 Tony Enjoying Curried Sausage and Chips for Breakfast |
There was a highlight early on in the journey when, after climbing a very long hill, we popped onto the summit and were afforded a wonderful vista. Far below us lay a vast plain with patches of rolling mist, with a range of hazy blue mountains in the distance. We glided down the hill, surrounded by vineyards. A sign indicated this was the Wine Street; quite appropriate.
It was to prove a long haul journey. For some unknown reason it was "Let's Repair All the Autobahns Week" in Germany. We had short spells of speeding through forested lowlands, passing industrialised areas, towns and cities, crossing majestic rivers and canals, traversing mountain ranges. Then there were longer spells of sitting in endless queues as we crept past another set of roadworks. My illusion of a super-efficient German nation was shattered.
We skirted Manheim, Stuttgart and Munich. I was in the driving seat as we headed south from Munich, minding my own business and obeying the rules, when I was overtaken by a police car, a sign in its rear window flashing, "Polizei, Folgen, Follow." It was instantly clear this message was for me. The traffic was slow moving, so the thoughts of a speeding offence were immediately dispelled from my mind. I followed the car which eventually led us into a parking lot in a rest area. Two plain clothed policemen immediately jumped out and walked towards our parked vehicle. I opened the driver's door and climbed out, I like to be on a level footing in circumstances like this. This is not always a good policy though, I once did this in the USA, and a gun was pulled on me by the police officer as he screamed for me to stay inside the vehicle. The more senior of the two showed me his identity, telling me verbally he was with the police, and then adding he was with the border police. "Show me your passports, driving licences, vehicle registration document, insurance certificate and trailer registration document," he demanded. We had to explain we had no such thing as a trailer registration document, and after an exchange of words, his sidekick made do with a photograph of the manufacturer's issue plate riveted onto the side of the towing arm.
They took us at face value and didn't even bother looking inside the trailer. Their tone became quite friendly, and the chaps seemed keen to practice their English. The senior officer explained that they were looking for illegal workers. Our ages alone must have convinced them that we had no such intentions. Once they had our assurance that we had no intentions of working here, or of selling the car or trailer, the men visibly relaxed. "What do you think of Brexit?" asked senior man. "What do you think of it?" asked Tony. "Unsinn (nonsense)," was his reply with a broad, wry grin on his face. "Oh, you have a new Prime Minister now, Boris Johnson! It has just been announced on the news." We all burst into fits of laughter at that, though I suspect it will be no laughing matter. The two men wished us a safe journey and happy ballooning, and were gone.
 Austrian Village Detour |
All good things come to those who wait, and soon we were back on the A13 heading towards Modena, Italy. We slowly climbed steeply from Innsbruck through the Wipp Valley, spanned by the Europabrücke ("Bridge of Europe"), up to the Brenner Pass. At 1,375m, it is one of the lowest Alpine crossings before tunnels were built, and the most important through the main chain of the Alps on the Austrian-Italian border. It separates the Ötztal and Zillertal Alps. The Pass, open all year long, has been one of the main entrances to Italy from the north and, since Roman times, the principal road between the Eastern Alps in Germany and the Po River valley of Italy. Since the 14th century it has been one of Europe's great trade routes. A carriage road was built in 1772, a railway completed in 1867, and the modern Brenner Highway was completed in the early 1970s. I was a little disappointed when we reached the summit which marks the border between Austria and Italy, expecting to see magnificent landscapes with dizzying snow-capped peaks. Instead, between deeply forested mountainsides there was a motley collection of services and a huge lorry park.
We then started the very long descent through the Isarco and Adige river valleys towards Verona. Chocolate box villages clung to the sides of the heavily forested fringes of the Dolomites, criss-crossed by numerous ski runs.
 Chocolate Box Villages in the Fringes of the Dolomites |
Agriturismo is a combination of the words for "agriculture" and "tourism" in Italian. An agriturismo is a farm stay, or a style of vacationing in farm house resorts. Starting in the 1950s and continuing through the 1970s, traditional small-scale farming in Italy became less profitable and many farmers abandoned their farms to search for work in larger towns. However, Italians place great value and worth in their agricultural traditions, especially in the small-scale production of foods like cheese, wine, and olives. By 1985 Italian lawmakers had created a legal definition for Agriturismo, which allowed, and in some cases provided funds for the rehabilitation and restoration of many abandoned rural buildings and estates. Some were turned into vacation homes, and others were converted into agriturismo accommodations, similar to English or American bed and breakfasts. These agriturismo allowed small farmers to augment any income from the farm by hosting vacationers and providing them with the unique first-hand experience of the rural way of life in Italy.
We arrived at 22:30, and the farm was locked up and in pitch darkness. I tried calling the owner, Lauro, but he wasn't picking up. After much cursing and searching, I tried again. This time success, but the voice at the other end of the ether spoke no English. His only word that seemed to make sense was "Arrivo." I gathered he would come over to the farm. In a short while a moped appeared, and Lauro hopped off, shook our hands, and apologised that he had been eating his evening meal when I first called him.
He seemed a bit put out, and showed us an email communication from booking.com that had been sent to Tony and copied to him. The gist of it stated we would arrive at 21:30. We were an hour late, so he had closed up shortly after 21:30 assuming we would be a no show. Sadly Tony's phone was out of order and we were not aware that such an email had been sent, otherwise we could have alerted the chap. Once the admin had been taken care of, he pointed to two small cartons of coffee allocated to our room and a coffee making machine. He used sign language to indicate that other people were already asleep in other rooms, and we had to remain quiet, and then escorted us to the room allocated to us. Then he simply bade us farewell and returned to his home. That was the last we ever saw of him.
We were out in the countryside, so no food was to be had, besides it was late. I just wanted sleep. Tony was content to gorge himself on apples and bananas. I climbed into bed with the air-conditioning working at full pelt, leaving Tony to try and build a working phone out of the three he had with him.
It had been a long day in two senses: the toll of the German roadworks meant the 527 miles covered took 15 hours.