Where to next?

3:18 AM. Groan. I wake up with a weight in the pit of my stomach. Why did I eat all that meat? Why did I order dessert when I didn't need it?
The list expands: Why didn't I wear sunscreen? Why didn't I bring those hiking pants? Why did I leave my umbrella in the room?
More doubts: Can I really afford to stay here? Am I spending too much money that I should be saving for retirement (whatever that means)?
Second guessing; regrets both big and small. Shoulda, coulda, woulda, but didn't. Or did. In spite of everything.

And even if I could do anything I wanted, go anywhere I wanted, have anything I wanted (within reason) what would that be? What I am really looking for? When will I know if I've found it? Where will I go next to look for it? And what is IT, really?

But those are 3 AM thoughts. I do sometimes wonder what I'm doing here so far from friends and family. . . And then I go back to sleep.

When I wake up a few hours later, the sun is shining and it's too nice to stay inside. What will I do today? What will I write about? What will I share? What will I confront and what will I ignore? But the sunny day is calling and I am reminded that life is short.



And old trees can sprout new growth.


So I wait. As of this moment, I don't know where I'll go next or what I'll do next. But I am enjoying the atmosphere here in Corsica. I don't know what I'm looking for, but I do know I'm not ready to return to the U.S. and especially not Boulder - as much as I love Colorado summers. I am learning to be patient with myself. To let go of expectations. And trying to understand and forgive those "shoulda but didn'ts".

Ajaccio

After the trip through the mountains, I'm back on the coast. Ajaccio is fairly small, about 60,000 people. Big enough to have plenty of restaurants and small enough to walk all over town. Oh, and it's got beaches! I'm not big on swimming in the open water, but I actually dipped my toes in the other day. It's not super fine sand, but the water is beautiful.


These are the Iles Sanguinaires, about 18 km west of Ajaccio. There is a lighthouse and a 16th century Genoese tower. I went there by boat yesterday, but it was gray and stormy:


I took a bus today there today after the sun came out.

Bastia to Ajaccio

"Un train déraille : 2 morts et 22 blessés" (A train derails: 2 dead and 22 injured)

This was the headline that greeted me when I went to the Corsica Train website to plan my travel from Bastia to Ajaccio. It wasn't until the second paragraph that the article said it was referring to an evacuation exercise held on the 11th of May, 2010. As I read further down the website, I noticed that buses were replacing trains because certain trains were experiencing technical incidents. Uh oh. Will this be a safe way to travel? But I didn't have much choice. I had already paid for a hotel in Ajaccio and there is no other way to get there.

I show up at the train station early on Sunday morning. There is only one train today from Bastia to Ajaccio so I'd better not miss it. Looking at the map I see that we'll be crossing over a high mountain pass before descending into Ajaccio on the other side of this mountainous island.

Hiking boots, backpacks, sleeping bags: the vast majority of train passengers are outfitted for a multiday trek. We get to Ponte Leccia and there is a brief panic as the multinational passengers try to figure out if they have to stay on this train or get off and change. Finally a conductor boards and confirms that those of us going to Ajaccio can stay here, while the Germans sitting next to me scramble to get off with their heavy backpacks.


Soon we start to climb and the ancient diesel engine grumbles in protest, erupting often with angry bursts of steam. The wheels shriek around each turn. Are these tracks as rusty as they sound? I'm reminded of how a steam engine might have sounded a 100 years ago, the sound even more deafening as we pass through numerous tunnels.


Most of the backpackers get off at Corte, common starting point for those accessing a hut system in the high mountain passes. The highest peak, reaching 8,800 feet has glaciers below the toothed ridges of its summit. And the train continues to climb. The scenery is more and more stunning, as we cross over narrow bridges, the ground dropping into a breathtaking chasm that reminds me of the royal gorge. The chestnut trees give way to pines and the air is noticeably cooler when we reach Vizzanova at 3800 feet.


The scenery is beautiful, but the train makes me nervous. I wish I had someone to comfort. I am usually the calm one in a crisis, my ability to comfort others masking or assuaging my own fear. But I suddenly realize that I feel alone. I wish I had someone to comfort me - to hold my hand through the scary twists and turns.


