You’re in luck! One of the three pay to enter lounges in Terminal One is landside, allowing you to spend some time in comfort before getting on the free shuttle bus between terminals and waiting in what has been described as the worst airport in Europe. But what is it like?

Finding the Sala Respighi Lounge is relatively easy: it’s on the airport maps around the terminal and eventually you run out of terminal and therefore it must be there. And it does have signage – what looks like an elevator door with the logo above it. But no button to open the doors. and no handles. Nothing to indicate how to enter. Strange. I eventually walked close enough for a sensor to detect I was there and the doors slid open like for Agent 86 in Get Smart.

Inside is a single open room with a few armchairs in front of tables. And not much else. A row of check-in desks against the far wall are manned by airport staff who also take care of the entry formalities. A strange set up.

I’m picking that there is no kitchen – hence all the food is the plastic wrapped pastry variety with the exception of the fruit salad, yoghurt and little mini quiches. A wide variety of drinks, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic try to make up for the paucity of food selections.

I make do with freeing a bun from its plastic enclosure, smothering half with a patty of butter before emptying a whole mini-jar of jam on it and smearing a babybel cheese on top.

I guess I shouldn’t be too hard on Sala Respighi – the toilets (a single cubicle each for men and women) were clean and there was plenty of space, and the bank of screens on the wall displayed both arrivals and departures, but only for Terminal One. More importantly they didn’t blink at allowing us in three hours before flight time when apparently their policy is only to allow two hours of lounge time.

Either way we gave ourselves an hour to walk back to the free shuttle bus, make the fifteen minute transfer and navigate the labyrinth that is Terminal Two, before going through Passport Control. It turned out to be more than enough time as the incoming flight was delayed, but even without the extra twenty minutes we had plenty of time.

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The ticket options are: to go one-way, to do a day return after a lunch break or to follow the Chur-Tirano route with a bus ride to Milan past Lake Como.

We wondered whether it was worth an overnight stay instead, and so after four hours on the train staring at snow-covered villages and adventurous souls cross-country skiing and downhill tobogganing, we decided to explore the town to see what it had to offer.

The online travel guides all suggested that Tirano’s churches were the things to see, so after checking into Bed and Breakfast Sweet Home, we headed down the long long main road towards the Sanctuary of the Blessed Virgin of Tirano.

A huge red board exulted the UNESCO World Heritage status bestowed upon the Bernina Express railway in 2008. It was an interesting example of a double axis line chart, showing both distance and altitude on the same graphic.

La Madonna

According to tradition, the Virgin Mary appeared to a local resident during an outbreak of the plague and told her that if a church was built in that spot (outside the walls of the old town) then the town would be rid of the pestilence. Lo and behold, by the time the church was built, there was no more plague.

The railway passes right beside the church, and whenever one or other of the trains passes through, the bells from the crossing compete with the church bells. I wouldn’t want to live near that intersection!

Inside it was a compact church ornately lined with frescoes in the Renaissance style, with a huge organ from the early 17th Century.

After a brief look around, we headed out to find something to eat.

Lollipop

We had a brochure from the Bernina Express which promised a discount at four restaurants if we showed our ticket. One of them was right beside the church and so we popped in for a late lunch.

After a brief discussion with the waitress on what was included in the burger meal (language difficulties around ginger beer being non-alcoholic), we settled in out of the cold to wait for our bacon burgers. We usually dont like to order the same thing, but in this case both Ange and I were drawn to the bacon burger.

Lollipop’s is a strange place: it looks like a bar, but specialises in desserts. We found out later that the chef had closed for lunch but had reopened the kitchen to make our burgers.

And they were well worth the wait! A good sized offering with a skewer to keep it all together. Strangely enough they came with the bacon skewered to the outside of the burger bun. Never did quite figure that one out!

When it came to pay the bill we mentioned the flyer and our Bernina Express tickets, only to be told that the flyer was old and the discount didn’t apply anymore. It sounded a little suspect but we should have checked before we ordered. It was only 10% which was less than €3, so really not worth worrying about.

After lunch we headed back down the long main road to the old town.

Old Town Tirano

We crossed the Adda, the river running down the Valtellina valley from Austria into Lake Como. Like most of the waterways in the valley, the walls of the river had been built up considerably higher than the current flow – indicative of the need for protection from the sudden increases in river size that spring melts would bring. One of the constants in the mountainous river valleys.

In fact, Tirano was pretty much built around the confluence of the Adda and the Poschiavino, which the Bernina Express follows out of Switzerland into Italy.

Cobbled stone roads, piazza and churches. The old town of Tirano has some special Renaissance palaces but these are not open unless you book a special tour.

The town walls had been torn down and there were only a few of the old gates into the city left, and to be fair they weren’t the most impressive.

With the light failing we headed towards one of the other restaurants we were supposed to get a discount on. The menu in the window had the prices which seemed a little steep even with the promised discount, so we decided to have a pizza from one of the restaurants closer to our hotel instead. We did find out that the local food specialty was the pizzoccheri, a buckwheat pasta.

Chiesa di Santa Perpetua

The next day we checked out of our hotel and wondered what to do with the next three hours before our onward train journey to Milan- we were running out of things to do in Tirano!

We decided to check out the church on the hill behind Santuario della Madonna di Tirano, or at least to see how steep it was in person, because on the map the tightly packed contours made it seem like a sheer cliff but a trail was clearly marked.

Finding the starting point for the trail from the square proved interesting with an alleyway seeming to dead end, before hanging a hard left and then heading towards the river.

A little ways along the path crossed a bridge and then headed straight up through grape vines to the Chiesa e Xenodochio di Santa Perpetua.

The initial going was relatively straight forward, a not so gentle incline with dirt path and vines close enough to touch.

The haze over the town was identifiable as the smoke from wood fires and no breeze coming down the valleys to blow it away, so it added to the altitude to make the hike more of a challenge.

The second of the three phases of the climb turned out to be stone steps beside a stone wall with a groove in the dirt beside where cyclists had wheeled their bikes up or down the hill. The gradient here was quite steep, but the steps were reasonalbly spaced and so it wasn’t too arduous.

The third phase of the climb was the most intense. The stone steps gave way to a path hacked into the rick with a safety rail made of thick wire stopping you from plummeting down the hill. Either my lack of fitness or the altitude training started to become more noticeable as my lungs started burning.

And so even though the path had become quite challenging, the wire or chain fencing made it manageable and it was with no small relief that we greeted the final steps leading up to the road at the top.

The view from the top was quite lovely, with Tirano laid out and the churches with their bell towers marking the clusters of housing in the outskirts. I wonder if you put up a church in a vacant area of the valley and then turned your back there’s be a fully formed village accumulated around the church by the time you turned back around.

Above the church (privately owned: no admittance) was a ruined building, the stone walls still in tact but the roof caved in and almost overrun with trees and bushes. I joked to Ange that it would be on some Italian real estate website advertised as a do-up or needing “minor repairs”.

We had time, so after a well deserved rest at the top we decided to take the half hour stroll down the hill via the road back to our starting point. We’d seen a few other people climbing the hill and a bunch had been at the top behind the church taking photos of one of the trains as it passed the church in the center of town.

We headed down the road, saying hi to the other trampers we saw and enjoying the much easier downhill section, the road making it safe to enjoy the view instead of where to place your next step.

In the distance a car approached and I will never forget the look of boredom on the face of the pretty young millennial in the passenger seat, clad in pink furs, as they headed to the top of the hill. I think they too were finding it hard to find things to do in Tirano.

But there were sights you can only see on foot, like the wide pipes heading under the road which I tried to pursuade Ange were Tirano’s answer to Dubai’s Aquaventure.

