Buildings may fall but great acts will never die

Rome. With a quick nod to the hugely impressive buildings and history on show throughout the city once again I quickly became bored with the alternative to statues and churches which on this occasion was ruins. If you’re the type that wants to know how old a piece of stone is that’s lying amongst the rubble or you want to know what a building might have looked like at some time not entirely known in the distant past then please feel free to look it up for yourself.
Maybe I’ve been watching too much Michael Palin but I really struggle with the whole mainstream tourist trail. If it isn’t the stalls selling crap, the street sellers ‘giving’ you something for free only to ask for money after, the €2 small bottle of water or the shitty service on offer (New York excluded) then it’s something else. More and more I’ve been trying to look beyond these things and when something turns up that you just know that nobody else has seen it’s priceless. Maybe you don’t know what I mean? Let me share this little beauty with you... Street acts. Apart from the just about passable ‘photo with a gladiator’ one of the most common of street acts is the old human statue and Rome is no different to many cities in this respect. Somewhat strangely though I counted three Egyptian ‘Tutankhamuns,’ two silver cowboys and an absolutely pathetic ‘Statue of Liberty’ that was so poor it was unreal. Firstly for a so called statue he couldn’t remain still not even for a few seconds as he appeared to have some type of winking tick which he tried to disguise by frequently fiddling with his robe. Oh and the torch in his right hand was originally part of a toilet brush set that had been slightly modified and painted silver. Laughable. To me anyway, you see the average tourist is too busy to remain in one place for more than is necessary as they’re too busy on that tourist trail to notice. These ‘performers’ are there day after day and probably all know one another as well as the bin men, the hotdog man, the tour guides, the pickpockets, the artists and so on. Some of these people like the bog brush guy are terrible, some are average, some are good and then there are the real professionals... You may well have already looked at the picture but regardless, look again. What do you see? A wealthy young woman who’s healthy and happy against a backdrop of a poor old woman who’s crippled and sad? If so then you’d like to help, surely a couple of Euros would be the least that you could do? But hang on...didn’t you see her earlier in a different part of town? And that rhythmic step...step...money shake, step...step...money shake, isn’t that a little too perfect? What else? It’s not exactly cold out, so why the gloves? Why can’t you see any skin? Is it just me, does nobody else think that this is all a little too convincing? Look beyond most people’s ten second snapshot of this...that is bloody hard work!! Absolutely fascinated by this on my return to my guesthouse a quick google images search of ‘old lady rome beggar’ revealed...you’ve guessed it, the same character way back in 2005 performing the same old routine. It’s there, see for yourself! Keep looking; the clue is in the headscarf...

Visitors in our bed and a wonky erection

So with all the excitement of actually trying to avoid death/serious injury or just watching it with a beer now behind us it’s back to joining the slow moving procession of tourists either following the tour guide’s flag or gormlessly wandering around taking photos of yet another church or statue.
Some news though...I was cursing my old mosquito mates after our first night of two in Florence but after some research it seems that I got munched by bed begs. Horrible big red itchy spots that coming to think of it I’ve had before (no, not at home thank you) that must have come from either the spare pillow or the warm blanket that got removed from the wardrobe and is never washed.
Other bad news was that as luck would have it ;-) all the museums are closed on Mondays here meaning no more having to stare at pictures of somebody’s imaginary friend among other fables. So then a long walk around the city followed and it turned out that a lovely view was to be found (for free would you believe it?) from Michelangelo’s Piazza high to the south east of Florence. On the way through the not so touristy streets we also found the answer to the many ‘Banksy’ type modifications of road signs that we happened to notice from place to place. It turns out that not surprisingly it’s the work of some art shop/studio. Despite knowing that most modern art is total crap I actually quite liked this as I do some of ‘Banksy’s’ stuff. As much as I was prepared to leave Florence with this alone (if you’re reading this Samantha) we did attempt to get into the Uffizi gallery the following morning but a monster queue meant that this wasn’t really possible and so we saddled up for...
Pisa. As a city it’s pretty small and a welcome respite from the hordes of tourists (yes I’m aware of the irony) as apart from a hundred or so hanging around the leaning tower it’s pretty low key. What was nice was that 1, the tower and cathedral area is free to enter (but of course €15 should you wish to climb) and 2, you can sit on the grass and relax which doesn’t seem like much but everywhere else similar we’ve been to thus far is surrounded by concrete, roads and shops. It was also nice to see something iconic that I first remember seeing in ‘Superman’ as a kid god knows when?

