Aww sweet Cefalu'

Woke up this morning and finally, finally felt like I was on vacation in Italy.  Young children shouting on their way to school, horns honking on their way to work, voices of mothers shouting in the piazza.  Water running through the pipes, and yes, wake up, its time to hit the train station and see lovely Cefalu'.

Cefalu' is pronounced Chef a loo, with emphasis on the loo.  It is a one hour train ride from Palermo.  The ride itself is beautiful as it clicks and clacks along the coastline, revealing hidden towns and bays.  Fishermen dot the sea horizon as we pass the small villages.  The water is remarkably flat and just as blue as the sea on the Amalfi Coast.  You can tell that once, maybe in the 1950's that this was a wonderful fishing village.  Now it is half fishing, half tourist - or maybe 80 percent tourism.

Corbett arrives in Cefalu'

the inlet in complete overcast with mountain cloud cover

The little village is snugged safely in the tiniest spot of real sand on this coast.  I love the colors of the houses and windows.  I am very thankful the day is not hot and the wind is not strong.  Rain had wetted the cobblestone streets and thankfully washed away the scent of dogs.  There is not a sacred corner in Italy, or perhaps they are all sacred.

With the wet, I gingerly tread the streets. I think we walk for at least a mile or so before deciding to stop and eat.  It wasn't great, but it was "classico".  How can you go wrong with pomodora and cheese, basil wrap with olive oil and oregano?  If you don't know what to order, order what they do well.  Wine menus often require you order the bottle. As we had miles to go, I had a Beck birre instead.

Off touring again.  We walk the streets and look at the views.  There is a monument to WWI soldiers.  Our first stop in the village.

 We trudge onward and find the port and the little cay or inlet.  The scenery is breathtaking.  One can envision the summer tourist invasion on this tiny town.  I am very happy to be here in November.

 The few tourists that are here, are European or Asian.  We run into very few Americans, which were so common in Napoli (Naples).  The shop keepers here run from the ice man who says nothing, to the lady at Helios that explains what matapalo is, which is really marzipan.  Corbett bought the bright colored fruit and was disappointed to find the almond paste as the center of the brightly colored fruits.  Turns out these are pastry that monks made to keep funds coming into their abbeys.  I liked them, but a tiny bit goes a long way.  Speaking of a tiny bit, I am a big fan of the local "digestive" which means a spirited shot usually  The shot of digestive for Sicily is Tutone Anice Unico.  A product of Palermo.  It tastes like licorice on fire.  Which at first sip - I do mean tiny sip - is a little alarming.  A full shot takes about a half hour to consume, at least for us Tallahasseeans...  I love licorice, so I was all in for the bottle.  It's a small bottle.  And it will most likely have some in it for the next guest.

Cefalu'

The train ride back was funny as a Swedish couple sat across from us.  The only thing they understood on the train was English instructions, just as we do.  When we leave the train terminal, we all exit crossing the street in front of the station which is a large circle of roaring vehicles. Buses, cars scooters.  Her husband darts out and goes half way turning to look for her.  She runs back and stands with us.  Then, there are enough of us to barge out to the road.  We cross and her husband is gleeful and he says, " It is so exciting!"  and she and I agree, only for men.  We try to find the grocery, but give up after our long day.  The night has descended and warnings of purse snatchers and thieves send us back to our lovely apartment.  Three bathrooms, one for each person!  Lovely.

Tomorrow is Monreale, a trip up the mountains to see a duomo.  A lovely day all in all.

Adieu Jolie Avignon

This is one of my favorite photos because of the light and the view across the river.  We were waiting on a small ferry that make limited free runs.  We caught the last one for the night.  As Charles walks us through the piloting of the boat and the motor and how the captain must swing wide, he notes that the captain is very good.  He must be quite skilled.  When the boat was tied off by the old deck hand, the young blonde female captain, opened the door to wait for the loading of people.  How refreshing!

He looks French already!

Back at our little apartment, we readied for the trip the next morning.  Another train ride and then four nights in Lyon.

The Train to Lyon

The trip itself was uneventful.  We researched the night before the station and the length of time to arrive at the next apartment.  We had booked with #airbnb all the way through and so far no problems with the reservations.  We also managed to easily find the train and platform, though I must admit it took me twice to comprehend Twelve fifty two in French.  I actually have the numbers down, its just that it is not always easy to hear them as fast as necessary - if that makes sense.

The train turned out to be a double decker and we rode up top.  The view is better but the luggage must be toted up there with you in a small winding staircase.  Sorry guys, I am taking all the small bags.  Meet you up top!

All seated, we took off and the short hour ride was pleasant.  Ears popping as we ascend to the new altitudes.  Charles is dozing and reading.  His favorite way to travel.  Patrick buries his head in a book from Theodore Frank.  I try to concentrate on a magazine, but I find my eyes wandering to the view and then up and down the aisles.  The people are just as interesting. The guy next to Pat is hip hop clothed.  The woman across from Charles sporting a British flag bag.  The young mother walking her chattering young daughter to the water closet (WC).

