Caching Kerr Lake

Despite having had mild to no symptoms, I was relieved to finally test negative this week for the covidz. Damn near three weeks it lingered, with occasional flareups of coughing and/or congestion. I’ve still got an annoying cough hanging on, but I think that’s because my throat remained somewhat irritated through that entire time period.

So, today, I joined friends Skyhawk63 (a.k.a. Tom) and Old Rob (a.k.a. Old Rob) for boat outing on Kerr Lake, about 90 minutes northeast of here, along the border of NC and VA. Tom has occasionally hauled Ms. B. and me out in the boat for wine and caching, but this was a full-on geocaching trip sans muggles. And a big day on the lake it was, at least distance-wise. I imagine we covered a full 30 miles or so traveling from cache to cache. The weather was perfect for it — temps in the mid-70s and mostly sunny.

Most of the caches we targeted were pretty old, and some had not been found in several years. Unfortunately, a handful of these were clearly missing. On one venture ashore, we discovered an outhouse built for two, complete with facing latrines — a novel idea, I suppose, though none of us particularly cared to test the facility... at least not at the same time. Skyhawk did individually verify that at least one latrine was usable.

My favorite of the caches — a twelve-year-old hide called “Spring Break at the Train Tressel” (sic) GC26883 — required no small physical effort to reach, and we discovered it in a location not quite in keeping with the original hider’s intent. At one point, it had been on a trestle beam high up on the bridge foundations at one end, but the beam had since fallen and shattered the container. We replaced the container with a new one, but unfortunately, we couldn’t put the beam back up where it originally belonged. Still, it remains a fun, classic hide, and future hunters should be able to retrieve it.

Old dude on old foundation, pointing out location where old beam fell.

By the end of the outing, we were pretty well pooped, a teeny bit sunburned, and shy of some blood, as each of us managed to lacerate ourselves to varying degrees in our numerous excursions into the woods. We did see lots of wildlife. In the plus column, Great Blue Herons, snakes, turtles, frogs, and toads; in the not-so-positive column, bugs of all varieties, many of which laughed off our layers of physical and chemical shields. Damned bugs. Anyway, this was another fine and fun outing, and thanks to Mr. Skyhawk63 for hauling our asses out on the lake. I hope to do this again soon — maybe next time with caches, muggles (well, at least Ms. B.), and wine.

 

L: A little frog; R: A little toad

Nesting platform for Great Blue Herons, this one with an occupant

Heading into a shady cove to hunt a cache

Dirty Myrtle Madness

Actually, "Dirty Myrtle" is the name of an IPA I tried while at the beach, and I quite liked it. But it kind of fits the motif of this most recent visit, which was both intensely fun and something between unsettling and infuriating.

Three years ago, Ms. B. and I had spent our New Year's holiday with friends and frequent traveling companions, Terry & Beth, at Myrtle Beach, SC, and have been hoping to do it again. This year, since we've all had our three COVID-19 shots, we figured we'd give it another go. We traveled halfway around the world together without issue, and domestically, almost everywhere we've been in recent days, the populace has been pretty good about taking the proper precautions. So, even with Omicron variant rearing its ugly head, we decided to go forward with our plan.

After work on Thursday, 12/30, Brugger and I hit the road for the beach, roughly a four-hour drive. Severe rainstorms along the way slowed us down a bit, but we still arrived at our lodgings — the Carolinian Beach Resort — by mid-evening. We spent a few pleasant hours in our suite with wine and good company until quite late, when Brugger and I went walking on the beach. A beautiful evening it was, and I procured information to complete an EarthCache ("Shark!" GC5ADB4).

The old dude about to wail on
a hapless golf ball

Friday morning, I got up fairly early and hoofed it after a nearby geocache (one of the few in the area I hadn't claimed on previous trips). Then Terry & I girded our loins and headed over to Whispering Pines Golf Course to indulge in some masochistic fun on the links. It was here that we really began to get the feel for how little heed anyone — anyone — in Myrtle Beach is paying to the realities of the pandemic. While our group, without exception, religiously wore KN-95 masks anywhere and everywhere we went in public, all too rarely did we see another mask or even any attempt at social distancing. Now, on the golf course, we had plenty of open space to work with, so it was literally a breath of fresh air. We ended up playing with a couple of nice gentlemen — brothers — from Kentucky, both of whom were vaccinated and respected social distancing. And to be sure, the round was fun, if a bit frustrating, since it was only the third time in the last decade that I've picked up a golf club (the other two being with Terry in the past year). To say one of the foursome was still way out of practice is one hell of an understatement (though I did manage to make a few marginally spectacular golf shots). Fortunately, our companions, while competent players, at least did not completely and utterly put me to shame. Terry played a generally consistent round, with a respectable score (the kind I used to have when I played on a far more regular basis, and that I almost hope to achieve again).