Bikes, Beer and Babes

Still searching for fun that doesn’t include the church or naked men we headed down to Imola’s Autodromo Enzo e Dino Ferrari to give it its full name to watch the World Super Bikes. I’m not really into this or the Moto GP all that much truth be told but seeing as it was on the way, why not? I’ve been to a few of these over the years across Europe and it’s pretty much the same set up wherever you go. Namely, turn up and park near the circuit, kindly turn down the touts ‘special offer’ of paddock passes for €80 and buy a ticket at the ticket office for €35, grab a beer and hotdog, buy a t-shirt, stroll around and try to find some sort of view of both the giant TV’s and a few corners and lastly...watch open mouthed as the riders defy physics and the grim reaper all the time while listening to the glorious sounds from the various engine types. This was no different except for the second race we managed to sneak up onto the seated area and view the whole spectacle pretty well. Not really knowing any of the racers and with so many Brits listed I was in danger of supporting a non Englishman so I went with Mirka’s Czech man, Jakub Smrž of the Ducati Effenberg team. Typically a middle order rider he finished in seventh for race one and then went and crashed out on the second. At the end of the second race thanks to their big Czech flag tied up to the fence we met a group of Czechs who where there following JM and we joined them and the Italians in storming the circuit to be part of the podium champagne celebrations. All good stuff and with Florence still 90km down the road we even had time for a last picture or two...

A heavenly ride ends with wrist ache

For any of my Kudu friends you’ll know what I mean when I say that over the years I’ve become more ‘Greecer’ than ‘Tim’s Tours’ mainly due to the time restraints that I always seem to have. On this trip and now with a passenger it’s difficult to get away from that as nearly all of the intended destinations seem to require at least half a day to explore. Having seen Lake Como though, I rightly suspected that there was no rush to see Lake Garda and so set a seriously twisty route on my wonderful GPS towards and through the imposing Dolomite mountain range. And what followed was certainly in my top three riding experiences of all time. I’ve ridden similar passes over mountains before however these were always onboard Des which is a bit like having a massage from a bricklayer that suffers from eczema. Therefor as much as I’m still not a fan, my other two of my top three days of riding have come after not being on tarmac. To say though that Soul is perfect would not be correct. Having put some mileage on him now I can say that overall he’s decent for two up touring. Mirka seems very comfortable riding pillion and I’ll never tire of the growl that he puts out under acceleration. The big 1200cc V-twin makes you feel no difference in weight at all. In a straight line that is. As the bends started to tighten and the sports bikes overtook it was a reminder that this motorcycle is a roadster. This means it's heavier, has a different steering angle and power delivery that requires a different type of riding, certainly not the type to keep up with other lighter, racier bikes. Another thing that I’ve had to feel is how to keep right on the throttle and clutch points i.e. no sudden closing or opening. Doing so makes everything feel very agricultural but get it just right and you can’t help but smile.
The 200km route then was pretty special, so much so that I ended the day with proper (left) wrist ache which unlike for some guys is a good sign! Sheer drops of the mountain roads made the ride all the more thrilling and the views were of course breathtaking. Thankfully though the brakes on Soul are top notch which helped my confidence of riding so heavy. The last 50km or so was the fast slow winding type riding and like the gearbox my wrist was able to take some well earned rest.
After all that, Lake Garda was just a place to eat and sleep before heading south to see how it’s all done properly...

