One Bleepin’ Year Ago, Wot?!

It hardly seems proper — or possible — that an entire year has passed since Ms. B. and I stood on the balcony of our apartment overlooking the Cannaregio Canal in Venice saying silly things like “I do” in front of friends Terry and Beth. While our “legal” anniversary is in June, the “real” ceremony, as far as we’re concerned, took place on October 19, 2021, on that balcony. Terry was specially ordained for the task, and he truly made our experience personalized and unique to us.

Last night, we celebrated our first “real” anniversary with Terry and Beth at Kau, a relatively newish restaurant here in Greensboro at Revolution Mill. We were quite taken with the place and the experience. How delightful to find that bottles of wine are half-price on Wednesdays (and they had Jeff Runquist 1448, which is one of our favorite red blends). The “Hot House” burger I had was wonderful. Brugger went for Buffalo chicken mac & cheese, which made her almost as happy as saying “I do.”

We also opened a couple of bottles we’d brought back from Europe — one from France (a red blend from Chasson Vignoble) and one from Italy (an Amarone from Coali). So, our anniversary celebration might not have been as exciting and wonderful as a trip to Venice, but it certainly hit the notes that needed hitting.

Ms. B. and I hope to celebrate a good many more of these milestones, so beware!

Kau’s “Hot House” burger — bacon, pepper jack cheese, jalapenos, spicy ketchup. Hardly
a nuclear threat, but quite delicious.

Happy adversity to us!

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.

The Old World or Bust! (Part 2)

Ciao di nuovo, Venezia amica mia

Monday, October 18, 2021: Au Revoir La France, Buon Giorno Venezia

Early Monday morning, our gang packed up la voiture — we had to squeeze in so snugly that Ms. B. and I were practically sitting on one another — and hit the highway, bound for Nice Aeroport, about two hours east. Getting past Aix-en-Provence was the usual traffic nightmare, but once we made it to the A8, things picked up and moved along swimmingly. When we arrived at the aeroport, we moved through security and such with minimal hassle, though we never did have to show our COVID-19 test cards, which was actually wee annoying, given the pains we took to actually get the things. Regardless, we had some peace of mind that we remained COVID-free, at least for the first portion of our journey.

We boarded an Easy Jet Airlines Airbus 319 for the relatively short flight to Venice. Upon our arrival, we took a bus ride to the station just outside the city and then hoofed it across the Grand Canal to the island. We had a relatively short walk to our lodgings in the Fondamenta Procuratie, where we met our proprietor, a lovely lady who spoke decent English and made us feel very welcome. Once settled, we headed out into the lovely afternoon and walked. I snagged a couple of caches. One of them was cache find #13,000, at a rather noteworthy location: (Banksy a Venezia, GC8F84J). We found wine. We found food. We retired to our lodgings before very late, but we did sit up with wine and goodies pretty far into the evening.

Banksy art in Venice

Tuesday, October 19, 2021: Bells Are Ringing

The weather was perfect for another early morning walk, so Terry and I went out among the madding crowd and sought a trio of geocaches. I found two, did not find one (though I would discover it later — after a fashion). Once back at our place and regrouped, the gang went out and about for a bit and found lunch nearby at Osteria San Barnaba. There were sights to see and caches to snag near the Rialto Bridge, so we headed for the more eastward reaches of the city. I claimed a webcam cache (Rialto Webcam; GC89135) and an EarthCache (Rialto Bridge; GC7JZRA), as well as a stage of a nearby Adventure Lab cache.

View from the Rialto Bridge

Ms. B. before getting her hair done

Scary folk: the officiant and
the witness

The big event of the day, though, was first and foremost among our reasons for venturing overseas to begin with. Although Ms. B. and I had been legally married back in June, mainly to make sure our asses were covered — financially, legally, and otherwise — as we began merging our households, we really wanted to have our most meaningful ceremony in Venice. Terry had agreed to officiate for us, so all that remained was to determine precisely where and when. Once we had settled into our apartment, we decided it was the perfect location. Our elevated balcony overlooked a scenic canal, and from there, we didn't have to worry about muggles getting in the way of the proceedings. And on this afternoon, the timing struck us as right to proceed. Once we all agreed on this decision, our respective womenfolk decreed that neat dress was required. So, we old men dressed up all nice and such, gathered ourselves in most dignified fashion, and Brugger and I got hitched. Maybe not "legally" in the technical sense, but absolutely and positively as far as our commitment to each other.