Before the westerly path switched back on itself, we found ourselves passing through the village of Ragno and I couldn’t help but wonder what people did for a living in the villages clustered at the base of the mountains on either side of the valley.

Back at the bottom of the hill we headed alongside the river and followed it back to the bridge. Along the way we saw a weir with posts to stop debris from flowing down river, and further along a warming sign in multiple languages indicating the dangers of flash flooding in the river from mountain meltwaters.

After our trek we wandered back past our hotel to the train station for a spot of lunch before our train to Milan. Along the way we tried to figure if Tirano was worth visiting and didn’t come to a consensus.

Ange raised a good point though: we’d done the Bernina Express as a Valentine’s Day present to each other, and so there very well may have been seasonal attractions that we were missing. Perhaps Tirano was a Mecca for skiers in the winter or a hub for hikers in the summer?

I must admit that as New Zealanders we were spoilt as far as winter wonderlands go: Queenstown being particularly well suited in all seasons to entertain. Maybe Tirano would be served by a gondola going up one of the mountains, with maybe a nice restaurant at the top and a luge to the bottom?

I had to admit that the struggle up the hill had given me a certain sense of achievement, so that even though there wasn’t a huge amount to do in a Tirano, I didn’t consider it a waste of time.

Abandoning any hope of getting a discount due to our Bernina Express tickets, we selected a restaurant overlooking the square in front of the train station and enjoyed our last meal in Tirano. Hotel Ristorante Bernina Tirano is one of the Saint Jane chain of hotels, and we arrived just before the lunchtime rush.

I had the local delicacy pizzoccheri (buckwheat pasta is almost as boring as it sounds) while Ange chose better with the bombalino. She let me try some of hers: delicious! The restaurant had quite a little booklet of desserts, not a dud among them, and so my millefoglie and her apple strudel left us waddling over the square to catch our train full and strangely content.

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When is a hotel not a hotel? When it’s the downstairs apartment a floor below the owner. That’s what we discovered when we booked B&B Sweet Home in Tirano. Tirano is a tiny village at the end of the Bernina Express, nestled in the Valtellina valley which connects Italy with both Switzerland and Austria.

We’d been asked what time we’d be checking in and it became apparent why that was important when we buzzed the intercom from the gate at the address listed. Cristina buzzed us in and we made our way up the spiral staircase to meet her at the door to the apartments.

Cristina was very welcoming, showing us around and giving us the key and then showing us down the hall from the lounge to our room. The room was lovely, with muted colors and wooden floors and well themed decor. A small juliet balcony looked out over the main road and an open clothes rack behind the door served as a wardrobe.

We’d been told that the bathroom directly opposite our room was ours (we’d paid slightly more for a “private bathroom”), but there was nothing stopping anyone from using it as far as I could see. It wasn’t an issue the whole time we were there though, so no problem.

As I checked out the bathroom I couldn’t see any toiletries and only a bathmat as far as towels went. I came back to the room to tell Ange and then noticed on the set of drawers a lovely knitted cosy with J F Amonn’s White brand of toiletries.

The communal area was jam packed with tourism brochures and guide books and Cristina was gracious enough to show us the local sites on the map.

As we walked towards the local church we turned and saw a lovely mural painted on the side of the building. A curious choice of picture but perfectly in keeping with the local style.

We’d arranged to pay the additional €7 each for breakfast and were very glad that we did. A lovely continental selection greeted us in the morning and it was obvious that there would be something there for everybody, from cereal to pastries to fruit, to yoghurt, cold cuts, boiled eggs and cheeses. Even walnuts with a nut cracker in case you wanted to feel like you earned your meal.

One wall of the lounge/dining room was taken with a giant mural of the Bernina Express, the red train contrasting beautifully with the snowy landscape of the picture, and a small balcony outside faced over the short distance to the Tirano station allowing you to see the real thing in person as you ate.

The only down side of the place were the shutters on the balcony window. The main road outside was quite busy as it ran through the town, which was great for the centralness of the location, but not so good with the lights from the cars and the noise as they drove past: the shutters weren’t quite up to the job of keeping the room dark or silent.

It’s a pity because Cristina was friendly and helpful, the bed was comfortable and the breakfast delicious (my favourite was the custard croissant which I had with butter and honey).

Would I Go Back?

I wouldn’t choose that particular room – I’d opt for one of the other two with the shared bathroom. The lights from the road were enough for me to risk not having the bathroom when I needed it, if that was the trade off. It’s hard to beat the location, the welcome and the breakfast, so if I found myself back in Tirano, I’d certainly visit Cristina again.

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Although the standard sticker price is listed as €56, the Man In Seat 61 (the go-to resource for train-travel world-wide) has a method for getting tickets for as low as €29.90. Because of the demand for tickets on this route, it’s important to monitor when the tickets go on sale.

We missed the 2nd class tickets because we checked a couple of days after the batch went on sale, and because we were limited to only one date that we could travel. Which meant we either moved our plans to a different weekend or else splurged for slightly more expensive tickets. 1st class it was!

Our itinerary

We would fly into Zurich, stay overnight (at the wonderful 25hours Langstrasse, right beside the station) and then take an early morning train from Zurich to Chur, the starting point of the Bernina Express. We also decided to stay overnight in Tirano and then train to Milan the following day, instead of the other two options of taking an ongoing bus to Milan or going back to Chur on the returning train after a nice lunch, both of which could be booked at the same time as the train ticket.

Zurich to Chur

We were lucky with the weather with blue skies grazed with orange clouds from the dawn sun making the brief trip from Zurich to Chur along the banks of the Zurichsee a pretty journey.

We breakfasted on the packed meal that the 25hours had given us, surrounded by skiers in helmets and boots on their way to one or other of the many ski fields around.

As the trip continued we found ourselves getting further and further behind schedule until we realised that we would not be able to make it to Chur in time for to catch the Bernina Express. At each station, announcements were made in Swiss German about which platform the connecting train was leaving from which gave us hope that the connections were waiting for us to arrive before leaving.

But with the language difference we couldn’t tell for sure, until a few minutes before we arrived in Chur. The usual non-English announcements were made but this time followed by the English translation confirming that the Bernina Express, leaving from the same platform but different line would leave as soon as all were aboard.

Bernina Express: Chur to Tirano

It was with great relief that we hopped out of the Zurich train, and found the Bernina Express waiting for us on the other side of the platform. As we settled in, the train began its journey, lurching out of the station to a little impatience from the passengers who had managed to make it onboard on time.

We settled in: the first class carriages have four seats one side, two facing two, while across the aisle another couple face one another. When you select your seats you get to choose which ones you want but there’s no guarantee on which way the train will be travelling so you don’t know if you’ll be on the left or the right.

Our conductor was multilingual, giving us the same spiel each time he came through in Swiss German, then in Italian and finally in English. Once we got going and everyone was settled in he came through and checked tickets. And then a number of minutes later he came and let us know that a small bridge over a deep gorge would be coming up on the right.

The train practically went up on two wheels as everyone went over to that side of the train and tried to take photos. The reflection of the glass windows made it difficult to get a good shot, and I remarked to Ange as we examined what shots I was able to take that it would have been better to have taken those shots out the window.

On either side of the carriage, just beyond the seating areas was a small area with windows that opened on either side of the carriage. This was the only place you could take photos without risk of reflection or distortion due to the large viewing windows. The area got quite congested though as only one person could really stand there and take photos.

I shuddered to think how close some people got to losing their phone out the window. There was no way the train would wait while you retrieved it!! If I’m giving advice, I’d say stake out your claim early on the right hand side to get a good shot of the chasm and bridge.