Around and above Lake Como to 1936

Slightly underwhelmed we left Milan for what I felt would be a good few days as I had a couple of activities planned along the way. First up was a stop en-route to the famous Moto Guzzi factory. From the exterior it looks as though this once winning motorcycle producer has long since gone and judging by the pictures of it in the museum it hasn’t changed a bit since before the second world war. Several other bikers turned up including an English group of four on their way to India. Hmmm. It turned out that the 3pm opening was only for access to their museum for an hour but nonetheless it certainly opened my eyes about their racing pedigree and history. The fact remains though that despite all this former glory and innovation nowadays they don’t sell many motorcycles at all. Does that mean I’m riding something that nobody wants or that I’m riding something a little bit special? I’ll be in a better position to answer that in a few weeks...
So with many photos taken off we headed around the lake from south east to north west in search of our accommodation. When we finally climbed the hill far away from the other lodgings the road ran out with our guesthouse still 400m away! Sensing problems I walked the 400m on foot along a progressively narrowing and steepening track until finally Crottone Guesthouse appeared perched on the side of the steep hill. It was the place that time forgot including the old lady that was the only person there. Think of the ‘Local Shop’ in ‘The League Of Gentlemen’ and you’d not be far off. Many negative thoughts ran through my mind including...Dinner? Parking the bike? Mirka? It really was way off the beaten track and had I been travelling alone (and aboard Des) then no problem but with Mirka after our previous stays..?
A little surprisingly she seemed keen on a little adventure and so off I rode a still shiny and new Soul up the steep and narrow track trying desperately not to damage the bike by either scratch or total write off. With some sweat, time, effort and patience we made it and boy was it worth it! The view across the lake couldn’t have been bettered and looking down the couple of miles to the main road with its pizzerias and traffic it felt so great to be way up away from it all in a little isolation. Also thankfully the old lady wasn’t the proprietor and when her son and daughter in law arrived they provided a lovely dinner with more than drop of wine. A group of seven or so Americans turned up late which was nice for Mirka as I crawled into bed a little early after getting myself Brahms and Liszt on red. My granddad John’s that one, love it. A good day's little adventure at last!! :-)

Milanono

Hmmm, well I hadn’t really given this much thought but after arriving in Italy it very quickly it dawned on me that virtually all of the ‘must see/do’s’ in Italy involve either the church or some statues of impossibly buff men with small penises. Great. On top of that, I’m all galleried and museumed out after traipsing around the Louvre and other places on the route here. So with a few quick pictures in the camera what else to do in Milan then? The main thing it turns out is to be made to feel like a turd in a jewellers shop as the Milanese really lived up to their reputation when it comes to style and dress. I’ve worked out that one of the reasons that they are all (and I mean all) as sharp as they are is that few of them have to spend thousands on cars as we do in the UK and of course the sharper everyone else is then the more they have to try. God forbid if you’re caught out there in last year’s colours or non matching accessories. So you can imagine the looks I received as I strolled around town (oh and during Milan fashion week) in my travel plimsolls and three quarter shorts! Anyhow,not that I'm all that bothered as architectural pictures were taken and it’s time to find something else. But for that we must press on...

Monaco

OK, so as I’ve just found out Monaco forms part of the French Riviera but I intended to keep each country separate on here so here goes...
With silly accommodation costs in Monaco and with Nice only 22km we stayed put for accommodation and made this country a day trip. It was more or less as we expected with the place made up by 33% tourists, 33% local French workers, 33% business (mostly from the boat show) and the remaining by 1% wedged up residents walking their dogs.
The number one tourist activity in Monaco appears to be to hang around outside the Hotel Paris and the Casino amongst the parked Bentleys, Lamborghinis and Ferraris whilst waiting for someone rich and famous to appear. Who of course invariably don’t, as they’re too busy walking their dogs! Apart from that non spectacle, best is to simply walk around the place that’s supposedly smaller than Heathrow airport in size. One route that I’ve made around Monaco is from the comfort of my bedroom as a youngster racing around the famous street circuit on my Sega Megadrive and of course watching the yearly Formula One race on TV. To do it on foot and later onboard the old Motor Guzzi and past ‘The Bus Stop,’ ‘Mirabeau’ and through the tunnel amongst the other bits that I instantly recognised was actually quite a nice way to say goodbye to the coast for a while before heading North.