Being New Year's Eve, we knew that, without having made prior reservations, finding a decent restaurant for dinner might be problematic. It kind of was. Eventually, we ended up at an okay Italian restaurant (Toscana Italian Kitchen), which had a limited (and very expensive) menu for the evening, but I'd say we made the best of it. The dishes were all way heavy on the cheese, even on such selections such as Veal Saltimbocca, which in my experience generally are not nearly so dairy-laden. The available wines were nothing to brag on, so while I will credit the servers for their very cordial and professional performance under very busy conditions, I can't say I was all that enthused with the dinner fare, especially not at the price. Again, not a mask in the restaurant.

With the coming of darkness — as on our previous New Year's sojourn at Myrtle Beach — the fog began to roll in (see "Waylaid, Shanghaied, and Hauled Away," January 1, 2019). No patchy mist, this, but an incredibly dense cloud that settled over the beach for the entire night. If anything, this was even thicker and more opaque than last time — and we loved it. From our 19th floor balcony, we could scarcely see the well-lit pool deck below us, nor even the barrage of fireworks that began going up a couple of hundred feet away on the beach. Happily, some far more potent blasts went off just beyond our balcony, so, also as before, we had the perfect view for the brilliant if all-too-brief display.

We did a bit of hollering at midnight as the rockets burst around us, but it wasn't long before all went quiet and dark. So Brugger and I took the opportunity to take another walk on the fog-shrouded beach. If you'll take a gander at the photo up top, you'll see my flashlight beam focused on our balcony, which was the only one brightly lit at 12:30 a.m. on January 1, 2022. I quite enjoyed the effect.

"The fog is getting thicker!"

On New Year's morning, once I dragged my weary self out of the sack, I headed out after some geocaches. Had to be done, don't you know. First destination was Warbird Park, at the south end of Myrtle Beach, where you'll find a trio of US Air Force warplanes on display (an F-100 Super Sabre, an A-7 Corsair II, and an A-10 Thunderbolt II [a.k.a. Warthog]), along with a trail of plaques that chronicle the history of the 354th Fighter Wing and the Myrtle Beach Air Force Base, which closed in 1993. Back in the days when my family vacationed in Myrtle Beach every summer, our timeshare was just across the main highway from the air base, and I took great pleasure in watching the military jets come and go at very close range. Now there is an Adventure Lab cache at the site, and I enjoyed the hell out of visiting the location.

F-100 Super Sabre

A-7 Corsair II

A-10 Thunderbolt II (a.k.a. Warthog)

After Warbirds Park, I headed over to a nearby trail for a couple more caches, and then to Myrtle Beach State Park, just across Highway 17, to see if I could avenge a prior DNF (did not find) from a couple of years ago. At that time, the cache was missing but has since been replaced. I found it indeed, and so turned a little blue frowny face on the geocaching map to a big happy smiley.

That was it for the morning's caching, so I rejoined our intrepid group. And then...lunch! We opted for Abuelo's Mexican Restaurant, which the ladies had visited the day before and enjoyed enough to go back. I had eaten there on a previous beach trip and liked it well enough, so I was pleased to return. In general, it was all right, but much like at Toscana, the cheese brigade had gone on a rampage. Now, make no mistake, I love me some cheese, but I'm not really looking to croak of a coronary because I had the audacity to eat lunch. Truly, I've never seen so much smothering of foodstuffs with dairy stuffs, and while the food tasted all right, I then and there slammed headfirst into the cheese wall. I'm sure the hankering will again knock on my door (and probably too soon), but for at least some while, cheese and I are going to keep a respectable distance.

After the cheese extravaganza, we headed to a few shops to pick up wine, other assorted provisions, and new shoes.

Creeple People at Abuelo's Mexican Restaurant, about to be cheesed off

After shopping, we rested and recuperated for a while at the suite, and eventually set out to dine again, this time at RipTydz Oceanfront Grille and Rooftop Bar, a relatively short distance down Ocean Boulevard. Again, the usual lack of masks. But in general, the place turned out to be most agreeable, with excellent service and delicious seafood (I had snow crab legs and steamed oysters on the half shell). It was here I tried the Dirty Myrtle IPA. I do like a good IPA, so on those rare occasions I actually drink beer, it tends to be my brew of choice. The Dirty Myrtle rates as highly respectable. Definitely the best dinner experience of the trip, this RipTydz.