But the reflections weren’t all bad though, and made for a nice composition of Ange taking a shot of the Landwasser Viaduct. The train slowed considerably at the most picturesque spots, allowing the passengers to get the best shots possible which was much appreciated. Brochures noted the best spots and announcements ensured that there were no surprises.

And even when one of the highlights wasn’t coming up the scenery was photo worthy, our climb into the mountains marked by the greenery of lakelevel transforming into the brown of the tussock and then into the white of the snow.

It wasn’t long before the rail line was crisscrossing a toboggan run, the first sign of the extensiveness of arctic sports visible from the train. Occasionally the toboggan run would be elevated above the rail line, leading to humorous views of disembodied helmeted heads zooming behind waist high walls, until the relative elevations righted themselves and the run crossed beneath the railway showing the tobogganer in full.

After the tobogganers were the cross country and Nordic skiers. The villages were spaced out without roads between them and the skiers made short work of the distances. We saw some obviously taking lessons, a circle of them making donuts in the snow.

As we got higher and closer to the top of the mountain pass, the forests began to give way to barer slopes, and the railway was joined by the road. Occassionally the road and rail would cross, the first we noticed would be a line of cars parked on the road and then the crossing with bells ringing and lights flashing and then off we’d go, branching off before eventually recrossing the road again.

We pulled into a few stations on the way up, one at the head of the toboggan run, another engulfed in some sort of machinery that looked like conveyor belts, and one which serviced a ski run. It was funny watching the skiers practically end their runs on the train.

At the top of the pass, Alp Grum, we had a twenty minute stop to enjoy the sights. The concessionaire waited outside the carriage, selling shots of grappa instead of pushing his trolley through the aisles inside. A stone building turned out to be a cafe/restaurant and I wondered what they did between trains as there didn’t seem to be road access.

Most people elected to look out over the valley on the deck of the cafe instead of going inside, and we followed the crowd towards the edge of the flat area beside the railway but the going was ice and we only had sports shoes, so we headed back to the deeper drifts away from the long drop to the valley floor below.

It was a relief to get out of the carriage: three hours in a train is not the worst use of time especially when the scenery is so good, but the fresh air and exercise was a welcome change.

We started our descent down the other side of the valley, the railway line protected by buttresses giving a strobe effect as the train went through.

We saw where the side of the mountain faced the sun and so the snow would melt in the heat, but then just as quickly freeze, forming stalactites among the tussock and rock.

We knew we were getting close to the end when the train started to travel in a straight line instead of wending and winding back on itself, losing altitude and hugging the contours of the mountainside. We were rewarded with some spectacular views of Lago di Poschiavo, a mirror lake.

The final highlight was the Brusio Circular Viaduct which takes the railway around 360 degrees. It’s supposed to be the most spectacular construction on the Bernina Express rail line, but after all the other things we’d seen it was nice, but nothing special. Maybe I was just all wowed out?

And that’s pretty much it. We got off at Tirano and made our way to our accommodation instead of grabbing lunch or taking the bus immediately to Milan. We explored the town pretty thoroughly (it has a population of less than 10,000) during the rest of the afternoon and the next morning, before hopping on another train to Milan at around 3pm.

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Our meeting point was the casino along with two other groups and after checking us off a list we were given stickers with #11 on them. Listening to the others on our group we couldn’t hear any chatter in English, so we hoped an error had not been made. Ten minutes after our meeting time, a MSC staff member came along bearing two paddles, one with 11, one with 7 on it and we traipsed along the deck to the exit. It really felt like they were rounding up livestock and I let out a realistic lambs bleat, which startled one of our fellow passengers. When she realised I had done it and my clever political commentary she grinned an agreement.

They scanned our MSC cards as we left and we filed out through security and onto the docks. There were other MSC ships in port as well, and a steady stream of MSC paddle-bearing staff lead lines of passengers to their excursion boats – the group before us were going whale watching [was this an MSC tour?].

Before long our group was allowed to board a ferry – along with two other groups form other ships. It was a bit of a free for all getting on and the top deck filled up very quickly despite being a blazingly hot already. There were plenty of seats downstairs but the stairs were almost ladder like in their steepness and the English lady in front of Ange balked at going down them, holding up the line. “No, no, I refuse to go down there,” she said.

The sailor helping people onboard was getting frustrated with the delay in boarding and tried to encourage her by saying “rapido, rapido” but she was having none of it. Rather than hold up the line any further, we nipped past her and the sailor’s negotiation and shimmied down the ladder/stairs. We then realised that while there was a large number of vacant seats in the downstairs cabin, there were also a small number of seats in the sun forward of the cabin, so we sat there instead.

This meant that we were front row for the short trip from the cruise ships into the harbour, past a line of super yachts until we docked next to the aquarium where we disembarked. While getting onto the ferry was onto the top deck, getting off was from the bottom deck, and the gangway was right beside us, allowing us to be in the first group off the boat.

We assembled and met Maria, our guide for the trip around the Old Town. At each stop in the tour she would give commentary in Italian to the rest of our group, and then turn to us and give the same story in English. Nice to have one-on-one attention! This was needed when we got to the church in the middle of the Old Town and we went to go inside. Because Ange was wearing shorts, Maria was worried that she’d be turned away, so tied her jersey around her waist so that Ange’s legs were not so apparent.

There was a stop half way through the tour for a taste of local produce: different pestos, breads and wines and, of course, the opportunity to buy them as well! Afterwards we were deposited at the harbour again and given an hour of free time.

We got strawberry cupcakes from a specialty cupcake shop near the port but there is really no way to elegantly eat them so ended up wearing a lot of  delicious icing on my face. After laughing at each other for the icing smeared on our faces, we went for a stroll past street performers and towards the old port, returning on time to our collection point.

We were told that we would be collected by MSC staff but the designated time came and nobody official was around so me and Ange went over to where the ferry had dropped us off – we’d noticed that the same boat was there. Unfortunately it also served as a commuter ferry, so there were half of our tour group plus regular commuters waiting to get on in a huge mob.

Then the remainder of the MSC excursion groups came over and there was a big scrum to get on, with the regular commuters being turned away and the MSC passengers getting aboard. Chaos! We managed to get a seat on the top deck near the gangplank so we could get off first at the other end, and settled in to wait. At the other end we followed someone with a sign saying ‘Armonia’ who deposited us at the ferry building and then went aboard.

We went straight to the buffet, having learnt the previous day that straight after leaving the port is the busiest time. We not only had a clear restaurant, but our choice of seats outside too. Blissful peace and quiet!

The boat left the harbour around 5pm and we got some good shots from the deck as we left. We went back to the cabin to do some work, but were interrupted by an announcement that there was an all hands emergency drill – we were surprised as we had already done our arrival day drill, but dutifully went down to our muster station with our life jackets and were scanned in. The whole ship was there, and the officers were prowling up and down inspecting people.

A little later we had dinner out on deck and enjoyed the balmy evening and afterwards took photos of the decks all lit up.

So! Was the excursion worth the €50? You’d have to say no. The tour itself was fine, Maria gave a good commentary and provided interesting context and insight into what we saw of the Old Town. We’ve been on many a similar free tour and tipped €10, so that would be about the right price for that.

The local produce tasting is nothing I would pay for as it’s a commercial enterprise designed to get you to buy things. The ferry there and back would be worth, what €10? €20 at most? Leaving MSC with €20-30 per passenger to pay for the staff mustering the passengers and making sure nobody wanders off.  Great business for them, less value for the passenger.