Once these somber proceedings were in the can, we decided to remain dressed in our finest finery and go out to mingle with the population. If you guessed there might have been another cache in the bargain, you would be correct. If you guessed there might have been more food and wine in the bargain, you would be correct again. For dinner, we discovered a wonderful outdoor place called Ristorante Fuori Rotta, where I ended up ordering fish (filet of sole) and white wine. If you think that was pretty weird of me, you be yet again correct, but since this combination called to me at the time, it happened thusly. Dinner proved fabulous. As did the day. One could hardly have custom-ordered a better day or more exciting time.

Perfection, it was.

Wednesday, October 20, 2021: We're Gonna Need a Bigger Boat

I woke up reasonably early on Wednesday, intent on going on a longer-than-customary walk through Venice to seek a couple of geocaches. Terry opted to stay put while I went out, so I pushed myself into an even longer longer-than-customary morning walk. One stop was at a walled park ("Parco Savorgnan," GC58W7X), which was probably the only deserted spot in Venice I encountered during our stay there. I also snagged a puzzle cache I had solved earlier ("Do You Really Know Venezia's Mysteries," GC7R0NH), one of those rare puzzles that was actually fun because you had to match up scenes in Venice to locations on a map to acquire the final coordinates. Once I reached GZ, this one took me a few minutes to find, but I finally managed it.

I wasn't back from my walk long before we headed out as a group to seek lunch. We found it at a little place along the waterfront called OKE Zattere, where we had pizzas — very good pizzas. Then Terry and Beth treated Kim and me to a gondola ride, something of a post-wedding treat. We all managed to pile into the boat without falling out (so none of the dreaded canal sharks got to have a feast*). We did have an excellent gondolier, who spoke decent English and more than politely tolerated our generally clumsy attempts to converse in Italian. We brought a bottle of wine with us, which made for a super-mellow ride through the canals. A first-class time it was. Thanks, Terry & Beth!

*No, there aren't really canal sharks. I don't think.

After this, our compadres retired to our home-away-from-home for a while, so Kimberly and I went out among the peasants to survey the grandeur. She was kind enough to accompany me to a few caches I was keen on finding — one  being a wicked-witch-of-Venice-themed multi ("La Sveglia Della Strega," GC8F85W), and a couple down by St. Mark's Square, my favorite being a particularly audacious little hide at a bas-relief sculpture at the edge of the square (Piazza San Marco, GC8VKZF). While we were there snapping photos, I caught something in one that I didn't quite get. It appears to show five distinct orbs in the sky, just about mid-picture (you can zoom in on the photo down below). No doubt, these were just reflections on the lens, or an odd diffusion of light, or...something.

Maybe UFOs.

Finally, Kimberly and I headed back westward to Piazza San Barnaba, where we met Terry & Beth at a nice little outdoor bistro called Dallo Zio. I had liver and polenta, which I found quite pleasing after so much pasta and cheese. Our dinner ran pretty late, and by the time we were finished, the gang decided to head back to our place. However, I had discovered that one of the caches I had been unable to find the previous day, due to it being missing, had just been replaced. From our restaurant, it was about a half mile to the cache. After the day's activities, I had about 15% phone battery remaining — and I didn't have my spare battery pack with me. Regardless, I set out after the hide. Once at GZ, I finally managed to locate the thing. Whew!

By now, the phone battery was running lower and lower, and though I know the basic geography of Venice, I do not know its labyrinthine streets that well. So, I made haste toward our place, fearing my phone might go dark at any time. Happily, I made it back with power to spare. What a fun outing for this evening. Quite the adrenaline rush there near the end.

Twilight at Piazza San Marco

UFOs over Venice?

Our time in Venice was short, as we were scheduled to leave the following day — for me, not such a happy thing, since both my visits to Venice have been dreams come true. Still, we had several different destinations ahead of us before our eventual return to the States. And our next destination — a century-old villa outside the little town of Monteveglio, near Bologne — certainly held some surprises, almost all pleasant.

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

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

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

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

The Old World or Bust! (Part 1)

The view from our window in Eguilles, France

For well over a year, our friends and frequent traveling companions, Terry & Beth, and Ms. B. & I have been planning a second trip to Europe together. Initially our plans included another cruise (see "Mediterranean Sojourn" from October–November 2019, for the chronicle of our first trip across the pond); however, this year's cruise became a casualty of COVID-19 and, for a time, it looked as though COVID might quash all our plans. However, once we were vaccinated and able to pass the still relatively stringent European regulations, we decided the trip would be a go after all. We opted to limit our destinations to a few locations in France and Italy. Terry & Beth preceded us to Europe by a matter of weeks, with several other destinations on their itinerary, including Portugal, Spain, and Switzerland. Because they are generally good sports, they agreed to play chauffeur for us when we arrived in France on October 14.