The French Riviera

With the hard miles now thankfully behind us we headed east along the coast for what was Mirka’s most looked forward to destinations – St.Tropez, Cannes, Nice and Monaco. Some very short riding days between each of them led to potentially some nice easy riding along the coast road. This didn’t really work out though as after a couple of hours worth of what seemed like first and second gear stuff behind and slowly past the Dutch and German caravanners the faster toll road was worth the couple of Euros in the end.
First up then was a windy and seemingly out of season St. Tropez. If I’ve got it right what was a small fishing village became famous some time back as a rich/celebrity hangout. Maybe it was just the timing but although quite pretty it didn’t seem anymore special than many other similar Mediterranean fishing towns that I’ve been to. Five pictures taken says it all really.
With hopes of Cannes living up to its reputation we rolled in and struggled to find accommodation as some sort of ‘tax free conference’ was being held in town. Finally though we found a basic little place that met our needs and off we wondered. Famous of course for its film festival the only real clue of this was the old cinema that was adorned with paintings of film characters in days gone by. Other than that it’s a nice place with the old part of town in the hills being the most enjoyable to spend time. I’d heard from my old mate BJ that our next destination of Nice was the pick of the bunch and so with Soul all loaded up we went to find out...
And right he was! The beautiful old hostel Belle Meuniere put us up for two nights for €49 per night including breakfast which after the Paris debacle has now more or less become our daily accommodation budget. Writing this a week down the road I have to say how surprised I am at how easy it is to stay in good and cheap accommodation even in the most touristy of locations. Only ever private double rooms as well. Having discovered Hostelbookers.com has really helped in what is always the most time consuming and tiring mission of finding the right place to stay at the right price.
So after those two unpaid plugs back to Nice then...It’s just as it’s spelt so. Perhaps unusually, being a city and therefor bigger than both St. Tropez and Cannes village and town respectively it feels a lot more chilled out and has plenty more to do should you choose to. Walking along the old promenade that was built way back by the British to accommodate their sea front strolls after afternoon tea it reminded me a little (on the shore side anyway) of Brighton with its old colonial buildings and pebble beach but without any of those awful piers that we seem(ed) to like. Away from the sea front its town squares, little streets, shops and restaurants and park way up high overlooking the town and coast are much more like it. Recommended.

France – From top to bottom

All packed up and fully prepared (I think) we headed off at 5am for Dover. Still going with my old Hein Gericke summer riding gear (and Mirka in her same but new) an early morning British summer ride was not at all what I’d hoped for as an indicated 8°C proved that so far at least Soul’s electrics are working just fine. Also not helped was my now OCD like search for quiet riding resulting in me chopping down Soul’s screen as I finally did to Des’. The end result was little difference in noise and a load of new wind blast on what’s now virtually a naked motorcycle. As the saying goes...an extra inch would be nice! For anyone that is interested though I’ve found that my new Schuberth S1 Pro helmet has helped dramatically with reducing the wind noise.
So a cold windy ride into Paris was completed and after difficulties in finding cheap accommodation I had to cough up (with blood) an amount that I don’t want to think about for the first night. I should say at this point that I don’t want this trip to become a ‘wish you were here’ postcard but I feel I may struggle a little as this is definitely not anything like most of my adventures, particularly with Mick through Africa last year. So if you have just stumbled upon this and have seen my ‘Dementia’ sponsorship link then please bear in mind that this was intended for my earlier trip this year. Trying to raise sponsorship for this would be taking the gypsies I know. That said though please feel free to add to my still way short total if you feel inclined to do so.
Anyhow, visits up the Eiffel Tour, down the Louvre and around the Orsay Museum filled the time in Paris before another typically boring ride along the French toll roads to Lyon, via Dijon. Both lovely places and seemingly light on tourists it’s nice to finally get into the whole French way i.e. the food, the surroundings and the general feel of the place. The French often get a kicking back home but I don’t get it; they’ve got it pretty good here.
Well, as long as you don't live in Marseilles that is! Not shocking of course but pretty grimy all the same. We found €45 one star (from who is anybodies guess) hotel and although the room was not listed as a dorm technically it was as it was shared with a few of my old mosquitoe friends who happily helped themselves throughout the night whilst outside what seemed like a riot or party continued in the streets until first light! It was fully expected though as for planning and assistance we’re using the excellent ‘Rough Guides – Europe’ book. There’s plenty of stuff in there about Marseilles but basically think Slough with a port and a fort. Things along the coast east from here will be a bit more upmarket without doubt...