As we descend towards sea level, leaving the wild mountaintops behind; the train no longer protests. And like a horse remembering the barn that awaits, it picks up speed and quiets down. No more shrieking protest around steep curves. There are new reminders of civilization and I laugh at myself and my irrational fears. Of course the train is the safest way to travel. What was I thinking?

p.s. you can check out the Corsica train site for yourself at: www.train-corse.com

Dinner in Bastia

After all that excitement trying to catch the ferry, I was finally able to relax, enjoy the ride and get to Bastia in time for dinner.

The old port of Bastia reminded me that I hadn't eaten fish for awhile.


I asked the hotel desk clerk for a restaurant recommendation and was delighted with her suggestion. She immediately took out a map and pointed out the "Table du Marché" located away from the waterfront and right on the square where the daily outdoor market is located each morning. The 3 course menu was an excellent value so I sat on the terrace and started with moules marinières:


Next I had the fish of the day (daurade) prepared Bastia-style with lemon, sweet peppers, tomato, zucchini and plenty of olives. It was accompanied by rice and was delicious!


Dessert was a simple cup of sorbet, but very attractively presented:


After the lovely dinner, the hotel was cool and quiet. A soothing way to end the day.

Bastia

Whew! I made it to Bastia – just barely. I had carefully calculated my trip from Bologna to Bastia: a 10:23 AM train from Bologna to Livorno, arriving at 12:50 PM – plenty of time to make it to the port for a 13:30 sailing from Livorno, Italy to Bastia in Corsica. I even took the precaution of buying my train ticket yesterday so that I wouldn’t have to wait in line at the train station.

I woke up super early this morning and had everything packed and cleaned two hours before my train. I was at the train station 45 minutes early and calmly read my book while waiting for the train. I had a super-fast, super-direct train from Bologna to Firenze. It took only 30 minutes to cover the 122 km. I then had 37 minutes to wait until my connection from Florence to Livorno. However, even though this train left Florence precisely on time, it seemed to take forever, stopping at each tiny town along the way. I grew tired of the pace, but didn’t think too much of it as every stop confirmed the final destination: Livorno. As we pulled into the station at Pisa at 1 PM, I realized with a sinking feeling that something was wrong. I was supposed to arrive in Livorno,beyond Pisa, 10 minutes ago. What happened? I took out my ticket and realized that I should have changed trains for a more rapid one a few towns back. But there had been no conductor to take tickets or answer questions.

Now what do I do? The ferry sails at 13:30. How far away am I? How long will it take to get to Livorno? I immediately had visions of arriving in Livorno – only to see the ferry pulling away from the dock. I started developing contingency plans: How long till the next sailing? I know it takes 4 hours to sail and there are only two or maybe three sailings per day. Will I still arrive tonight? What about my hotel reservation in Bastia? What about lunch?

As my feverish mind was cycling through all of these contingencies, my train arrived in Livorno at 13:15 – 25 minutes later than my expected arrival and 15 minutes before the ship was to sail. No problem! I’ll jump into a taxi. The port isn’t too far from the train station, is it? Aargh! No taxis. It is lunch time and impossible to find a taxi during lunch time! But there are buses nearby.

I run to a bus and ask if he goes to the port. No, but that other one does. I jump on the next bus, agonizing as we make several stops before arriving at the end of the line. But where is the port? I can’t even see it. “That way, Signora”, the driver waves, pointing to the right. I start walking as fast as I can in the direction indicated. I can see ships in the distance – maybe a half a mile away. I follow three other people lugging suitcases. I can see the logo of Corsica Ferries. It’s past sailing time, but maybe they’re late? As I get closer I see the ship says “Sardinia Ferries”. I don’t want to go to Sardinia. And then I spot another ferry that says “Moby Corse”. I rush up to them and ask if they’re going to Corsica. Yes! To Bastia – but they’re leaving. "Do you have a ticket?" No, can’t I buy one on board? I plead in Italian. “No, you have to buy one over there in the ticket office” (which is 200 yards away). Aargh. Wait for me, OK? “Yes, but RUN!”