Hold on to your hats, and let's rock!  

Wednesday, October 13, 2021–Thursday, October 14:
To Marseilles and Beyond

A few days before we were set to leave, Ms. B. and I acquired our international drivers licenses, since we would have to rely on rental cars to transport us from place to place. On the afternoon of Wednesday, 10/13, we loaded up our well-stuffed bags and drove to Terry & Beth's place in Kernersville, where we transferred the bags to their big honking pickup truck (this to accommodate all our combined luggage on our return trip), and sallied forth to Charlotte Douglas International Airport. After a couple of damned Bloody Marys at one of the airport bars (damned good Bloody Marys, I can tell you), we boarded a big old Lufthansa Airlines Airbus 350 for the long flight to Munich, Germany. About nine hours it was; nine uncomfortable hours, which we found disappointing, as we had paid for premium seating and the accompanying perks. We got the perks — mostly — but let me tell you, those seats were rocks, far less comfortable than their considerably less expensive counterparts on our previous overseas journey. Other than that, things went swimmingly, with no delays and relatively easy customs checks. I ended up watching Godzilla vs. Kong to while away some flight time; for that purpose, it was decent enough, I reckon. On Thursday, October 14, we made an early morning landing in Munich, where we boarded a smaller jet bound for Marseilles, France, where Terry and Beth awaited us in their rental car.

From Marseilles, we headed to the village of Eguilles, a few miles northwest of the city. Eguilles is a charming little community dating back to the 1st Century AD. We had reserved a three-story villa with a grand view of the French countryside; we found the place mostly comfortable but for the somewhat limited toilet facilities and a steep, narrow, curving flight of stairs that damn near whooped us every time we had to go up or down. Eguilles is also a town best seen on foot, for many of the maze-like streets are barely wide enough for a single compact car. It took some time for us to become comfortable navigating these treacherous lanes, especially since figuring out how to get from Point A to Point B frequently proved problematic, even with GPS maps.

Like so many old European towns, Eguilles is filled with cats. Catses, everywhere, roaming and lounging wherever they please. Happily, all the ones we saw appeared to be well-fed and reasonably healthy. A few turned out to be quite friendly, especially a cat whom Beth called "our little greeter" because she frequently turned up at our doorstep and, if the mood took her, trotted on into the villa to socialize for a bit.

On our first evening, the group accompanied me on a walking tour of Eguilles by way of an enjoyable Adventure Lab cache, which led us to several scenic and/or historical spots around town. Shortly thereafter, that we might procure victuals (a commodity somewhat scarce in Eguilles), we drove down to Aix-en-Provence, a bustling town we had briefly visited on our 2019 trip. Here, we did indeed manage to find decent food and wine in one of the myriad outdoor restaurants. There was a cache very nearby — "Les Cardeurs" (GC5NTME) — but I gave it only a half-hearted hunt, since the prodigious numbers of human critters congregating near the site made searching problematic.

Not a one of our group has typically been enamored of French wine — at least the brands we're able to find back in the States. We had enjoyed some French wine on our last trip, and this time, we found more good wine. Lots and lots of it. Clearly, back home, we are relegated to second-rate fare from France because I'm pretty sure the worst French wine we had on the continent proved better than the best French wine we've ever discovered back home.

After no sleep for something like 36 hours, Ms. B. and I finished our first day in France at quite a late hour, exhausted but highly satisfied with the state of affairs to date.

Aix-en-Provence: little town, big bustle

Le Rotonde in Aix

Friday, October 15, 2021: Gordes et Roussillon

Gordes, France

"Je ne parle pas très bien le français. J'ai l'étudié pour quatre ans – deux au lycée et deux à l'université — mais c'était il y a plus de quarante ans, et je suis vieux et oublieux."

I became fairly proficient at prefacing any attempt at communication with the native French speakers using the explanation above, which translates as "I don't speak French very well. I studied it for four years — two in high school and two in college — but that was over forty years ago, and I am old and forgetful." Once that was squared away, the four of us managed quite well even in places where no English was spoken (which was rare — in most cases, the people we dealt with spoke English at least as well as I speak French). Unlike our previous trip, where we visited mostly places that catered to cruise ship tourists, this time around, we aimed for more remote, less-tourist centered destinations. In fact, while in France, we scarcely heard another American (or British) voice anywhere.

