Almanac Travel: Not so much ‘la dolce vita’ as ‘la vita educativa’ (Part 3)

 

In earlier offerings in this series I’ve covered churches, cathedrals and the like before touching on a series of cultural experiences. This time around I’ll take a look at sports events and a few idiosyncrasies of my own. ‘The Grand Tour’ ploughs on. As I write, I’m in Athens – chaotic, sprawling and bustling, yet somehow unperturbed and doing it in its own way. By the time you read this, I’ll be back on board a cruise where everything is neat, tidy, organised and all sorted out for me. Maybe real life, for Australians at least, is somewhere in between.

 

Sport

Last time I mentioned my visit to Lord’s as a homage to the home of cricket. The venue was special, the cricket a tad underwhelming, but that didn’t bother me. What did leave an impression on me was the real ‘big ticket’ item that day, the FA Cup final between Crystal Palace and Manchester United. Palace were vying for their first ever major silverware while United were desperate to make something of a forgettable season. To be honest, I forgot the game was on until a number of Palace fans got on the same Tube train as I headed to St John’s Wood. To say that their demeanour was pensive and apprehensive is an understatement. ‘So close, so close…but can we, will we? Years of hoping and yearning, but always disappointing in the end. Will this finally be it?’ Hours later I saw the last 15 minutes of the game on TV. Palace had a 1-0 lead and there was seemingly endless time added on. And then euphoria! Even as a total outsider it was hard to not be moved by the outpouring of relief and utter emotion that finally, finally ‘we’ve won!’ I thought back to those blokes on the Tube and wondered how they were handling it, hoping that they were somehow able to soak it all in and value the moment. As for the United fans, perhaps it was a summary of their whole season – great expectations turning inexorably into bleak house.

 

I won’t see a single minute of this year’s State of Origin series live. I usually manage to see the games when I travel, having watched in Belushis in both Berlin and London, where they’re packed out, as well as once at a casino in Leicester Square where I was the only person present. Because of the distance involved and the lack of ‘in your face’ coverage, I felt comparatively detached as Game 1 approached and took the Maroons’ loss in my stride. I was a little more engaged for Game 2 a fortnight ago when I hoped for the best but feared the worst as the boys from up north faced a mammoth task to square the series. If only I had confidence in Prop by the Sea’s logical approach. Needless to say, I was over the moon to finally get some wifi connection later in the day to see the narrow result in their favour. When they play the decider next week, I’ll be on a flight from Athens to Paris. What will await me on touchdown at CDG?

 

The final of the Champions League between PSG and Inter Milan found me in Lyon. We had dinner at a bar about 2 hours before kick off and the place was packed already. Live coverage included helicopter images of the PSG bus heading towards the Munich stadium from their hotel well outside the city. The pre-match TV programmes made our one hour introductions in Australia look like a passing interest. But to the game itself! 5-0 suggests a flogging; it could have been 7-0. From one perspective it was a humiliation for Inter, a total defeat in every sense, a nightmare that couldn’t end soon enough. And, indeed, it was all of that. From another perspective it was the crowning of a PSG team that dominated the competition throughout the season, a fitting end where sporting justice was meted out. I watched the game on TV in our rented room in a family apartment. From my perspective, the game was an exhibition of how ‘the beautiful game’ can and should be played. It really was magical to watch the skills, the imagination, the flair, the execution and the exhilaration of PSG’s play. Utterly compelling. Doué and Hakimi got the plaudits (and deservedly so), Donnarumma provided the theatrics, and the defence was totally impregnable. But it was Khvicha Kvaratskhelia who impressed me most of all. He had several opportunities to score but was repeatedly thwarted. But you knew the moment would come come and, when it did, it was special, beating the goalkeeper with a bullet at the near post. But even then he wasn’t finished. Late in the match, with the result long in the bag, KK chased back about 60 metres, harassing an Inter break down the right wing to prevent a clean pass and avenue to goal, ultimately forcing a misdirected pass which was cleaned up by the defence. Talk about one percenters – this was a five or ten percenter when KK could easily have just let it go, taken a breather and ambled back into midfield.

 

The French Open is one of the major events on the annual sports calendar, the pinnacle of clay court tennis. And this year’s men’s Final was one of the all-time classics. Alcaraz v Sinner, over 5 and a half hours of stupendous tennis with momentum swinging so many times. Sinner serving for the match but ultimately going down. ‘I won’t sleep well tonight’, he said – or something like that. Alcaraz a dogged, determined, relentless and gracious winner. The next great tennis rivalry is upon us. Can they ever top this epic? With Wimbledon just starting, we might see the next instalment soon.

 

Downsizing

We’re getting to the age where downsizing has become a focus. It’s a matter of doing something about it before it’s suddenly too late. While in London, I saw a different aspect of this notion. I noticed more very small cars than on previous visits where the Smart car dominated that market. To be fair, there were also many larger, trophy-style vehicles about too. And lots of electric cars. But it was in Florence that the very small cars came to the fore.

 

These two were the first to catch my eye – a Fiat on the left and a Citroen on the right. Technically they’re two-seaters but person number two more or less has to be a child under 10 to squeeze in. These two are so small that they can fit into a single, regular parking space when parked side by side and perpendicular to the curb.