We finished off the night back at the suite with a smidgen of dessert and a tad more wine (and very fine wine at that).

This morning, we got up, packed up, and bid the Carolinian adieu for this time around. We found an excellent breakfast at nearby Donald's Pancake House, which we had visited on some previous trip or another. This was, if I may say, a DAMN good breakfast. Again, the service was top-notch. In fact, at all the places we visited on this trip, service proved superlative. I was impressed by how well we were treated at every establishment, as well as the timeliness and efficiency of their wait staffs. Now, some places clearly were short-handed, such as Toscana, but even then the folks there made every effort to attend to us as best they could. They have my admiration.

But for the love of Yog, there really is a pandemic. While at the beach, I received distressing news about a good family friend who is now in dire shape with COVID-19. During these trying times, Brugger and I have done our very best to do the right, responsible things without sheltering ourselves completely. But this time around, if we don't get infected, we'll have dodged a bullet. I personally know too many people who've lost too much to go waltzing blithely along without taking responsible precautions. I personally know too many healthcare workers who are at the ends of their ropes because some of you are truly too stupid — or chickenshit — to do the right things and are overloading our healthcare facilities. Dress it up any way you want; the intellectual gymnastics required to justify not taking the pandemic seriously are ludicrous, dangerous, asinine, and selfish in the extreme. Those of you doing this ought to be ashamed, but you clearly do not have the self-awareness — or consideration for others — to accept such responsibility. Given the people in my life this disease has affected so profoundly, it's fair to say that I hold in utmost contempt those of you who simply can't be bothered, or have been so indoctrinated into wingnut ideology, to be fucking decent Americans.

If for this you choose not to like me anymore, well, I really don't give a rat's ass.

Happy New Year.

The Old World or Bust! (Part 4)

Sunday, October 24, 2021: On to Lake Garda — From Rustic to Ultra Modern

For us, Ca' Driano had been comfortable (but for Il Zanzara), serene, and spectacular. Leaving the villa was the most bittersweet part of our trip — at least until boarding the plane to return home. Hostess Wilma saw us off with tears in her eyes, and invited us again and again to please return when we could. I do hope we can.

Now, I will tell you, as I mentioned in the previous entry of this blog... from the start, our hosts were so gracious, so accommodating, and so friendly, we could scarcely believe we were going to leave the place without being drugged, abducted, and likely booted into the next realm of existence in grisly fashion. At all times, Terry and I remained vigilant and usually slept with one eye open (kind of a necessity with Il Zanzara buzzing about). We had made it thus far, so by now our threat alarms were buzzing overtime. The road leading to and from from the villa is steep and winding, so before leaving, we did our best to make sure the car hadn't been tampered with. That we managed to vacate the place unscathed is surely a credit to our keen situational awareness (not to mention our ability to translate horror movie tropes to real-life experience). But leave we did, and before long, we were humming along on the highway toward Lake Garda, a couple of hours northwestward.

A particularly tall chap hanging out
on a wall in Modena

We had decided that, on the way to our new lodgings, we'd stop for a while in Modena, a fair-sized city known for its balsamic vinegar and tortellini. There were also geocaches.

Modena was kind of like Bologna-lite — mostly urban, with an ancient and well-preserved city center — but not as large and nowhere near as frenetic. We enjoyed our brief time there, and I snagged a couple of fun caches. A large bazaar was going on in the city center, so Brugger and Beth had plenty of opportunity to indulge themselves. It turned out to be a most pleasant stopover.

And so, we were off again. Lake Garda is Italy's largest lake — about 30 miles long, 1.5 miles wide at its northern end, and 10 miles wide at its southern end. Surrounded by craggy mountains on all sides, the lake is a major tourist center, with most visitors coming from nearby European countries, such as Germany and Austria (we encountered more German-speaking visitors than any other). We had chosen Lake Garda as a destination because of its proximity to the Valpolicella wine region, which we had briefly visited on our trip to Italy in 2019. Fortunately for us, the tourist season had ended recently, so the crowds we encountered were manageable. I dread to think about having to deal with the oppressive numbers of people that must flood the area during peak tourist season. The only downside of our timing was that a good many places we might have otherwise visited had closed for the season. Still, we managed to work in more incredible experiences here than we could have even considered prior to our arrival.