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We’d both done Pompeii previously and Herculaneum’s location (closer to Naples than Pompeii) and compactness (about a quarter to a half as big as Pompeii) were big drawcards. One of the MSC excursions was a trip to Pompeii, so we figured we should have enough time to get there and back by public transport, ready for the ship to depart at 1pm. So! The plan:

• Have breakfast in the buffet at 6.30
• Head off the ship as soon as the doors open
• Walk to the metro station
• Metro to Naples Central Train station
• Train to Herculaneum
• Tour the site
• Walk back to the train station
• Train back to Naples central train station
• Metro to station nearest the port
• Walk back to the ship

Sounds simple right?

Just time to brush our teeth before heading down to the exit, past the groups of passengers waiting for their excursions to begin. We headed up the hill, past hawkers and taxi drivers and paused briefly at a tour driver beside a sign saying ‘Herculaneum’. We established the price there and back wasn’t too much more than what we would be paying for public transport (which surprised me), and the mini-van looked comfortable.

We were on the verge of throwing our independent travel plans out the window when they mentioned that they wouldn’t be leaving for an hour to try to maximise the number of passengers they would take. Realising that even if the coach filled earlier, there was the gamble that we would be trading our time onsite for the security of transport when we didn’t have to. So we said “thanks but no thanks” and continued on.

The metro station was brand new, and the transfer to the train station straightforward. We had a little wait at Naples for the train and then squashed on with large groups of young people, presumably all heading to Pompeii (the same train serves both Pompeii and Herculaneum).

The walk from the station to the ruins was a short walk but we were hailed maybe three times by people wanting to be guides. One young chap started his spiel, saw my face and faltered, trailing off with a “…the ruins are that way…”. We arrived pretty much on time at Herculaneum, rocking up maybe a half hour after it opened, so about 9am. We made our way to the ticket booth where a queue of two couples ahead of us made me smile. We should be inside the complex in no time! Hmmmm….

There was a heated discussion between the man at the front of the queue and the lady at the front desk. Something about passports, dates of birth, that sort of thing. Other staff behind the counter were trying to help, but no resolution seemed to be forthcoming. We waited patiently but after five minutes with not much actually happening, I decided some action was required.

An older gentleman came over and addressed the queue, asking if anyone wanted a guide. I smiled at him and loudly stated that I didn’t need a guide: I needed a ticket. I then moved over to the vacant adjacent ticket window and started waving my euros around. “Any chance I could buy a ticket?” The three people behind the counter look embarrassed but nobody came to the counter I was at.

Continued discussions ensued and I returned to Ange in line. We’d made good time getting to the ruins, but this delay when we were so close was frustrating. A couple of minutes later a harried staff member came running over with an armful of tickets, and started selling them to those ahead of us in the queue. Maybe some sort of ticketing issue caused the problem, not the discussion at the head of the queue? Anyway, ticket in hand we head back out into the sun, past an unmanned ticket checking station, and into the ruins.

I’m glad for the early start – like Pompeii, there is no protection from the sun. The site itself is compact – whereas Pompeii sprawls over a square mile, Herculaneum only covers a quarter of that. It’s no less an impressive site though. While Pompeii was covered in ash, Herculaneum suffered from the ocean floor being raised and the escape route of the sea being denied to the citizens as they attempted to flee the superheated mud that flowed down from Vesuvius. I won’t spoil the site experience for you, sufficient to say that the houses and frescos were better preserved than those of Pompeii. And while the bodies of those citizens in Pompeii were removed form the site, at Herculaneum they remain, testament to the human tragedy.

We finish up and head back towards the entrance. The sun is really starting to get fierce and Ange stops off to use the bathroom on the way out. While waiting I watch the crowds waiting in line for their tickets. The queues go out the door and I wonder if the trip would have been worthwhile if we had had to wait in that sort of line for tickets when we had arrived.

Ange arrives and we walk back to the station. The touts are out in force and even though we’re obviously heading away from the ruins, some hardy souls try to sell us tours. We arrive at the train station and head up the stairs to the platform, about half way up the passengers who have just arrived are heading down and I realise that we might be able to make that train if we hustle.

Unfortunately by the time we make it to the platform level the train has left. No problem though, I’d been paranoid about missing the ship (which would involve an 18 hour train ride to Genoa to catch up), and so we had two more bites at the apple: two more trains are scheduled to run through which will also get us onto the ship in time.

So we wait. The next scheduled train arrives and they only open one door. We hustle over and the ticket conductor wants to see our tickets. We show them to him and he says that they are not good for this train, that this train is a non-stopping train and so costs more. About half the passengers try to get on and he turns them all away as having the wrong ticket. What I don’t think to do is try and pay the difference in fare then and there. But we have the other train we can catch coming a little later, so all should be good, right?

The sun is very strong on the platform as more and more passengers arrive, all looking to get back to Naples. The scheduled arrival time of our train comes and goes and I’m getting very nervous. I start thinking in terms of contingency plans. How long should we wait before grabbing a cab back to the ship? We discuss our options and we’ve decided that if the train doesn’t come by ten to 12 then we won’t have time to get back to the main train station (15 mins), transfer to the metro (5 mins), catch the metro to the station near the port (10 mins) and then dash to the ship (10 mins). Not knowing how much a taxi will cost or the time it will take (can you imagine missing the ship leaving because you got an expensive taxi which took too long because of a traffic jam?) is less of a worry than having a solid plan, so I’m feeling a little calmer.

At 11:45 am (hallelujah!) the train pulls in. All the seats are very quickly swamped but I’m just happy to be moving. We count the stations remaining and will the train to make better time. When we hit the station we dash off and curse the slow moving fellow travellers in front of us. Up escalators we run and dodge and “scusi” our way through the crowds. I’m glad I paid so much attention on the way in, so that we pick up time by knowing where we’re going and already having tickets.

We sprint (OK, Ange sprints, I lumber) through the transfer to the metro and manage to get down to the train level, panting slightly and enjoying the cool underground air. The platforms are our friends: there’s nothing to do except wait – I don’t know which end of the platform we want to be at for the exit at the other end, so we elect to be in the middle. We’re ahead of schedule, but my guestimation of how long it takes to get to the port station still might be woefully inaccurate so we decide that as soon as the doors open, we’ll still go hard out up the escalators and not rest until we’re onboard.

Woosh, the doors open and we’re off. The newness of the station is ignored as we find each set of escalators and do our best manic stair climbing. We’re spat out into the sun again and sprint past the street hawkers that weren’t there that morning. I power climb the last marble staircase into the customs hall and we make our way across the jetty at 12:22 pm. We decide to head up to the running track level to watch what happens with cast off, and how they deal with late comers.

At 12:50, a full 20 minutes after “all aboard” time, the last of the stragglers are aboard, all meandering slowly across the gangway as I mutter darkly from our vantage point. Apart from having already visited Pompeii, one of the reasons that we hadn’t gone on that excursion was that it just looked too expensive. We were tempted by the fact that the ship will wait for you if you’re on one of the official cruise organised tours – so maybe those latecomers were on such a tour?

Ange turns to me and asks if it was her fault that we were late – because she used the bathroom at the ruins. I thought about it for a while and said no. Well it was her fault that we missed that first train. Those 3 minutes would have meant we got on it. But it wasn’t her fault that we didn’t have the right tickets for the fast train. And it definitely wasn’t her fault that the other train was 20 minutes late. So if the ship had left without us it wouldn’t have been her fault – just the Naples train system’s.

Feeling peckish in only the way that having a stressful sprint across town up and down escalators will make you, we head down to the buffet restaurant. It looks like everyone else on the ship has the same idea. It’s a feeding frenzy!

We didn’t really have a good feeling of how many people were on board, but after lunch we certainly have abetter idea! After piling our plates we figure theres no room to sit so we head upstairs to the running track level and pull up a couple of sunloungers. I manage to angle the sun screener so that it serves reasonably well as a table (as long as I balance the plate correctly!) and we chomp our way through.