Trip number four...Europe

My lack of a proper sign off from Columbia and a lost camera were clues enough that I was pleased to be home after what ended up being a bit of a disjointed trip around South America. I quickly got bored though and made plans for trip number four. It’s funny, thinking back to when I met Lisa and Scott Thomas in Ulan Ude in Russia during 2009, discussing their six year journey and looking at their world map. Although enjoying myself thus far I wasn’t all that mad about much more than getting home safely. “Just wait and see” they told me...and now here I am with a fair bit of red on my own little world map and back on the road once again. This time though with a difference or three...
Number one is the continent, this time much closer to home...Europe. What looks a bit like a six week holiday, the route should be just what I have been dreaming about during all those times riding through the back of beyond. The basic route is to Greece via Italy and then back home through the Balkans, East and Central Europe and then home for some snow if I read today’s newspaper headline correct?!
Number two is a big one in that I’m carrying a pillion in my long suffering partner Mirka. I’m happy to admit that the last couple of years of my navigating have not exactly been conducive to maintaining a ‘normal’ relationship and so simply put its agreed that this could be either one thing or another. I guess we’ll have to wait and see then...
Number three and finally is that my trusty old Des will be rested at home for this one. Missing an exhaust baffle and still looking like he’s been mud wrestling with the Terminator, his lack of manners would probably see us refused entry into some of the posh places on the list. More importantly though, although he’s finally nice to ride with his cut down screen, I reckoned that ‘two up’ may have been a bit of an ask for him after all that’s gone before and so at home he rests for another day... So better fire up the old K100RS then..? Well no actually, as a weekend ride to Wales highlighted that he too wasn’t all that comfortable ‘two up’ and I’d bought the wrong model. The K100’RT’ was the one I should have got, fully set up for what I need!! After some head scratching I made the (very sensible) decision to sell all three of my bikes and do what I probably should have done ages ago and get one that’s all three in one, namely a Suzuki DL1000 V-Strom. So money in hand off I went to view one in a bike dealers. All seemed fine until that moment came when I reached into the glass bowl for the keys... Now then, not that I’ve been to any of those parties but a bit like being able to see under your blindfold before making your ‘car key’ selection surely any opportunity to pick up ‘Roger’s’ SAAB keys in order to erm, enjoy his Italian wife’s company for an hour or so has to be taken?!? Especially after all those minutes (OK hours) previously spent peeking through the curtains as she sets off for a run/sunbathes/unloads the car boot. A bit long winded and maybe a little too creepy I concede but what exactly have I done then? Well, my head was turned as parked right next to said V-Strom was...*Deep Breath* A Moto Guzzi Breva V1200! Have I lost the plot? When will it breakdown? A Roadster, that’s one step away from a Harley Davidson isn’t it?? I still don’t know. But what I do know is that this machine has been aptly named ‘Soul’ by Mirka as it has it in abundance. Again, let’s just wait and see how motorcycle number four gets along...

Oh yeah, let's just forget about the 'sensible' bit from earlier shall we..?