finally managed to treat myself to a 7,000mile, 28 country, Chicken Dopiaza with Pilau rice, that whisked me straight back to the local Tandoori, even licking the bowl for the last bits (just like in the local Tandoori!!?)
Our meal was accompanied by the bottle of wine, given to us by our Italian friends in Bratislava, and the bottle of Borovizka, given to us by someone special, all of whom were toasted royally, as the sun set over the deserted and decaying caravans, and the temperature finally relented.
After supper, we decided to "take the air" and strolled down to the sea, stopping off for a coffee and Gelato at the "carpark services", only to be met by Jason, an Aussie/Italian, who delighted in our stories, and seemed grateful for the opportunity to chat in our language.
Returning to our "Mansion" with a great sense of wellbeing, we retired to our respective "pods", and gradually drifted off to a fuzzy sleep....... only to wake an hour later to realise that my "self-inflating" mattress wasn't,and that one really should sweep the area below your bed for stones and rubbish, BEFORE putting up the tent, or every pebble and seed will grow into moutains and trees during the night! Thanks for the "crash course" refresher in camping - I get the point!
Day 46 - 27 May - (Molfetta - Taranto) - Miles covered : 88
For those of you not in the know, Camping is like living in a submarine. What space there is has to be used to it's maximum, everything has a place and there is a place for everything. So with our backgrounds, the whole experience of being under canvas was "just a walk in the park" (except my own attention to the "comfort" aspect). Packing up was an efficient affair, although one of us appeared a little more sluggish than the other (who had to finish the Borovizka?).
Breakfast was positively anticipated with relish, sausages and beans being predominant (thankfully, not BEFORE a night in the tent!), and we felt "fully charged" for the day ahead.
The route to Taranto carried us through the region of Puglia, famous for their delicate and tasty wines, very few of which we could afford to taste, owing to our mode of transport and the nature of Italian drivers in general! The gently meandering roads, which sometimes narrowed and deteriorated into little more than farm tracks, were constantly bordered by either olive groves, silent and brooding in their antiquity, or the intensely attended vineyards, many of which afforded each tiny plant their own water supply and plastic shade from the intense sunshine.
Not since the sporadic and sometimes intense fires at the roadsides in Russia had we come across anything similar, but, perhaps due to the apparent obligation of every Italian to complete their "National Smoking service" of five years, we came across the burned, and burning, patches that bore evidence to a carelessly ejected butt, endangering the very vines upon which much of the countryside depended!
We soon decided to stop for a morning "Ristretto", a decision which has always, whether for a drink, meal or accommodation, resulted in a complete absence of what we seek. However, at the last minute, as we started to exit what seemed to us an outlying suburb of certain parts of Slough (!!?), we noticed a small cafe, almost hidden behind a shop that would compete with "Poundstretcher" for such a plethora of "Un-necessaries". This was Italy without the tourist "taint", and we felt privileged to spend a few moments, becoming part of the day's events. Ironically, as we sipped our excellent coffees, a fully "dressed" African lady, of significantly "ample" proportions, entered the tiny cafe, whilst heatedly engaged in a diatribe, at full volume, in a language that certainly wasn't Italian, OR any that we could determine. Innocuous in its act, it became a major event, as an obviously aged and regular local gentleman, shuffling on his daily route along the walkway, passing the time of day with everyone into whom he "bumped", stood incredulous and disbelieving, mouth agape, at the apparition before him, totally lost and almost un-nerved, at the sight. This impression, so out of place in his ordered and simple world, would change him forever!
As the heat of the day increased to furnace-like levels, TFG continued to play his unpleasant games with us, forcing us to enter each and every town and village on our route to Taranto, even insisting that we follow every queue that it could find, relegating us to, at best, Country towns & villages, through the increasing heat to Taranto.
Having survived combat, at time almost hand to hand with other road users, we arrived at our hotel. The Hotel had an uncomfortable air about it. Neither of us could put our fingers on the exact point, but your every statement, request or question to the reception staff was repeated with an almost patronising and questioning tone, which generated and atmosphere of unease. It's fair to say that although it's views were pleasant, it is not a place that either of us is going to return to.