Malcesine by night

Our lodgings in Benzone sul Garda were virtually the opposite of Ca' Driano. Where the villa was rustic, our apartment here was ultra-modern. Where Ca' Driano was warm, liberally adorned with traditional art, and brimming with character, our Lake Garda place was angular, bright white, and minimally decorated. Mind you, this is not a complaint; merely an observation about the stark contrast. Our apartment here offered plenty of desirable amenities, including private garage parking, a hot tub (of which we took considerable advantage), and a magnificent view of the mountains above Lake Garda. I suppose, if compelled to complain, we could do so about the flakey WiFi. It was pretty flakey, requiring constant resets, and the damned signal zoomed at about the same speed as the dead snails we often saw scattered about the lake area.

We needed several days' worth of supplies, so we decided to hit a nearby grocery store. However, one significant difference between home and many European areas is that, on Sundays, most stores are open only for a few hours early in the day. So, we ended up bombing out on our shopping errand, though we did find a decent dinner at Ristorante al Ristoro in Malcesine, a few miles north of Benzone sul Garda. I had some lovely roasted octopus tentacles with potato, which made for one of my favorite dinners on this trip. (As an aside, while I mostly managed Italian pronunciations with reasonable aplomb, something about Malcesine — pronounced "Mal-cheh-zeen-eh" — refused to roll readily off my tongue. According to Brugger, I called it everything from "Mendocino" to "Malt-chesty-knee" to "Madmagazinee.")

We had considered ending the evening in the hot tub, but after our day of it, we were all pretty exhausted and decided we would avail ourselves to it the following day. That we did, and so much more.

Polipo e patate at Ristorante al Ristoro in Malcesine

Monday, October 25, 2021: Campo Borgo Medievale — The Lost Town

While there are a goodly number of geocaches around Lake Garda as a whole, there weren't very many in our immediate area. To my dismay, the two nearest were disabled, which generally means they are missing; one was a traditional micro, the other a multi-cache that (would have) offered a scenic walk along the lakefront. Happily, upon reading recent logs for the micro ("Campo Lost Town," GC4WCC8), I learned that the cache had been replaced but never re-enabled online. Given such hope that I might actually find it, I decided to go on the hunt first thing on Monday morning. I knew from the description and terrain rating that reaching the location involved a fair hike. I was anything but disappointed.

Up, up, and up we go.

I headed out bright and early from our apartment and hoofed it down the main road for half a kilometer or so, where I turned onto a winding lane, which led up the steep ridge that parallels the lake. When I say "steep," I mean "STEEP." The hike up was about a mile, but with the high elevation and sharp incline, I had to take several uncustomary pauses to catch my breath. As I hiked, I saw not one other living soul, though some distance up the ridge, I heard a chainsaw buzzing (someone taking down dead olive trees, from what I could discern). But as I walked past the area, a big German Shepherd came barreling down the hill boofing at me, and the chainsaw stopped. At that moment, I had the weird feeling I might end up fleeing down the mountain from some mad chainsaw murderer — one of Fred and Wilma's minions, perhaps! But as I progressed farther without apparent pursuit, I began to breathe a little easier.

Eventually, I came to a sign that indicated "Campo Borgo Medievale" lay just ahead. And when I rounded a curve, I saw the old town: a sprawling series of stone structures, clearly long abandoned, with a few in various stages of restoration. This is my favorite kind of discovery: an intriguing location I would never have discovered but for geocaching. Much like my solo caching experiences in Venice — and my trek through San Giorgio on our previous sojourn in Italy (see "Return to Italy," November 4, 2019) — this felt like a transcendent moment; a personal, sensual experience almost without equal. Obviously, other folks visit this ancient ruin, and during tourist season, countless visitors may make the same pilgrimage, so to speak. However, on this day, all alone on the high ridge, I had a keener, deeper sense of the sheer age and history of the ground on which I stood than I could have felt in the company of others. After a time, a chap on a motorcycle cruised past, but he didn't stop; clearly, the lane to the town continues onward to some other place of habitation. Happily, that little interruption didn't really fuck up my zen.

After taking in the grandeur of the old town, I commenced my hunt for the cache. I knew from the hint it was located within a stone wall. However, within reasonable proximity of ground zero, there were numerous stone walls, and coordinates bounced me around from place to place without a smidgen of mercy. On the cache page, someone had posted a photo of the hiding place, but I could not find anything that quite matched the image. In the end, I trusted in the sketchy coordinates and basic geosense, which finally led me to the cache. What a gratifying find! It would be nice for the cache owner to re-enable it on the geocaching website; for me, I'm just glad I took the time to read the recent log entries, which prompted me to proceed with the hunt.

Just as I started back down the ridge, marveling at my physical prowess for having made it all the way to the summit without croaking, an elderly couple — clearly quite a few years older than I — came jaunting happily up the incline. "Buon giorno!" they bid me cheerfully. "Ohhhhhhhh," I replied with somewhat less cheer.