We arrive and depart the train in the reverse order and walk into the Gare station.  Taxi easy to identify and he drives us right to our destination in ten minutes.  We are early, so we stand on the corner eyeing the neighborhood and waiting for our hostess.  She is just a few minutes late and lets us in quickly.  She is adorable and has relatively understandable English.  You can tell she has done this before.  We gather all our information and then she informs us that all stores and restaurants are closed because it is Sunday.  There is one Exception:

DOMINO'S FR Pizza

So we eat something here that I wouldn't eat at home.  But it tasted good and we split two beers three ways and settled in for the evening.  By 8;30 pm, we are all but asleep.  Good night Lyon, see you in the morning!

of the Testy Travelers

Train ride to Barcelona and Avignon

We rose this Friday morning slowly as we needed not be at the Nord (train station) until 12:30 or so.  We walked to the store to buy plastic and pack our lunches for the long train rides ahead.  The walk took us in a different direction than we normally used.  Rolls Royce and Jaguar are the first stores we see and the neighborhood changed quite suddenly to a more Coral Gables, Florida feel, rather than Valencia, Spain.  The well-dressed senior ladies were out and about, waiting for pastries and coffee at the small tables.  The neighborhood felt “older” as if south St. Petersburg, Florida met Coral Gables.  Wish we had discovered this before.  It was so pleasant and seemed to say, “good morning”.

The small Mercado, called Consum’ had enough for us to pack some Valencia tangerines Navidad candies, the left overs from the night before and two quart water bottles.  Valencia apparently has terrible water and even the locals don’t drink it.  Perhaps one more thing in common with South Florida?  The walk back was very pleasant and we finished packing.  After assessing our wares, we decided against a taxi and walked the 9 blocks with luggage in tow.  Charles, with the lightest load, bragged about how much he has learned about packing and traveling.  I thought he blended in the environment well, but Patrick said no, he looked like a tourist.

The Nord is a large impressive building that our hostess referred to as the pride of Valencia.  It was very busy, with travelers going to and fro.  I walked the shops and looked at the beautiful young women that staffed them.  Charles wanted to mail post cards, so we went on a trip to find stamps.  Turns out they sell stamps at tobacco stores so off across the street to the tobacco store we go.  We get the four stamps for the cards and pay 3.9 euros.  I realize that to mail the five the other day, I only paid 2 euros.  Which probably means, the ones that we bought stamps for yesterday will never reach their destination due to lack of postage.  Drats!  Getting the stamps is one thing, but mailing the cards is another.  No one knew where a box was to drop the cards in.  They kept telling us on the street, which one unknown or un cared.

The train came and we embarked on coach one and we were lucky to be in first class.  There is no free coffee like in California first class trains, but there is a nice seat.  Charles insisted on having the single seat by the window.  An hour into the ride, the lady behind him starts playing Christmas videos in English rather loudly.  Charles looks at us across the aisle with that, “what the heck” face.  The lady started the second one and Patrick and I could not help but bust out laughing!  Divine intervention in taking the lone window seat…  The lady stops the videos long enough to have a long conversation and then back to the videos she goes.  Patrick and I dry our eyes and try to concentrate on reading.

The trip is four hours or so, even on the fast train.  Spain is bigger than it looks on the map.  It appears smaller thank Georgia, but I am not so sure.  It may be closer to Texas in size.  Something to research next time I have internet or wifi.  Unfortunately, the trains do not offer it.  On the other hand, it makes one take more time in writing and the opportunity to review before hitting the forever “post” button.  Never a bad thing, especially if you are an FSU lecuturer with strong opinions.

The lay of the land is much the same as the ride from Madrid to Valencia, except the occasional water views.  Tall condos or apartments in short stretches and then orange groves and olive trees and fields of plowed ground with small adobe like buildings.  Many of the fields appear to have a block tower on them, which could be a water cistern of some kind.  They are tall, built of large blocks of sand colored stone and have a castle like top.  It could be fanticized to be left over castle parts, but there are too many for it to be true.

We travel up through the mountains so our ears are popping.  The elderly man in front of us is now playing his Mexico video of himself and his family for anyone willing to watch.  It would not be so bad, but they attached musak to is that is slightly better than a dental drill spinning noise.  But only slightly.  Thank goodness the third person tells him to turn off the sound.

There will be a change in Barcelona and then another four hour ride to Avignon.  I am looking forward to the change, though the weather will be much colder.  Patrick says he is through interpreting and now it is all me.  I laughed.  Me and my Pimsleur tapes will probably on get us to the train, to food and to drink.  But what else do we need?

Avignon

We arrive at Avignon TGF in tired but reasonable shape.  Now, for the difficult part of navigating in a foreign language without a phone:  the phone allow for sms texting and wifi research on the fly.  The computer, not so much.  Moods grow testy as I try to identify our location relative to the apartment, contact the hostess and figure out the ride into town.  Patrick gets the internet to work and Dominique answers.  We finally understand her and head out to the taxi that Charles finds.  Dominique meets us in the dark in a narrow street very close to the Rhone.  We enter a gated courtyard and the find the dark door.  The code is something or another she says.  She knows the numbers, not the sequence.

She shows us the wifi and the hot water and off she goes.  Oh yes, and open a window and toss the keys in after you leave….

We find macaroni and have some herbs so we have the lovely meal of tea and macaroni, olive oil, basil, oregano, garlic and pepper.  No salt.  But it was enough to get the testy travelers to bed!

Next morning, Charles decided to head out for pastries and we waited for awhile.  After an hour, Patrick and I decided he wasn’t coming back and loaded up.  Just as we were leaving, Mr. no pastry shows up.  Hmmph!  He ate them all!  So Patrick and I insisted on going for a walk to get our pastry.  Charles tagged along.

But, one second out the door and the world of Avignon charm takes our attention.

Pastries and cafe located and consumed, we are off for the busy day.

We start out to go to Le Palais des Papes as recommended by the Madison County France Travel guide.  But before we can get there, we sneak up the back side of a tower on the Rhone.  The views are amazing.

View of the Rhone and Le Pont d"Avignon

The climb eventually ends up on the back side of Notre Dame.  We walk and walk on the parkway in the sky with the most beautiful vista we have seen so far.  And the light played perfectly for my lens.

And the Christmas market and vin chaud are calling me now, so more later on!