Taranto is a stratigic naval base and its harbour is shared with the commercial shipping. Tankers and Container ships came and went during our stay, the cranes worked continously, and dockyard workers went about their business. Ship building yards shadowed the skyline to one side whilst the naval dockyard dominated the other. Within the town the buildings did not share the normal, where old sits comfortably next to new. Here, as with differences in the dockyards, the new stands out against the old with an almost defiant stance, whilst the old buldings seem almost run down and negleceted and if they had a personalities, they would be ones of total indifference and not caring.
Day 48 - Thursday 29 May - (Tarranto to Sorrento) - Miles covered - 231
With an early start we departed Taranto and headed Northwest. Initially following the coast road around the bay we soon headed inland and across the plains towards the mountains. It wasn't long before we were winding our way up switchbacks and climbing into scenic mountain villages that were perched on the edge of the hillsides. It became apparant that both motorcycles had simultainously lost their headlight bulbs and a coffee stop in a quaintly precarious collection of "typical" buildings allowed us to carry out the necessary repairs, as well as marvel at the ability of the majority of the Italian people, to just stand around and "chat" for what seems like hours on end! During the repairs, two coffees, food and the necessary "watering", a group of about seven locals stood near to the bikes, oblivious of the occasional drop of rain, and were still debating the world's affairs as we left! Perhaps it's something to do with having had so many philosophers, artists and intellectuals in history, it all stems to what must be months of just "standing around".
Before we left the town, we just had to stop for a photo-opp, overlooking an incongruously balanced home, set upon a sheer drop of some 2000ft. These towns have taken on a growing impression to us, as we observe them from near and far. They have started to resemble herds of timid sheep, clustering together on the top of the nearest hill for perceived safety, all of them in fear of the big, bad wolf, that they just know is lurking in the surrounding forests and hills, waiting for the opportunity to "take them". The occasional property that lies apart from them, grander in stature, appears to us as the bolder Ram, nervously venturing further afield, as if to display his bravado to the rest of the herd! Or, perhaps, they are just places where they could be built? You decide!
Following the coastal route up towards Salerno, we continued to be frustrated by TFG's desire to take us shopping in the high street of every town and village, and this was further exacerbated by the fact that so many routes had been changed since the system's last update. Once in Salerno, we found ourselves fully adopting the "Italian way" of driving, forcing our bikes in the wrong direction down one-way streets, ignoring red lights, cutting everyone up, and frequently taking illegal U-turns!
Salerno itself, having "done a deal" with one of the countryside regions over their rubbish problems, actually won the "Most Beautiful City" award in Italy, lest year. However, its outlying districts, which are adjacent to those of Naples, are literally drowning under the piles of festering waste that is choking the place to death. We had read the reports, but couldn't believe the visual reality. Words can't describe the filth, made worse due to the irrespressible heat and major roadworks that we had come to associate with Europe in general, but M.Berlusconi has a serious problem on his hands, and the seven regions in the country that have been "earmarked" as "dumping zones" will not take the proposition lying down!
Sadly, our biding memory of the Amalfi Coast will always contain the words, "dirty" and "rubbish", in spite of the breathtaking "arm's length" beauty of the entire coastline, and our arrival into the town of Sorrento was subdued by what "modernity" has done to such a treasure. We came to the conclusion that, in order to fully appreciate the place, one must either rent a helicopter, and NEVER get closer than several hundred metres, or visit from the sea, but DON'T SWIM, and don't get any closer to the "sardine can" beaches than, again, several hundred metres!
It was with great relief that we arrived at our destination, to be met by our loved ones, and a few days of R&R lay ahead, to recoupe, regroup, and prepare for the rest of our "trip of a lifetime"!
During our few days off, we took the opportunity to add to our "cultural" experience on the tour, visiting Mount Vesuvius, Pompei, Positano, Capri and the Amalfi Coast in general. The main impression that we glean from this whole area, is that there are an awful lot of people here, catering to (or at least appearing to cater to) the vast numbers of Sheep-like tourists that are regularly herded through the exquisite scenery. ABSOLUTELY EVERYWHERE is packed with one, or the other type of humanity! All the roads are desperately congested, the beaches are impossible to negotiate, the unbelievably wonderful sights are, sadly, swamped with kitch souvenirs and even "kitcher" tourist guides. In short, the place is a nightmare, and should only be visited in the very wee hours of the morning, utilising the latest night-vision technology!
It must be said, however, that for sheer impact alone, the ride on the singular chairlift, to the top of the isle of Capri, is an experience to be savoured, the precipitous views from the top being one of the few places to give a chap that "funny sensation down there"!