I can’t really run, I hurt my knee again before this trip and I’ve been wearing a knee brace everywhere I go. Besides, even though I travel light, I still have a backpack with my computer and a carryon bag on wheels. But I have no choice. I have to go back and buy a ticket. I hustle to the ticket office and hustle back as fast as I can. It’s hot, I’m sweating, but I’ve made it! I am the last one on board and then we take off – leaving Italy and heading to Corsica. Whew!

BTW, What is the real point of this story?

It was a reminder to myself not to feel too smug about my excellent command of the system and my ability to get around in foreign languages. Did the ticket agent at the train station TELL me (in Italian) to change trains in Signac instead of staying on the slow train all the way to Livorno? I'll never know. If so, I missed it . .

Leaving Bologna

My week in Bologna ends on Saturday morning and I'll be moving again. The Dickinson student apartment was large and well located, but I did find it curious to lock the both the gate and the front door before going in or out.



I usually have breakfast in the apartment, but today I went out for coffee for a change. As I was walking around the apartment building, looking for a cafe, I was astonished to discover a small park just behind the building. It's not on the map, and I'd always come in and out from another direction so I had never seen it. It was just what I needed after the heat and noise that I've experienced all week. I sat for an hour in the cool morning, writing in my journal and watching the kids play. Soccer starts early here and all of Europe is going nuts over the World Cup.


Next, where to have lunch? I checked in the Slow Food directory and found the address of the Osteria Bottega, tucked away in a street where you would never find it if you weren't looking for it. The place only seats 24 and fully half of the diners today were regulars - greeted with handshakes or kisses by the host.


I started with the tagliatelli alla culatello, accompanied by a delicious Sangiovese wine


And for a second course I had the galletto (roast capon) with potatoes. Delicious!


I didn't have dessert, I wanted to save room for gelato at a place across town famous for its hand made gelati. Yes, I travel on my stomach and ignored the tours of the Ducati motorcyle factory as well as the factories where they make Ferraris, Maseratis and Lamborghinis just up the road.



This is Il Gelatauro, with hand made gelato, chocolates, and other sweets. I had my favorite combination, a scoop of dark chocolate and a scoop of lemon. A photo just doesn't capture the unctuous flavors!


Tomorrow is a traveling day. I'll be taking the train to Livorno, Italy where I'll catch a ferry to the French island of Corsica. I've enjoyed visiting and eating in Italy, and even though I can manage to order dinner and make train reservations in Italian; I can't carry on an in depth conversation like I can in French. It will be nice to feel "at home" speaking French again. I'll check in once I get to Ajaccio on Sunday.

Ravenna

I may sometimes appear to be bold and carefree, but sometimes I catch myself worrying and hesitating about odd things. I took the train to Ravenna yesterday, I wanted to see the Byzantine mosaics that the city is famous for. As I exited the train station, I watched two older women head to the nearby city-owned bike rental stand. Hmm, that could be interesting. But an irrational fear held me back.

I walked a few blocks towards the center of town and noticed that bikes were everywhere, with riders of all ages. Come on Elaine, what are you afraid of? I decided that of all of the crazy traveling I've been doing, that renting a bike in a bike-friendly medieval town hardly merits comment. And yet, I was afraid. But my feet hurt, and it was hot. So I turned around, plucked up my courage, and went back to rent a bike.

I felt like a six-year-old for the first few moments, remembering how to balance, to signal, to turn, to brake. Ah, it's starting to come back! A few minutes of loops around the block to get comfortable and then I started again towards the center of town. I was delighted to find that the historic center is almost exclusively reserved for pedestrians and bicycles. Before long, I discovered the freedom of exploring the maze of streets in a town that dates from the earliest days of the Roman empire. I pedaled through Ravenna, discovering the markets and visiting the museums and churches that are listed as World Heritage Sites.



Sadly, my photos don't do justice to the stunning mosaics. This is a closeup of a simple one at eye level.



The colors in the mausoleum below were brilliant. The size of an average piece of glass in this mosaic was no more than 1 cm.


This is the Byzantine church of San Vitale. The church and mosaics were built in the VI century from the years 526 to 547. Those aren't paintings! Each individual piece of glass in the mosaics has been individually placed, some of them by experts in restoration after damage by earthquakes and wars.