Eventually, I staggered back to our apartment, where a wonderful, beautiful, steaming hot tub beckoned me. Our gang hopped in with brimming glasses of cold Prosecco, and this only added a sparkle to an already satisfying morning.

So much up...

Brugger was hoping we might take the ferry from Malcesine across the lake to the reputedly scenic town of Limone, so we piled into the gang-mobile and once again drove northward. Unfortunately, the only ferry of the day had already gone, so we entertained ourselves for the rest of the afternoon by exploring, shopping, and a little caching. Eventually, we procured vittles at Bar Gelateria Centrale, right on the lakefront. I enjoyed a rather light dinner of spaghetti with olive oil and red pepper. Once we returned to our lodgings, we decided we needed some entertainment fitting for Halloween, so we settled in and put on Doctor Sleep, which Kim and I had watched some time ago but that I had clearly slept through, for I remembered practically nothing of the film. This time around, I really enjoyed it; it felt like Stephen King writing what he writes best and Mike Flanagan doing his usual bang-up job of directing. Granted, it may be a far cry from true classic status, a la Kubrick's The Shining, but in general, I'd call it a worthy enough successor to both Kubrick's film and King's original The Shining, even if the visuals are clearly based on Kubrick's vision.

To date, our European trip had offered us nothing but wonderful days, and for me personally, this one ranked among the most wonderful.

What a view!

Tuesday, October 26, 2021: I'm at the Top of the World Looking Down on Creation

Tuesday's main event was one to challenge the acrophobic: take the cable car from Malcesine to the summit of Monte Baldo, which rises 7,277 feet above sea level and thus a good 7,000 feet above Lake Garda. Heights generally don't bother me much, although I sometimes feel a touch of vertigo when I'm standing close to the edge of a high place. To take the photo above, I stood at the end of a sheer precipice, so every muscle in my body was pretty well clenched up.

Our gang spent a fair time at the top of the mountain — exploring, having lunch, taking photos, and finding a cache (in this case, an EarthCache). We ate at a lovely spot on the mountaintop called Baita Monte Baldo, where they served me up a pork shank that must have come from a wild boar. Huge, it was. And delicious. This required a couple of Campari spritzes to wash down, I can tell you. (I had discovered the Campari spritz on our previous trip, and it became a staple both during the cruise and at our ports of call. On this trip, I frequently reacquainted myself with the joys of this refreshing if bitter-tasting drink.)

Once back down the mountain, we mounted up again and drove to Riva del Garda on the northernmost end of the lake, mainly to kick around and see what we might see. I saw a couple of caches on the map and enjoyed going after them. At this end of the lake, no doubt being so close to Switzerland, Austria, and Germany, almost everyone spoke German. We should have boned up on our German language skills as well as French and Italian for this trip.

We found drinks at a café near the lake, and dinner at a lovely little establishment whose name escapes me at the moment. Since I had eaten most of a pig for lunch, I went very light — grilled prawns on a bed of lettuce, which, at the time, suited me nicely. Unfortunately, I believe they damn near did me in. That would be a story for the morrow....

Ms. B. attempting a conversation in English with a pair of Italian ducks. It didn't go that well.

It seemed a good idea at the time. They were delicious.

Once back at our apartment, we availed ourselves to the hot tub again. Once suitably refreshed and relaxed, we decided to continue in the Halloween vein, and Terry selected The Purge for the rest of our evening's entertainment. I had heard a good bit about this one but hadn't seen it. In general, we all quite enjoyed it. Some aspects of the story ring almost too true for comfort. It had been a fine day for us, but about the time we retired for the evening, I began to notice something didn't feel quite right....

Wedneday, October 27, 2021: Disaster Strikes!

On Wednesday morning, I woke up early feeling pretty puny. After several trips to the head, I felt even punier. Then the nausea set in. Chills, body ache, total lack of energy. It became clear that I was suffering from either 1) food poisoning, which meant I might have a rough road ahead, or 2) a norovirus, à la Midland at Christmas 2017 (see "The Feel-Better Flight," December 2017, for the gory details; or better yet, don't), which meant the lot of us might have a rough road ahead. It won't spoil anything to say we were indeed fortunate it was the former. While I was a miserable for a full 24 hours and some change, no one else suffered any illness.

It was ugly. I haven't felt so horrible since that spell in Midland four years ago. When I wasn't in the bathroom, I mostly slept, for I didn't have the energy even to sit at the computer and work on this blog.

