Thursday, November 5, 2009

Distance traveled today: 52.79 km
Total trip distance: 1681 km
Max speed: 45.8 km/ hour
Average speed: 15.8 km / hour
Max and minimum altitude: 247 m / 147 m (don’t know why we still bother postingthis one)
Altitude gain throughout the day: 165 m
Total time biking: 3:19
Total days biking: 31

Certain things have become routine. For example, having a debate with yourself at 2 am about whether it’s really worth it to get out of your silk liner and sleeping bag (in which you so intricately wrapped yourself), unzipping the tent and the tent cover and stepping out into the cold just to go to the bathroom.  Happens every night. Or checking out the numerous small circular bruises on our thighs from the gear shifts that bang into our flesh every time the handle bar swivels.

Most days unfold as follows:

Wake up with the break of dawn after tossing and turning all night. Brush your teeth, wash your face and change into today’s biking clothes in the bathroom. Hang the tent cover up to dry from the dew. Deflate our thermarest mattresses and pack up our sleeping bags, tent and other belongings. Eat muesli and yogurt for breakfast. Hit the road. Stop at a town some 10-20kmlater for coffee. Take another break around 1pm for lunch, which we usually eat out. Continue biking until around 4pm when we stop at a grocery store to buy supplies for dinner and the next day’s breakfast. I’ve learned to stretch while straddling the bike. Find a campsite just before dark. Throw on some warmer clothes (thank you for the jacket Christine!). Set up the tent and start cooking. Eat, do dishes, take a hot shower and get into bed. Possibly watch a TV show on the iPod or fall asleep immediately if we’re really tired.

That’s about how today started, except that Richard had to fix his chain (he’s become quite good at it now - though it got caught again minutes after we left) and I had to clean shit out of my shoes.  

Then we left for Genova – home of Christopher Columbus! – where we're spending the night before taking the train to Milan tomorrow (Richard’s friend’s husband’s brother lives in Milan and has invited us to stay with his family a few days). On the way, we bought a blanket to use as an extra layer above/below our sleeping bags (we are looking more and more like crazy homeless people with all sorts of things hanging off of our bikes - water bottles, blankets, plastic bags...)

Genova in particular, and the whole Ligurian region (along Italy’s Riveria) in general, is known for its focaccia bread, pesto, and cuisine using artichokes. Its architecture is markedly different with its use of ‘trompe l’oeil’(effectively outside wallpaper) and churches made of alternating marble and a grey stone (granite, maybe?) that produces a zebra-like effect. 

There was no campsite in Genova and we had trouble finding a hotel that could accommodate the bikes. One owner told us to simply lock them outside! We finally found something affordable on the fifth floor of a busy office building on the city's main street and had to bring the bicycles up by placing them vertically in the elevator.

The receptionist at Astro Hotel turned out to be a former #4 European mountain biking champion. Not surprising in Italy, where we’ve seen more bikers than anywhere else, including women.

We went out for drinks at a funky bar owned by the cousin of a friend of Richard’s (small world) called Beautiful Loser, before heading out for a traditional Italian meal.

From the moment we walked in, we had a good feeling about Antica Osteria di Vico Palla (On Vico Palla, off of Via del Molo), a cozy little restaurant along the old port of Genoa. An older man with a bald head and a red apron approached us with a smile. The place was full and we had to wait a few minutes for a table. “You’ll help us out though,” I winked to him. “Sure, but you might have to do dishes later,” he answered, joking. Between our little Italian and his more expansive English, we managed to understand each other. Eventually, he seated us at a table for four. The vaulted red brick ceiling and limited seating made it a charming place. As it turned out, Attilio spoke very good English, but stuck to Italian most of the night, probably to help us practice. We skipped the antipasto and Richard picked our first courses based on his best understanding. I had a pesto pasta and he a pansotti – ravioli with a cream ground walnut sauce. Both absolutely mouth-watering. I was full after course #1, but we were doing it up, so we went ahead and tried to order course #2. Attilio tried explain the complicated menu, but basically all eight options came out as “fish”. We discussed a couple options with him. Then I went to the bathroom. When I got back, Richard said: “I haven’t even ordered yet.” Suddenly, a plate appeared before me. Then another before Richard.Neither were what he had ordered: Monkfish with artichoke in a cream sauce. We realized there had probably been a misunderstanding with all the language limitations and informed Attilio of what Richard really wanted. “Just eat, just eat!” he said. “The monkfish is on the way.”

The extra meal was on the house, as was an unlimited supply of lemon liqueur. The bill, for 2 two-course meals, a liter of wine, a bottle of water, the extra plate and the liqueurs came to 68 euros. I told Attilio it was my time to wash the dishes. He told me to go ahead to the kitchen if I wanted.I did. At first, the dishwashers thought I was joking. But soon enough, I had my sleeves rolled up and was washing the biggest, dirtiest pot I’ve ever seen.One of the busboys took a picture with his cell phone. After about 15 minutes in the kitchen, the Sri Lankan cook decided I had done my duty. I returned to the main salon, where I began heading for the door.

“You’re not even saying goodbye?” Attilio asked. He came out from behind the counter, wished me a good rest of trip, and gave me the most genuine hug and kisses I have felt in a long time. I started walking away and then we hugged a second time.

It’s amazing how you can forge a connection in so little time. I vowed to return the next day to say goodbye to the old man, but Richard refused, insisting I had become too attached.

It was a magical night I will remember for a long time …