 

But this was my favourite:

 

It’s a single-seater Renault. I reckon that I could fit at least half a dozen of these in my double garage!

 

At the other end of the scale, perhaps the Rolls-Royce Cullinan takes the cake as the ultimate absurdity as a trophy SUV. A steal at between $400-475k.

 

The kindness of strangers

This is something all travellers recognise. I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve been helped in various ways by acts of kindness perpetrated by total strangers, often unsolicited and especially in those countries where we don’t speak the local language. I’ll mention just three that have stood out on this trip. We’re around the 70 years of age mark and take about 30kgs of luggage each, comprised of a suitcase and a carry bag. Our greatest challenge revolves around train stations (and some accommodation) where there are no elevators or escalators. At a Metro station in Paris we were clearly struggling to get down a flight of stairs to the required platform in time for the imminent train. A nearby policeman must have seen the stress on our faces, summed up our situation at a glance and, without a word, scooped up both suitcases and bounded down the flight of stairs to the correct platform. We managed the carry bags and were, consequently, well set to board as the train stopped in front of us. Vive les gendarmes!

 

Staying in a different area than usual in Paris, we were quite disoriented with our directions. We had to catch a bus from our hotel to the Gare de Lyon and struggled to get our bearings. First of all, a guy looked on his phone to get us to the right street, the correct side of the street, and the right bus number. (Our prior effort would have seen us on the wrong side of the wrong street heading in the wrong direction. No wonder I did Geography I twice at university!) Arriving at the correct bus stop, we asked for confirmation from an elderly gentleman of less than sartorial appearance who looked like he was waiting for a bus too. He didn’t speak English, we have next to no French. However, hand signals, the odd word understood and general goodwill later, we boarded the same bus and went through the same rigmarole with the driver who, fortunately, knew a few more words. He knew we wanted the correct stop for Gare de Lyon. Both of our ‘assistants’ made sure we got the right stop and made sure we headed in the right direction to the train station. The elderly gentleman gave us an approving nod and the bus driver gave us an enthusiastic wave as we set off. Yes, they’re little things, I know, but, in the moment, they’re invaluable acts that make life easier.

 

The Italian railway system, especially the regional train network, is awash with idiosyncrasies. We love using the trains to see the countryside and usually travel on a Eurail pass. Thanks to the tutelage of our friend Barry, a Eurail veteran and master of the app, we booked all of our journeys and paid our reservations before we left home. One of them was the relatively short regional trip from Florence to Lucca. We boarded in Florence (now that station is worth a story or six in its own right) and got underway. Anne became a little concerned because the train’s destination that seemed to be showing up on the onboard electronic screen was Pistoia, a town less than halfway to Lucca. I had checked the app and our booking before we set off, and there was no message to suggest that there was anything amiss. Again the language barrier asserted itself when we couldn’t understand an announcement that came over the PA, and we were making little progress with nearby passengers who had limited English. We did establish that the train wasn’t going to take us to where we wanted, and were expecting, to go. A young man in his 20s came to our aid. I asked if he knew what was going on. A local who used that route frequently, he told us that this particular trip had been disrupted for months by track work and that we would have to get off the train in Pistoia, change to a bus, and we’d get to Lucca. What we didn’t know was that the bus was 100+ metres away around a corner and it left within a few minutes. The young bloke was magnificent! He picked up Anne’s bags, gestured for us to follow him and off he went. We trailed along. The lift to get to the right level wasn’t working. So off he went down the stairs, I tried to keep up (feeling all of my 72 years), he kept checking to make sure we were in tow. We saw a bus peeling off and gestured wildly to the driver. The young bloke said there’s a second bus, we got to it, and I packed the cases in the luggage hold. The young bloke nonchalantly completed his rescue and headed off in his own direction. The bus pulled out in less than a minute. We were saved! (Footnote: our bus driver was a no nonsense, kick ass lady of early middle age whose approach to her task seemed to suggest that she hasn’t yet given up on her dream of cracking the Formula 1 circuit!)

 

Stairs and Mountains

The Italians love stairs, lots of them. If your accommodation says you’re on the second level, prepare yourself for the Australian equivalent of about four floors. And given that most of their buildings are old and don’t have elevators, it’s a long way to the top, as they say. If it’s possible, the major public buildings are probably worse or, if they do have elevators, they’re absolutely jam packed! The Uffizzi and the Pitti Palace are classic examples.

 

The Boboli Gardens – too many steps too far

 

We’ve been in Athens this week, packing in several day tours to major archaeological sites to feed our ex-History teachers appetites. It’s been hot – hovering around 40C most days. So what do we find? All the places we want to see are at top of whopping great bloody hills or mountains! Let’s just say that we didn’t get past the Lions Gate at Mycenae and the stadium at Delphi will remain an image in a book. After all, a bloke has to look after himself.

 

The Lion Gate at Mycenae

 

Enough already – we’ve still got another 10 days of this to get through!

 

All photos by Anne Bitter and Ian Hauser

 

 

Part 1 and Part 2 can be read Here

 

More from Ian Hauser Here

 

 

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Our writers are independent contributors. The opinions expressed in their articles are their own. They are not the views, nor do they reflect the views, of Malarkey Publications.

 

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