When we were watching the other latecomers come aboard we had left our spot before the ship had left the port to avoid the super loud horn from blasting our eardrums. We’d forgotten all about that while getting lunch until the ship left the harbour and gave a very large blast of the horn. Being on the running track level got us as close as possible to the horn!

After lunch we headed back to the cabin and I noticed that a note had been slipped under the door. “Please contact Guest Services” it said. I turned to Ange and told her that it looked like the IT manager had a response and headed down to Guest services.  The lovely staff member behind the counter smiled and brought up the message and read it out. The IT manager has said that you are on the wrong plan and that if you upgrade then your webpages will work.

I stare at her in disbelief. I make sure my volume and tone remain under control and I explain my position: The pages I’m using aren’t any more special than something like Google I tell her. All it is is a form that gets submitted. No streaming, no downloading big files at all. There is no technical reason why I should need to upgrade my package. It sounds like you are just trying to get more money out of me. But I guess there is no point arguing with you – your IT Manager has answered my question and you can’t override or change that.

As I was speaking she started to nod and come to a decision. She tells me that she can’t do anything about the internet charges, but that she can wipe off the service charge. I hesitate. She continues – the internet service you selected is not acceptable to you, so I can take off the service charge to reflect that and then you can spend that on the upgraded service. I nod slowly and thank her and head back to the cabin. I’m a bit concerned that this will reflect badly on Perpetue or that her pay will be adversely affected by the lack of service charge. Ange is curious why they would remove the service charge. I tell her that the customer service desk probably only have one form of pacifying customers- removing the charge. They wouldn’t have the authority to do anything else.

We do some more work and watch the allowance get chewed up pretty quickly. Uploading photos is looking like a bad thing to do as it really uses it up quickly, but at least by upgrading the package we can finally save our blog posts!

We have a quick snack at 6pm to get us to the 9pm second sitting in the flash restaurant.

The dress code was for informal, so everyone was in jeans and t.shirts. We’d received a ticket saying that our table number had been changed for tonight, and so we headed down a little late for dinner at 9:15pm and tried to find our table.

There was only one likely looking table but it was a table for four with a couple already on the other side of it and a missing number placard. Every other table being taken kinda indicated the one remaining was ours and eventually the waiters figure that out themselves and we sit. The other couple don’t look particularly pleased. Dinner is nice enough, but I score big time with my choice of dessert – a parfait.

So we head back to our cabin, after a relatively eventful day!

The post Review: MSC Armonia, Naples appeared first on etrip.tips.

Neither Ange nor I have been on a cruise before, and I’m kind of curious as to how it all will work. We have a lot of documentation and instructions regarding what we can take on board and the logistics of luggage management. So we have dutifully labelled our luggage and arrived in enough time for embarkation.

There is a three hour window for new passengers to get on board, but I’m more keen on getting the cruise started than I am on exploring Messina, so we pause briefly for lunch at Maccas and then head towards the port.

Part of the documentation included a latitude and longitude and after relying on Google Maps for port locations in Rovinj, I’m grateful for a more specific rendezvous point. Since my cellphone plan includes roaming, I’m the designated navigator, and we set off down the road from Maccas towards the water. I’m frowning at my phone and have just finished telling Ange that “the road we’re on is parallel to the water, we just need to go one block to the right and we’ll be there” when she tugs on my arm and there, between two buildings on our right, we can see the verandahs and decks of the ship, looming intimidatingly.

It’s big. Like really big. I’ve seen cruise ships before, but always from a distance, and as we get closer and closer the thing looms even more. We head across the street, push past the street hawkers selling knickknacks, and get directions from the guy on security. Two queues enter a tent, one for returning passengers and one for those joining the cruise here in Messina.

There is one couple ahead of us “checking in” (does one “check-in” to a cruise?). It’s a straight forward affair. They ask for our passports and boarding form that we have filled in online. The MSC website had been down when we had originally tried to fill in the details online and it only came back available a few hours before I flew out, making for an unnecessarily stressful lead up to to the trip. We then hand over our luggage and go through an airport like security check and then head onboard.

Upon boarding we have our photo taken for the security system and then we’re guided upstairs to a gauntlet of grinning staff who attempt to sell us drinks packages and excursions. It’s a hard sell environment but I have no intention of spending more money than I need to on drinks, so am not swayed. Part of me is wondering at the hard sell. Does that actually work on people? We also blow past the guy with a camera wanting to take a picture of us behind a cheesy old time ship steering wheel. At this point I realise I’m treating the staff like they’re the street hawkers on the dock!

We already know our cabin number and proceed to try and find our cabin. Luckily there are signposts everywhere indicating the directions, and maps at every stairwell, so it’s not long before we find it. Ange voices her concern that we haven’t been given a key card or anything to access our room but I recall in the screeds of documentation there was a line that the keycard would be waiting in the room.

Lo and behold, when we arrive the door is slightly ajar and on the bed is a welcome pack including personalised cards the size of credit cards which would be access to the room, ID for boarding at each port and our method of payment for “incidentals”.

Our Cabin

We’d had a few options with regards to the cabins, and our thinking was that we wouldn’t spend the extra money on a room with a view because all we wanted to do in the cabin is work and sleep. It would encourage us to engage with the offerings of the ship if we “bareboned” the room.

We decided on a higher cabin to be closer to the restaurants, which turned out to be a good move – better to have the odd scraping of things moving around above us rather than the noise from the engine. Even on level 11 we still can hear the deep thrum of the engine. The only cabins available in the online sale were in the aft section, but with the advantage of hindsight we would have been tempted to select one further forward if we could: to put more distance between us and the engine noise.

The cabin itself is perfectly serviceable with a compact bathroom but most importantly a comfortable bed. Always the major consideration for me! The room also came with a mini-bar with hotel level prices. We start looking through the fine print of the documentation in our room and discover some things they must have missed off the website.

Like they would make an authorisation on your credit card of €250 to cover “incidentals” like the €10 per night “service charge”. In lieu of tipping apparently. You could avoid the authorisation on your credit card by making a cash deposit of similar size or making a payment using a debit card. Again, things that really should have been front and centre. Especially if it bumps up the cost!

We also receive the daily newsletter with the events and important information about that days’ port. Unfortunately it’s in Italian, but fortunately Ange knows her way around that language. It also covers what dress code governed the evening meal. Apparently there is casual (jeans), informal (no jeans), formal (suit) and gala (tuxedo), and tonights code is Gala – darn! I left my tuxedo back in London.

We also find out that there is a compulsory emergency drill that evening for all those who got on at Messina, and a presentation on what excursions are available prior to that. We decide to go exploring.

There are three restaurants: a buffet one just above us on level 12, a fancy one which follows the dress code on aft on level 6 and another fancy a la carte one forward on level 6. We’d requested the first sitting (7pm – 9pm) in the fancy one but obviously didn’t make the cut and had been given the second sitting (9pm – 11pm). The 9pm sitting is a bit too late for us so we’re thinking we’ll get most of our meals in the buffet restaurant. C’mon, as much as you can eat?! How could we go past that?

After exploring we end up on the deck looking for the promised discussion on excursions. Eventually we ask a member of staff and they jump on the radio. The word comes back that there aren’t enough English speakers to warrant an independent excursion presentation. Nice of them to tell us! Instead we head back to our room to rest prior to the lifejacket drill.

Feeling very special with the boxy orange life jackets, we make our way to the theatre for the briefing. It’s repeated five or six times  for each of the languages of the passengers onboard. This time there is an English version! The briefing ends with us assembling near the lifeboats. I get chatting with the crew member who scans our passes to register the fact that we had attended and ask how many passengers each lifeboat could take.