No day is a good day to suffer from food poisoning, but I found this spell particularly galling because we had appointments at a couple of wineries not far away — one called Spada and the other being Coali, which we had visited on our previous trip to the region. I had really, really wanted to return to Coali, as it was — and still is — the best winery I have ever visited. The gang enjoyed both wineries, and at least they brought back a healthy sampling of bottles from both.

That evening, I managed to sit up and watch The Purge: Anarchy, sequel to the previous night's movie, with the other folks. It too was enjoyable, if somewhat less gripping than the original.

I was not the only one hoping I would be feeling better the next day, since anyone else falling ill would mean a very, very bad situation, for we were due to travel back home in two days' time.

Some of us, at least, held our breath.

Thursday, October 28, 2021: Hallelujah, It Was Only Food Poisoning!

I woke up on Thursday morning feeling almost brand new. No nausea, no ominous internal rumblings, no lingering malaise. This was as much a relief to everyone else as it was to me. Granted, during the morning, I felt a little sketchy from time to time, but I figured that was to be expected after the severity of the previous day's affliction. Over the course of the day, my condition improved nicely.

Once again, we needed COVID-19 tests (negative, of course) in order to return to the US the following day. There was a pharmacy in Malcesine that could do them for us at 11:30 a.m., so we decided to get those done and then take the ferry to Limone on the far side of the lake. Once we had completed the tests (negative, thankfully), we boarded the ferry and churned across the water. There really isn't a place on Lake Garda where the view sucks, but the boat offered us impressive, panoramic views of both side of the lake.

Malcesine castle, viewed from the ferry to Limone

Approaching Limone

Pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon?

Lunch was our first priority. We found an appealing little establishment on the waterfront that specialized in burgers, and we all craved something less pasta-, cheese-, and sauce-ish (not to mention I was starving after such a long spell without eating). There was a cache very nearby, so after we ordered, I rushed to the old church where it was hidden. It was up a stairway in a secluded courtyard, and I had just begun hunting when a pair of young German women arrived and asked if I was geocaching. Indeed! So, we hunted together, and they turned up the hide in short order. I had run into several cachers over the course of the trip, so this made for yet another fun encounter. I hurried back to the restaurant just in time for lunch to arrive. The burgers were just okay, but still satisfying (the one other burger I'd had in Europe, early on in Malcesine, rivaled any I've ever had in the States).

Looking down from the top
of the castle stairs

Afterward, each of us being drawn to follow our individual callings, we split up to shop, drink, or, in my case (as if you couldn't have guessed), hunt a geocache. This one lay about half a mile down the shore, and I had a lovely walk down to it. Once I found it, I headed back to join the others. We decided it was time to seek and find gelato. Now, gelato is a treat that, at least for us in North Carolina, is simply not to be found. In Europe — Italy in particular — gelato shops are everywhere, and it goes without saying we had availed ourselves to them frequently. We did so again in Limone. And it was good.

At 3:00 p.m., the ferry took us back to Malcesine, where I hunted one more cache ("First Malcesine," GC1Z4MY). This one offered a decent physical challenge (well, two, if you consider the difficulty of navigating the maze of streets to ground zero), which was climbing a set of 114 steep, well-worn stone stairs up the side of Malcesine castle. (It was from this vantage point that I took the photo you see at the top of this section). A fun cache, and a spectacular setting. After this, we had cappuccinos at a little place down an alley. I noticed they had a plaque that indicated the poet Goethe had "lived" in that building for two days in September of 1786. Okay, pretty cool. At last, we headed back to the apartment and decided we would find dinner there in Benzone sul Garda, which we really hadn't done since we'd arrived. Ms. B. had looked up some possibilities and settled on one not too far southward that was tucked away in a "secret" courtyard and reputedly quite good. So off we went.

Dammit! The place was closed, no doubt due to the tourist season having passed. It really did look wonderful, so we were sorry we couldn't avail ourselves to it. However, we did discover another place nearby that turned out to be excellent. Here, I had my last dinner of Bolognese (or Ragu, as it's more commonly called in this region), and it really hit the spot. Happily, I make a fair Bolognese myself when I have the craving, and friend Beth makes Bolognese to rival the best of any I've had on the continent.

After that, we spent much of the rest of the evening, most pleasurably, in the hot tub. Then we set ourselves to packing for the return trip, for we knew the morrow meant another long, long day of traveling.

Indeed it did.

Go to "The Old World or Bust!" (Part 1) here.

Go to "The Old World or Bust!" (Part 2) here.

Go to "The Old World or Bust!" (Part 3) here.

Go to "The Old World or Bust!" (Part 5) here.

