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.
My first impression of Romans: These people are on the GO! My second impression: They live for dinner. In just three short days, we saw it all -what Rome is like sunny, rainy, during the day, night, weekday, weekend and on holiday. I love the mixer of the new with the ancient architecture. This is a three part summary of my observations while in Rome. This first part features a short film of a some of the major sights in Rome. There is a mistake in the film captioning, maybe you can spot it.
A taxi from Leonardo Di Vinci Airport cost 60 Euro for three people to get into town, there is no meter. The ride back from the city to the airport costs 50 Euro. In terms of obeying the universal rules of the road, our driver into town was just short of mad for American standards and ludicrous for German. But he wasn’t alone. Tailgating is common, driving slower or the same speed as the right lane in the left lane is common, making 3 lanes from a one lane street is also common. The driver never cursed or made obscene gestures, which held my level of WTF down to a few wide eyed, nervous giggles. Don’t even think about riding a bicycle in the city. You will die. Seriously.
My appetite is either larger than the two men I’m with or I’m just hungry more often. I made us stop at a Cafe that sold sandwiches, panino and tramezzino. They offer them cold or hot. But in Italian, the word for ‘hot’ is caldo, which we (Alex and I) mistook for the German kalt. Opps! The most important two Italian words I learned donne and uomini, women and men -sometimes there were no english translation. I kept saying the name of the B&B street address wrong, Via Palmero instead of Via Palermo. An inherited trait I like to affectionately call, a case of the dads. I was the brunt of the joke from the master of five languages Belgian. :tongue2:
Our first Cappuccino did not fall short of expectations. I can’t describe it, you just know that it’s exact what you want. The bitterness comes from the price. Our 2005 German tourist guide said that cafe was günstig, a bargain compared to those sold in Munich. Apparently, inflation has caught up across the EU. A Cappuccino ranged in price from 3.00 to 4.50 Euro. We paid a whopping 6 Euro per Cappuccino at the historic Antico Caffe Greco on the Via Condotti (a street compared to Maximilianstr. in Munich or Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills)
Along the Via della Concillazino toward the Vatican, massive palms grow in pots, some of the roots have split the clay. Seagulls fly over head and make a sound much different from those I remember in Florida. Most of the street merchants are illegal, I presume. They sell knock-off Prada sunglasses, thick DG belts, ladies handbags hang from their arms when the police are near by. Speaking of ladies, there was an Italian beauty queen for every corner of every intersection. If you walk passed a certain water fountain, the water smells perfumed.
рита:такая красив... Flo Bretzel:Starnberg is my favorite... Hezamarie:This is a test Troy:I have enjoyed discovering your... Corey:Yes, Knokke is certainly a...