He frowns until he realises I have misinterpreted a sign saying something about max 10 passengers as applying to the lifeboat capacity. He assures me that each lifeboat can take 50-60 passengers and some even more. Plus they have life rafts. “Aaah, so no Titanic here!” I say, I’m not sure he’s smiling as he turns away – it’s the end of the drill.

We head up to watch the ship leave port which feels more momentous than it actually is. We’re off! We’ve started our cruise! But from the ship’s point of view we’re just leaving another port. This happens almost every day. The Armonia keeps sailing on a circuit around and around the Western Med, so this is just another day. It’s cool how there are side jets which push the ship away from the jetty – no tugs needed here!

After the departure we head to the buffet. It’s good – very Italian, but plenty of everything and ample desserts! Our deal doesn’t include drinks apart from water, so if we want anything more adventurous to drink we’ll have to add it to our cards but we’re happy to stick to the water.

After dinner we head back to our room and are interrupted by a knock on the door. I swap frowns with Ange and head over to answer it. Our maid introduces herself as Perpetue and tells us if there’s anything we need, she’s the one to talk to. We enquire as to whether there is an English language daily bulletin and she rummages in her cart and pulls one out. Bidding us a good cruise she heads off to her cleaning.

We have a lot of work to do, so sign up to the internet onboard. After picking our jaws up off the floor at the price, we realise that it uses satellite technology and so will naturally be more expensive than regular hotel internet. We sign up for the package which allows “normal web browsing”, leaving aside the more expensive package which allows for “streaming and downloading”.

Twenty minutes later I’m finishing off a post I had previously started and click save. Boom. A page stating that the page I have requested has been blocked by MSC. I frown and hit refresh. Same again. I hit the back button on the browser, check that the changes I made are still there and try again. Same MSC screen. Ange is sitting on the bed beside me doing work of her own and I startle her by asking her through gritted teeth to “please pass me the phone?”.

I dial Customer Services and explain the situation. They’re not an IT helpdesk though, and ask me if I had used up the internet allowance. I try to explain that the message I am receiving is an MSC one, and refers to a blocked page and a rule number – indicating to my mind that for whatever reason my blog admin page has somehow triggered a rule on their restricted sites list. Weird.

I decide to head downstairs to show them the error message. Surely that will help them diagnose the issue? So I tell Ange what I’m up to and head down to customer services in barefeet and shorts, carrying my laptop. I make it to the lifts before I notice that everyone around me is dressed in tuxedos and cocktail dresses for the Gala evening at the restaurants. There I am in the lift with them, carrying a laptop (and the fan has just kicked in making a hell of a din!) with barefeet and shorts.

A few eyebrows are raised but I am on a mission. I make it to the front of the queue and tell my story to the rep behind the counter. He quickly reaches the limit of his technical abilities and escalates to his manager. The manager says that the IT manager is not available but that he will take a note of the situation and ask him for a solution. I sigh, mentally farewelling the time I should be working, and ask for a piece of paper and pen.

I then make sure I itemise what I was doing and the contents of the error message to make sure there is no confusion with non-technical people communicating a technical issue and stomp back to the room, ignoring the pearls, jewels and tuxes on the way.

Muttering darkly to myself, I explain the situation to Ange: that the IT manager will be given the message explaining everything tomorrow morning and when we get back from our excursion onshore, we’ll have a response from him waiting for us. With any luck it will mean we will only lose one day’s worth of work. The bed turns out to be super comfortable and the almost imperceptible rocking is very soothing, leading to an excellent night’s sleep.

The post Review: MSC Armonia, Messina appeared first on etrip.tips.

This was our second trip to Catania, the first trip was an introduction to this Eastern Sicilian city, punctuated by day trips to Mt Etna and Syracuse. We enjoyed our trip there, so when we found out our MSC cruise was departing from Messina (one and a half hours north by train), we booked an overnight stay in Catania, the easiest and closest place for us both to fly into (Chris from London and me from Rome).

B&B Cianciana was the second place I booked in Catania, I cancelled the first as it was too close to the train station and overlooked a busy main street. The B&B on the other hand was set a couple of streets back so I figured it would be quieter. The place seemed to be newly renovated and only had a few reviews on booking.com but they were very positive.

On arrival I was greeted by Danilo who ushered me in from the heat of the street into a cool, calm palace-like building with a marble staircase. We headed up to the 3rd floor, and through to a reception room, him kindly lugging my bag, and giving all the details I needed to get settled in. We went through the three different keys, all very easy, and the breakfast times etc.

I was struck by Danilo’s personable manner, he was certainly a host with the most, and I could tell that he would do his utmost to make sure his guests were comfortable and treated well. For example, check in is usually at 3pm but he came to the B&B early to let me in as I’d messaged him to ask if it was possible.

Room

The bijou B&B was charming (just a few rooms on one floor) but the room we were given was even more of a pleasant surprise, with a high decorated ceiling, big queen sized bed, a desk, lots of storage, and a wee balcony with French doors. The ensuite bathroom was small but serviceable with complimentary toiletries, sizeable shower and heated towel rail. I relaxed for the afternoon in my oasis and had a refreshing nap in the air conditioned room (a big plus when Catania gets so hot in summer).

Later, I heard a loudspeaker on the street below and poked my head out the window. For all the times I’ve been in Italy I’ve seen a religious procession maybe once, but now there was one apparently taking place right outside. A statue of the Virgin Mary emerged from a nearby building and was carted down the street with a small band of followers. A loudspeaker announced the procession with ‘Ave Maria’ blaring repetitively as it made it’s way down to the end of the street and disappeared from view. A chance encounter indeed!

Breakfast

We were greeted by Danilo the next morning who ushered us up a spiral staircase and into the breakfast room. This was small, but laid out with a good selection of cereals, bread, yoghurt, fruit etc. The eating was done on the balcony terrace which could fit two couples at a pinch. Another couple were already there when we arrived.

We helped ourselves to the buffet and Danilo thoughtfully offered to cook us scrambled eggs, Sicilian style, which were delicious and the perfect way to start the day. Reluctantly we checked out and bid our new friend farewell to catch our train to Messina. With just a short hop to the Catania Central train station with our luggage, it topped off our reasoning that the B&B really was the best place to stay in the whole of Catania.

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Ah, Roma! The Eternal City. Twinned with Paris because “Only Paris is worthy of Rome; only Rome is worthy of Paris”. Ange and I have been there four times each and so I’m interested in which attractions we end up seeing – we each make a list and see where the overlaps are. We definitely want to try and see something that neither of us has seen.

Day One

Ange has never been to the Forum, so we decide to go to both the Coliseum and Forum together as they’re both on the same ticket. She also hasn’t done the castle near the Vatican, connected by a “secret” passage (Castel Sant’Angelo). We do the maths and as long as we use the public transport seven times in the two days, the Roma Pass will be beneficial. So! Into Termini on the Metro, then get the 48hour Roma Pass.

We take the metro to the Coliseum and the lines are winding their way across the open areas outside the building, the tourists in line boiling under the noon day sun. Yes, by getting up late, we’ve managed to time our visit for the hottest part of the day. No point fretting though, and so we head towards the entrances.

We run the gauntlet of hawkers selling hats, water and selfie sticks along with earnest Americans asking if we need guides and approach the Coliseum. Like an enormous stone/flesh hybrid octopus, queues of people writhe around in the sun seeking admittance. The group line has a swarming mass of humanity wending its way from its entrance.

We’re heading towards the individual entrance and a guy with a Roma Pass badge points us back to the group entrance instead. We head back and I notice that the crowds are around the group entrance and beside it is a sign saying Roma Pass – with maybe one or two people in the queue.