The Old World or Bust! (Part 3)

Thursday, October 21, 2021: Villa Ca' Driano

The view from the villa

On Thursday morning, we packed ourselves up and bid Venice arrivederci. Last time, we sailed out of Venice on board the Royal Caribbean cruise ship, Rhapsody of the Seas; two years later, cruise ships are no longer permitted into the island's port, since their coming and going has inflicted considerable environmental damage to the city. The new restrictions are understandable yet sad, for seeing Venice from the deck of our ship as we slowly sailed past was a memory I will always treasure. This time, we rode a bus from the station at the north end of the island to Marco Polo International Airport, where we picked up a rental car, which Terry had reserved, to last us for the remainder of our trip. From there, we drove to the tiny town of Monteveglio, near Bologna, a couple of hours northward.

Ms. B. checks out the lemons growing
at Ca' Driana

Our home away-from-home here took my breath away. It's a roughly century-old villa called Ca' Driano (meaning House of Driano — presumably the founding family), which perches high on a mountaintop. From this vantage point, the villa offers staggering views of the surrounding countryside in every direction. The house itself is rustic, spacious, and comfortable, offering just about every amenity one could ask for. Our proprietors were a lovely, loquacious lady named Wilma and her somewhat more reserved husband, whom we called Fred (we didn't determine until our final day his actual name is Aristede). They live in the house next door and take care of the property as if it were their own. Fred doesn't speak English, so Wilma translates for him (their spirited interactions frequently had us rolling). They seemed to take us under their wings right away, and made us feel welcome and then some for our entire stay. (In fact, the more imaginative of our gang couldn't help but wonder if we were actually being fattened up for some unspeakable ritual to occur at some point during our stay. Well, we're still alive and kicking, don't you know... at least for now.)

During our conversations, we determined Fred was a hunter who loved to cook the game he hunted. And when he found out I possessed keen carnivorous tendencies, he brought us a pheasant that he had shot just a few days before. I promised that I would handle its preparation during our visit.

For our first night's dinner, Wilma recommended a wonderful restaurant: a place called Trattoria del Borgo at the site of an ancient abbey just outside of Monteveglio. An incredibly beautiful location — and what a fantastic dinner. We shared an amazing bottle of wine, locally made, and I had a wild boar stew that was probably the most delicious — and most memorable — meal of the entire trip. To top things off, there was a cache on the premises that I found after dinner, rounding out things on an even sweeter note.

Darkness falling over Casa Ca Driano

Ristorante Trattoria del Borgo at the old abbey outside of Monteveglio

Old dude signs the cache log

The one discomfort we suffered at Ca' Driano — a problem we've had to deal with throughout Italy, in fact — is mosquitoes. They're everywhere. And they're brutal. Since a number of windows at the villa didn't have screens, mosquitoes had gotten into the house, and they were apparently ravenous. I had the devil of a time sleeping on that first night, despite the comfortable bed, because of the constant whining, whirring, and biting of the nasty little bloodfuckers.

That wasn't enough to dampen any of our spirits, though, and by the end of the first night, our gang came to unanimous decision that Ca' Driano might be our favorite accommodations anywhere, anytime, ever.

Our hostess, Wilma, introducing our gang to Casa Ca' Driano

Friday, October 22, 2021: Flogging and a Bunch o' Bologna

Old dude lines up for a solid duff

Several weeks ago, with friend Terry, I played golf for the first time in about a decade. It was enjoyable enough, though "rusty" doesn't begin to describe my golfing prowess. In the photo above, you see Terry about to whack the living daylights out of a golf ball while playing at Golf Club Monteveglio. Somehow, he convinced me to join him in a round of golf, largely so we could claim to have played golf in Italy. The golf course was nearby, they had plenty of tee times available, and we could rent a bag of clubs (and a cart) once we got there. Being the gluttons for punishment we are, we headed on out, communicated with the pro using our best Italian (we didn't get pitched out the door on our heads, somewhat to our surprise), saddled up, and hit the links. I'll not say we didn't hit some mighty good golf shots; we did. But at the end of the round, we'd lost all ten balls we'd purchased and a couple of extra that came with the bag (it's a narrow course with lots of water hazards; I stand by that explanation). It was fun, but a  spectacularly unimpressive round for the both of us. In fact, at the end of it all, I felt obliged to offer an apology to the sport of golf and to Italy in general.

Once back at Ca' Driano, we got tidied up, grabbed the women, and set out for the city of Bologna, just a few miles up the road from Monteveglio. Ms. B. was particularly keen on visiting the old quarter in the city center, so we struggled through the considerable Bologna traffic and found ourselves a parking garage within reasonable walking distance of our destination.

