There is something for everyone in Vinschgau - families, couples, singles, dogs, cats - especially for those with a love for the out-of-doors..and speck (ham). If you are afraid of heights, hate the sight of fruit trees, or simply must have a steady intake of [insert modern, processed object here], well, here may not be the dream vacation spot. The mentality here is bit like the Carolinas - these good mountain folk just want to be on their own, outsiders. But the smart ones know the benefits of belonging to a larger country, mainly education.
Here’s a video slideshow of our trip, as a present to Alex from his parents for earning his Doktor-Ing. Google reduced the quality, but also our camera couldn’t take the intense sunshine or we’re just unskilled, hobby photographers. One day, I’ll learn to edit better. But with this digital age, I’ve forgotten how to be more choosy. Enjoy.
Occasionally, you’ll find a few info signs written with a bit of English text, but one thing is for sure, every thing is written twice - in German or Italian. As we drove along, the languages on signs would flip-flop between villages. We figured if Italian was written on top, then Italian was the majority language for this particular village. In Kastellbell, where we stayed, German was on top. But it’s not like the German I know: ein bissel is süddtirolish for ein bisschen or a little.
Mountain biking here is insane. The day after we arrived, we attempted to ride up to St. Martin, an elevation difference of 1200 meters. I’m an out-of-shape flatlander, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me from victory. But we didn’t make it. Blast the sun and somewhere an hour or so into the trek we realized we didn’t have any money with us. I was demoralized at the thought of having no beer at the summit. Good thing my bike is a dream, but demanded way more skill than I could muster. On the downhill trail, I fell off my bike because my tire got stuck on a pinecone. Geesus. A pinecone! Mr. Cube forgave me and luckily I live to tell the tale.
Remember the days when dad would pull out the white screen and set up the slide projector. Well here’s the digital and condensed version. All the same, still a lot of work to sort out about 250 pics. Without further ado. Our trip to Rome.. in less than 14 minutes.
As promised the second installment of my impressions of Rome during our weekend stay. I’m still rummaging through the photos..
The first gelato I had was called CioccoChocco or something similar. It was double chocolate with coconut flakes -a heavenly balance of cool, cream, and chocolatey goodness. It would be hard to go back to Germany knowing there would always be better gelato here in Rome. And after this one scoop, it will be impossible to convince myself to accept an ice cream in the U.S. The Marble Slab has nothing on this Italian gelato! My second scope was Pistachio. Oh. It tasted so nutty and not too sweet. Just whatever you do here in Rome, don’t go Giolitti Gelateria. The gelato taste like it’s made from powder. Yeah there might be over 50 flavors but you have to wait in a line sometimes stretching out of the door to get your fake gelato. Go anywhere else -like San Crispino, Via della Panetteria 42. They offer Gelato without preservatives and artificial coloring. I had the licorice gelato, ah divine and unique!
There are few people begging on the streets, most I saw were women. So sad. On our way back to our B&B, a man with a big belly made attempts to sleep in his car under a pile of newspapers. Another time, we walked by a man with a ridiculously unkept toupee. Odd because although the majority of men where dressed shabby, the hair remained flawless. Watch out for the men from India selling roses, they are aggressive little buggers. When it rains they ditch the flowers for umbrellas. If you are brave enough to walk without an umbrella on such an occasion you must also brave the Umbrella pushers. They are at every corner and shoving their collection in your face.
Don’t scratch your butt in public -on the streets, that is. There are cameras at every corner and incrementally if it is an especially long building. “Don’t you feel unusually safe? A creepy safe” I waved at a few cameras, not like they’ll notice. Who can watch all that security footage? There are cops everywhere doing less than cop stuff -nothing. I spotted one leaning against the car eating ice cream. With so little ‘cop’ exercise it was good to know that a few cops had a telephone cord attached to their gun in case it happened to spring from their holsters.
So a graying, thin haired man in a suit guarding the side tunnel to Vatican Wall near the Piazza Risorgimento gave me a Ciao bella after I looked up at him with a smile. It was by accident, I’d say, because I was happily scrolling through our pictures at that very moment. It was cute. I got the most attention when the boys got to talking about cars and fell into their natural man cadence, leaving me behind to get further distracted. Another encounter happened again at the Piazza del Popolo. As I was walking by the church of Santa Maria del Popolo when a man in a suit spoke in Italian to me. I almost answered him in German because I’ve been speaking German almost exclusively with the boys and any time I hear a foreign accent my brain switches to the only foreign language it knows, although English is universal. He then spoke in English and told me there is a very beautiful painting inside the church. Then he said that he was surprised I didn’t speak Italian because I look Italian. Oh? I look Italian? There’s another nationality tally I can add to my list proving I’m morphing Betty Crocker’s cousin.
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