We quickly head over there and go straight in. The tour groups have their own queues inside also and like magic the Roma Pass gets us straight in. I keep expecting someone to stop us – tell us we’re in the wrong place or otherwise bar our progress, as its never been this easy to gain entry on any of the other times I’ve been, but before I know it we’re climbing the stairs into the sun.

It takes a second to start the app with the Rick Steves audio guide and then we begin wandering around the Coliseum looking like a pair of Siamese twins joined at the ears. Rick Steve’s guide is good value with equal parts entertainment and education and we startle a few tourists with our synchronised laughter at a witty bon mot that only we can hear.

Afterwards we pause outside the Coliseum in the shade to have a rest and end up watching a heated discussion between a street vendor and a pair of tourists. One of the tourists has made the error of showing interest in a selfie stick and brought up the price which the street trader has decided indicates that they have decided to buy and have begun the negotiation process. As you’d expect, the difference in cultural interpretation of the same conversation means that all parties are left frustrated and angry. The street vendor stalks off openly swearing at them.

We head to the Forum. There’s a lengthy line waiting to go in, so I tell Ange about the alternate entry and we head left instead and wander a few hundred metres where there is no line and go straight in. Ange has never been before for numerous reasons, not least being the lack of context behind what she would see.

We’d downloaded another Rick Steves free audioguide (by all means find another free audioguide – this post isn’t an advert for Rick Steves) so that we would both have some insight into what we were seeing. Again we’re sharing headphones plugged into Ange’s iPhone and navigating the crowds, periodically laughing out loud. The sun is brutal, and there’s very little shade, but its still very enjoyable and educational.

We’d originally planned on getting to the Church of St Clement as it was in the neighbourhood and promised a journey through the ages as the top level was Renaissance, the middle level Medieval and the bottom level Ancient Roman. Instead the late night and glaring sun combine to call a premature end to the evening and we head back for a swim at the hotel and an early dinner.

Day Two

We start off a little earlier and head to the Aventine Hill. The hill overlooks the river and beyond to the Vatican, and a little way along the hill is a little known Roman landmark. A keyhole in the door of the Knights Templar’s walled garden looks across to St Peters, perfectly framed. Almost impossible to take a half way decent photo though – the contrast of the darkness of the surrounds and the brightness of the sun on the dome of St Peters Cathedral makes for difficult photography! Ange had managed to nail it on a previous visit though.

After the Keyhole, we head to the Mouth of Truth. As soon as we see the queues we decide to carry on instead and head across the river towards the Vatican. By the time we arrive it is getting close to lunchtime so we stop off at a restaurant overlooking the less visited south side of St Peters and enjoy some pasta (a deconstructed lasagne for me and ravioli for Ange). I get changed into jeans despite the hot sun because I’d been told that the dress code for St Peters was no shorts or tank tops. We’re only heading up to the Cupola but still, I don’t want to be turned away.

Images of Vienna and the Opera replay in my head. And then we head off to queue. The line wends across the square and we bake as we wait 45 minutes to get into the Vatican. The ticket office comes with another 20 minute wait and then we have a choice; €5 for a ticket that allows you to climb 500 steps to the top of the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica. Or an additional €2 which allows you to use the lift to avoid the first 200 steps and which deposits you at the gallery level for views down inside the Cathedral, then a further 300 steps up to the cage to the top and views out across Rome.

I mutter darkly as I notice other people in shorts but decide to do the climb anyway, jeans and all. The ticket office has signs saying “no discounts for the Roma Pass” which proves to be true, and “Exact Change Only” which proves to be not. The 300 steps don’t bother us – we’d done more at both the Salt Mines and at the Grotta in Trieste. Even the narrowness of the path – just wide enough for my shoulders in parts, doesn’t cause too much of a problem.

Before we know it we pop out onto the cage at the top of the dome and we purvey Rome in every direction. It’s worth the price of admission and the effort to get up there and we drink in the vista in every direction, taking a lot of photos and then it’s time for us to head back down.

We head towards Castel Sant’angelo and buy a disgustingly overpriced Gelato on the way. The gelato is good though! Ange had gotten a recommendation for Goose, a local restaurant where she had been staying nearby, so we make a booking for later that night.

The last time I had been to Castel Sant’angelo, they’d had a brilliant exhibition on the creation of the modern Italian state. That, the views from the top and the castle itself had made that trip well worthwhile. I only realised that the exhibition was temporary after Ange and I walk through empty room after empty room.

Still, with the Roma Pass we only paid the concession rate. I expected that to be the €7.50 up on the price list but we somehow ended up paying €10 for the two of us. There’s a cafe at the top offering great views under leafy canopies and doesn’t price gouge which we appreciated, though it did take a little while to get attention as the poor waiters were rushed off their feet as they were inundated with patrons.

After our ice tea and cake we decide to find a park to snooze under a tree while we waited for our reservation to come around. We were heading back towards St Peters when we noticed a traffic jam. But instead of horns blaring there were the sounds of marching bands. Looking around we see that we’d stumbled across a parade of bands all dressed in medieval or regional costume heading up to the square in front of St Peters.

Seven different groups go past and then the police let the traffic resume its flow. We follow the bands up the street and watch them take turns performing before some of them disburse and some march off. One of the band members catches Ange taking photos of her group wearing bright yellow tights and with a grin and a pose suggests it’s because their group has the sexy legs. The crowds lining the route and taking photos applaud each group as they leave the square and it’s a very convivial atmosphere.

Surprised at the serendipity, we move on to the restaurant which has maybe a third of its tables indicating that they are reserved. We settle in and I have the scalloped veal while Ange has the shrimp spaghetti.

I think she chose better than I did, and I may or may not have thought I was getting scallops. Lol! Either way, I think that we had let the recommendation raise our expectations too high because we both felt underwhelmed.

Our hotel was out in the suburbs and put a free shuttle bus on from the local metro station, so we had a fixed time we needed to get away from the city, but we still had one more thing in Ange’s gastronomic checklist: tiramisu from Pompi. Ange is not a fan of the coffee in tiramisu, but at Pompi they have many different flavours, so across town we dash.

The metro station we use to get close to Pompi is right beside the Spanish steps (there are about three metro stops in the whole city that are anywhere near attractions) so we grab a hurried photo before heading to Pompi.

After selecting the desserts we want we decide to head back and eat them on the Spanish steps. A security guard explains that’s not allowed so we eat them while sitting at the fountain instead. While we enjoy the deliciousness, we marvel at the tourists enjoying the balmy evening and taking selfies.

Everywhere you look are selfie sticks, pouting lips and boyfriends looking bored as they take yet another shot of their beloved in some “I cant believe i’m here” pose. The tiramisu is delicious and afterwards we decide to succumb to the prevailing trend and take some selfies before catching the metro, meeting the hotel shuttle and retiring for the evening.

Day Three

We get the hotel shuttle to the regional train station at Capannelle. We’re heading south to the papal summer palace, now no longer used due to embarrassment at the ostentatious displays of luxury. We notice two things: there’s no ticket machine, and yet people are still validating tickets.

We figure that they’ve bought their tickets beforehand, and so naturally we’re concerned that we wont be able to buy tickets on-board. I’ve got both an Amex as well as a Visa card so figure we should be alright. But the conductor doesn’t take cash, and with an Italian shrug says we’ll have to buy two tickets for the return trip.

The train to Castle Gondolfo is modern and comfortable and doesn’t take long at all to get there. The station is perched halfway up the hill overlooking the lake, offering exquisite views over the water. We take some photos and then walk up to township perched at the top of the hill. It seems a shame not to drink in as much of the view as possible so we find a restaurant overlooking the lake and have lunch.