Bologna was a madhouse. Even in the old quarter, where the majority of traffic is on foot, cars still zip back and forth and round and round at stunning speed. Numerous times while walking, we had to dodge vehicles driven by madfolk who weren't about to slow down for anything as paltry as pedestrians. Now, it's pretty much like this all over Europe, but at least on this day in Bologna, the nastiness reached daunting proportions. We did at least find some decent food and drink — Bistro Roberto was pretty nice, the Tagliatella con Ragu pleasing to the palate. I snagged a couple of caches while Ms. B. and the others went shopping. We didn't care to stay around very late, so after dinner we headed on back to the car.

Fun fact about Europe: oftentimes, little things — such as how you pay for parking your car in a public lot — differ just enough from what we're accustomed to, at least in our part of the US, that it can create small amounts of havoc. Sometimes slightly larger amounts. In this case, we had a gate ticket and didn't realize you pay for it in a separate area, not when you leave the garage, as we typically do back home. So, we ended up getting stuck in the garage for a while as we sorted out the proper procedure. The problem was that, once Terry inserted the ticket which would have opened the gate had we already paid, the machine ate the ticket and refused to let us out. This necessitated a call to an attendant, who resided lord knows how many miles (or perhaps I should say kilometers) away and whose grasp of English roughly equaled our grasp of Italian. There was considerable back and forth that got us nowhere, until finally, in exasperation, the kind signore opened the gate for us remotely, clearly to shut us up and get us the hell out of his hair.

Lesson learned. But at the end of the day, Bologna endeared itself to us less than most of the other places in Italy we visited. Or let us say all, rather than most of. Returning to Ca' Driano was a relief. Or would have been, except for Il Zanzara (The Mosquito). This second night wasn't as bad as the first, but it was clear the little bastard was still around by the number of bites I woke up with the next morning.

Saturday, October 23, 2021: No Wine for You!

The view from some hillside outside Monteveglio

The first thing I did upon waking on Saturday morning was pluck and prep the pheasant that Fred had given me, since at least a couple of us planned on having it for dinner. Now, I have never plucked and cleaned a whole bird before, so I did a quick look on YouTube for some tips, and then went to town. I've gotta tell you, it went swimmingly. I trussed up the bird; put it in a bath in wine, olive oil, butter, onions, and herbs; and stuck it in the fridge so it'd be ready for roasting later in the day.

The bird before

"Get that camera out of my face while I am cheffing!"

There are all kinds of wineries in the region, and we had figured it wouldn't be hard to track down at least a couple. We did, but as it turned out, the few we found were either not open at all or required appointments for tastings. So, we satisfied ourselves jaunting about some of the scenic backroads to see what we might see. One of the coolest spots we found was one of the many ancient castles throughout the countryside. This one was Castello di Serraville, where I did find a cool geocache. 

Castello di Serraville

The bird after

After a fairly lengthy sightseeing venture, our gang headed back to the villa. We enjoyed a few miscellaneous nibbles during the afternoon, and a bit later, I finished prepping the bird and got it roasting in the oven. Once again, not having prepared pheasant before, I trusted in intuition, long experience cooking critters in general, and a fair amount of hope that the experiment would not end in disaster.

Our very kind co-host, Fred, had not only given us a pheasant but a bottle of very old wine — a 2004 Rosso di Montalcino to go with the bird. It proved delicious. As did the pheasant. Kimberly and Beth, not much inclined to eat critter, opted for other vittles, but Terry and I quite enjoyed the bird. I also took Fred a sample, which he raved about. (According to Wilma's translation, he said, "You are not just a cook but a chef!" He did add that it could have used a little more salt.) I'm sure he was being overly kind, but I cannot speak well enough of both our hosts at the Villa, and his compliments likely turned my face redder than our vino rosso.

Our last night at Ca' Driano turned out to be pleasant and very relaxing — except for, once again, Il Zanzara, who pestered me for the entire night. Even building a tent out of the sheets that covered my body head to toe failed to hold the little fucker at bay. I probably should have picked up some bug repellent, but I'm not sure a bed reeking of DEET would have been much preferable. Regardless, I'd have to say that Ca' Driano rates as one of the best lodgings I've ever occupied, and I would dearly love to return to it someday, should circumstances permit.

Go to "The Old World or Bust!" (Part 1) here.

Go to "The Old World or Bust!" (Part 2) here.

Go to "The Old World or Bust!" (Part 4) here.

Go to "The Old World or Bust!" (Part 5) here.