On Friday, our little band hit the road, bound for Gordes, about an hour northwest of Eguilles. It's another village founded in the 1st Century AD, built on a high ridge in the Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur region. It's a stunning location, with numerous high overlooks, a few shops and restaurants, as well as a handful of caches (most of which I was able to claim). For lunch we ended up at a place called La Bastide de Pierres, which — perhaps oddly — served Italian food. I went for their Bolognese, which was pretty good. Kim and Beth occupied themselves shopping, while Terry and I found a cache and then a wine bar.

Once satisfied with our time in Gordes, we drove a few miles to a wonderful winery called Vignoble Chasson-Chateau Blanc, whose wines turned out to be the best we found in France. Prior to visiting this location, enjoying a fine (free) tasting, and purchasing a few bottles, none of us thought we'd find red wine in France that could rival the quality of our favorite Spanish and Italian reds. This wine did. In fact, I believe it's safe to say that the "Secret de Famille" and "Le Vigne Oublie" red blends were as good or better than any wine we've had at any winery on either side of the Atlantic.

The winery is located outside another small, very old village called Roussillon, so we decided to check it out. Just outside of town, there was a cache (Why, yes, I did claim it!) that required some tricky negotiating of terrain (that was one steep hill — and it didn't help that the coordinates were 100 ft. off). We wandered the ancient streets and alleys, found some interesting art (including a particular butterfly on a window, which I named "Inna Gada Da Vida," for obvious reasons), a few shops that Beth and Kim enjoyed, a staircase that for visual effect damn near rivaled the "Hitchcock Stairs" in Georgetown (best known for its appearance in The Exorcist), and a terraced restaurant called Cafe des Couleurs, which offered us a spectacular view of the valley below as well as a beautiful sunset. The food was decent, the service quite good.

We came away from Roussillon with at least one memorable moment. Terry entered a shop, and the proprietor offered him a cordial greeting. With equal cordiality, Terry said what was intended to be "Bonsoir!" ("good evening"), but what came out was "Bourgeois!" The proprietor either didn't notice or let it slide, but it was the very devil getting Beth up off the floor about then.

Eventually, we made our way back to Eguilles and enjoyed a few of the fruits from Vignoble Chasson-Chateau Blanc before retiring for the evening.

Closed-off entrance to an old mine in Roussillon

Sunset from the terrace of Cafe des Couleurs

Night falling in Roussillon

Saturday, October 16, 2021: My Head Aix

On Saturday morning, I got up early and took another walk after a cache — Ils Sont Fous Ces Romains #2 — which was the last of those I had yet to claim in Eguilles. This one lurked just outside the village's cemetery, which, hardly unexpectedly, proved scenic and serene. Happily, I found the cache quickly and easily.

Kim wanted to check out an artsy place or two in Aix-en-Provence and then head out to hike at the Gorges of Regalon, about 40 minutes north of Eguilles. Terry and Beth stayed put while Kim and I hit the road for Aix; unfortunately, as Aix was never designed for 21st Century traffic, the entire town was jammed to the point we couldn't find an unimpeded passage into town, much less a vacant parking space anywhere within reasonable walking distance. So, we turned around and retreated to Eguilles. Such are the rigors of muddling about unassisted in a strange land!

We all needed to get COVID-19 tests — negatif — for our flight to Venice on Monday, and, as it turned out, the sole site in Eguilles offering them was closed during the window that we needed them. So, with Aix offering the only possibility of an open testing site — shy of trying to get one at Nice Airport just prior to our flight, which seemed a risky proposition — the four of us piled into the car and headed back down the road. This time, we managed to find an unimpeded point of entry, as well as some reasonably convenient parking. So, we set out to find a testing center. The first was another washout, but the second — a tiny pharmacy in the middle of town — provided us with the requisite tests. As we anticipated (and hoped!), all of our test results were negatif. Say what you will, but the stringent precautions in Europe are by all accounts paying off. And if you aren't vaccinated, for the love of God, do it. If you aren't doing it for any reason other than medical, you are very much the reason we're still in this mess.

From there, I managed to snag a few caches, Kim found her artsy establishments, and food and wine found their way to us with nary an impediment. While the ladies did their traditional shopping, Terry and I sought — and discovered — much-needed refreshment at a small joint called Charly's Coffee, where we actually did get coffee, but also some wine once our better halves returned from their errands. After yet more wanderings, we procured dinner at one of the many outdoor establishments along the Rue Marcel Provence. Pour moi, A big old duck breast — and daggum if it wasn't the best duck I ever tasted. (I do love me some dead bird, don't you doubt it.)