The township consists of tourist shops, restaurants and fashion shops, and tourists with moped helmets carried over the elbow mingle with locals in their Sunday best, having just finished church and now beginning socialising and dining.

We make our way up to the castle, it sits on a square with a church which has just divulged its contents into the town, but nobody seems to be near the castle entrance and the large doors seem suspiciously closed. Upon closer inspection we find that there is a sign with opening hours on it: on Sundays its closed. Bugger!!

Without seeing the castle, we decide to head down to the beach where we saw pedalo boats: but how to get there? Google maps says that it will take an hour to walk there and the sun is relentless so we rule that out. There is a bus stop but that doesn’t seem to be running either. We don’t just want to spend our time in Gandolfo, so we decide that taxi might be the best way down the hill.

I have Über on my phone but have never tried it so we open that, enter the details and see if there’s anyone around. The only driver within half an hour decides that the €10 is not worth the trouble to get to us, so we decide getting a local taxi will be the only viable option. A quick chat with a waiter having a smoke outside his restaurant later, we have a local taxi pick us up and drop us off at the bottom of the hill where the pedalos are. The trip isn’t cheap tho (€20) and we’re left wondering if the walk wouldn’t have been a better bet.

We rock up to a guy manning a hut on the beach and make enquiries on the pedalo situation. He’s balding with white hair and patchy beard, which stand out against his leathered skin. His English is not the best but Ange’s Italian works fine. €8 per hour apparently, but: small catch – none available for an hour. I guess all his pedalos have just gone out.

We arrange for him to hold one for us and wander next door to see if they have any available immediately. a pair of bikini clad sun-worshippers explain that the price is the same and that they do in fact have one available.Their English is also as good as my Italian, so I’m thankful for Ange’s abilities in that regard to get us through.

And away we go! The pedalo is easy enough to pedal and we decide to cross to the other side of the lake to check out some buoys we’d seen from Gandolfo. As we get closer we can see another pedalo has had the same idea and as we get closer still we can see that my idea that it was some sort of fishery is very wrong.

There’s a building on the shore nearby which turns out to be a kayak club and the buoys are in fact lanes for racing. Nearby is a net for kayak basketball as well. We’re enjoynig the sun and decide to copy one of the other pedalos and attach our mooring rope to our life preserver and slip that over a buoy to keep us anchored. I then go off the pedalo and into the water for a swim.

You know the feeling when you get in a cold pool and you know you’ll get used to the temperature but until then there’s an uncomfortable period of adjustment? Well it feels nothing like that. It feels like it the lake needs another 4-5 degrees of warmth to even get close to that temperature. It answers the question of why the only people in the water swimming were children close to the shore!

I beach myself on the pedalo and we sunbathe for a while before deciding to head back. We leave it a bit long though and get stung with an extra €2 for bringing the boat back late. Oh well!

We decide to ring our hotel to see if their restaurant is open. There are 2 hours between trains so we need to know if we should eat before heading back or hustle to catch the next train back. Eventually Ange’s Italian overcomes the confusion of the receptionist and the look on Ange’s face as she asks “quando?” over and over is priceless!

We have 30 mins  to get back up the hill to the station and Google Maps says it’s possible, but we can’t dilly dally. Though there’s always time for an ice cream! There are markets on the footpaths overlooking the beaches which prove a challenge. We end up avoiding the pedestrian crowds by forging a path along the road instead. There’s a country lane heading up to the station from the water front and we blast our calves on the steepness, puffing and pausing for a sip of water or a brief glimpse back across the lake as we get higher.

We arrive with five minutes to spare and board the train back to our station with quite a few of the same faces that we saw on the way in. Rather than ring the hotel for a pick up form the train station, we decide to walk back. The traffic isn’t bad and it only takes fifteen minutes. We would have been waiting about the same period if we’d got the shuttle to pick us up instead. We arrive in time to get a swim in the hotel pool before the restaurant opens.

Day Four

I have a list of attractions within walking distance of each other I usually try to tick off whenever I come to Rome:

1. Coliseum
2. Forum and Palatine Hill
3. Pantheon
4. Trevi Fountain
5. Spanish Steps
6. Vatican

I don’t always get to them all, but seeing as we’re only missing the Pantheon and Trevi Fountain, we decide to complete the set.

But first we drop off Ange’s bags at her hostel, and then have lunch at Donkey Punch. Ange had tried to eat at it on her previous stay at the hostel but had trouble getting served. It’s one of those “too cool” places and I have the mistaken impression it’s a hamburger joint. It’s more of a sandwich place, each sandwich named after a musician or band. It’s alright, but I wouldn’t rush back. Especially with the attitude around service.

But we’re more interested in the last two items on our list: The Trevi Fountain and the Pantheon.

The Trevi fountain has a tradition that if you throw a coin into it, you’ll return to Rome. If you throw two in you’ll get married and if you throw three coins then you’ll get married to an Italian. Ange and I only throw one each. The fountain reopened in November 2015 after a lengthy renovation and looks great. The crowds are considerable though it’s easier to get close to the water around the edges.

The Pantheon is a favourite of mine. It’s small, but perfectly formed and has a hole in the roof which lets the sunlight in. I find it impossible to capture what makes it special in photos. Today it is even more poignant as it’s the farewell point for the Rome leg of our trip. When I next see Ange it will be in Sicily, for the start of our Cruise around the Western Mediterranean.

Would I Go Back?

Rome, like Paris, London and New York, is one of those cities which rewards repeat visits. It’s one of those cities I will definitely keep returning to.

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After checking out early from Orsa Maggiore Hostel for Women Only, I catch the no. 280 bus to Ostiense station. From here you can catch a train to Fiumicino Airport at a slightly cheaper cost than from Termini, €8 instead of €14. What I don’t know is that it’s also used by commuters, so I can’t get onto the first train that comes, and only just manage to squeeze onto the second one.

We’re packed in like sardines, but most people pile out 2 stops from Fiumicino to Parco Leonardo, which looks like some kind of industrial park, but upon later investigation I find is a pedestrian city with shops and offices.

I’m flying to Catania from Rome using Vueling which is a Spanish low-cost airline that I haven’t flown with before. There’s no one queuing at check-in so I breeze through, negotiate security and head to Gate D09 to wait for the flight.

There are work stations so I set myself up with my laptop and soon I’m immersed in what I’m doing so I don’t see that the gate has changed to D06. No harm done though and it’s not the airline’s fault. There are a few more incidents though that start to make me think that they are connected to the airline.

Once we’re seated, even though we’re on time and ready to go we have to wait for 35 minutes on the tarmac for a slot to get airborne. The captain tells us the situation and says he’ll update us but never comes back on air.

An older Italian gentleman next to me starts getting antsy and enquires “what’s happening?” to a steward. The steward repeats what the captain has said and does the famous Italian shrug meaning “it’s out of my hands buddy”.

Soon after the plane starts moving to everyone’s relief. I’ve been on the tarmac for longer periods but it’s such a short flight, 55 minutes, it seems silly to wait around.

I’m starving so buy some noodles as a snack but before I’m even halfway through the flight is starting it’s descent procedures. It’s a case of slurp and scoff.

Just when I think it’s all going to go smoothly, we hit turbulence over southern Sicily. I tell myself it’s updrafts coming from the hills but it’s a bit of a rollercoaster. In the end when we land I’m quite glad to get off the plane.

I’m not quite sure what to make of Vueling, at least they didn’t make us wait outside on tarmac like EasyJet. But being late and the captain saying he’d update us but then not doing so and not warning about turbulence was a bit disconcerting. More information for passengers was needed I feel.

Overall the services we’re fine and the staff friendly. The menu range and prices were reasonable, just don’t order too much food on a 55 min flight, you might not have time to eat it all.

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