On this evening, the crowd around "Les Cardeurs" wasn't so prodigious, so I managed to make a quick find. A novel cache it was, hidden in plain site.

At last, satiated and well on the way to weary, we hoofed it to the car and drove back to Eguilles. Early that morning, given our frustrating experiences, I had feared we had a long, fruitless day in store, but all in all, things worked out for the best. Not a complaint from any of our gang.

On the morrow, Kim and I anticipated visiting the Gorges de Regalon, which we had sadly passed up on Saturday. We suspected we would find the location stimulating. We had no idea.

#

Sunday, October 17, 2021: Gorgeous Gorge

Clearing a path for the old man is a heavy job for Ms. B.

Since circumstances had dictated a change of plan on Saturday, our gang figured we would simply move the Les Gorges des Regalon outing to Sunday. Unfortunately, some nefarious consumable from the previous evening left friend Beth's innards feeling rather unkindly, so Ms. B. and I drove ourselves out to the rugged highlands of the Petit Luberon mountain range, less than an hour from our home base at Eguilles, France. The gorges are narrow crevices —some no more than a meter or so wide — cut through the towering limestone ridges by the waters of the Mediterranean and lingering river systems several million years before most of us took to wandering about on this planet. Rockslides have led to several closings of the area over the years, but it is currently open to the public, and we were fortunate enough to avoid any geological hailstorms.

When we arrived at the parking area, we found a large number of people had preceded us, but we managed to park easily enough and set out on our hike up the ridge. Ms. B. and I knew the trails here are far more extensive than we could manage even in a day or more, so we just decided to hike until we decided we were done.

That ended up being about a three-mile round trip, in terrain that grew higher and more rugged the farther we went. We encountered numerous fantastic natural formations — grottoes, tunnels, and patterns intricately sculpted by nature. In a few places, boulders hung precariously above our heads, wedged within the crevices following plummets from unknown heights. I managed to find each of the caches I hunted here. In several places, continuing our forward progress required scaling rock walls of varying heights and difficulty, and when we finally reached one that Ms. B. considered prohibitive, we opted to head back.

Once back on the road, we stopped for a cache at a very old suspension bridge, which was clearly once the main road through the province. Here — quelle horreur! — Ms. B. readily found what the old man could not. On our outbound drive, we had noticed a little restaurant/wine bar out in the middle of nowhere, which appeared to be open. So, on our return trip, we decided to give it a try, and what a great discovery for us! It was a place called L'Escale des Vins, and here we found excellent food and drink indeed. I tried their white martini, which was unlike any I had drank — citrusy, a little sweet, and not particularly strong, which I considered just the ticket under the circumstances. For lunch, I had foie gras with cinnamon crumbles, a savory sauce, arugula, and grapes. It was absolutely delicious; one of the best dishes I had on this trip.

For the evening, we hung out with the gang in Eguilles, and since almost all neighboring restaurants were closed for Sunday dinner, we visited a supermarket not too far away and picked up miscellaneous goodies to prepare ourselves. There might have been a little wine as well.

 

Above left: One of the sizable tunnels we passed through; above right: one of the grottoes containing a cache
Above center: foie gras at L'Escale des Vins 

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 4) here.

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

Mediterranean Sojourn Pt 3: From Montenegro to Stromboli

October 21, 2019: The Cats of Montenegro
After our day in Croatia, we didn't know what to expect from Kotor, Montenegro, our next port of call. Given its proximity to the previous stop, we suspected it would be more of something akin to the same.

As it turned out, Montenegro was anything but more of the same. The moment I saw the huge mountains looming high above the ship as it sailed into the bay, I knew a whole different experience awaited us. Here, we had not booked a guided tour; just a water shuttle to take us from the Rhapsody and dump us off on foreign soil. As strangers in an alien place, we figured we would take our chances and hope for the best. At the last minute, friend Terry began feeling puny and decided to remain aboard the ship. I'm not going to categorically state that he might have overindulged at the casino the night before, but neither will I rule out that possibility.

As Beth, Ms. B., and Old Dude disembarked, we could feel the aura of ancient age that surrounded the town, which is considerably larger than Zadar. The first thing I encountered was a group of geocachers—Swedish and Canadian, it turned out—gathered around the cache just outside the port. They were apparently from our ship, though as I discovered from the online logs, literally dozens of other cachers, from a couple of different cruise ships, found the same caches I did on that day. Later, as we were leaving, I saw more cachers gathered at the port hide, apparently having a little trouble finding it. I managed to set them straight.

In the town proper, upon getting our bearings, the three of us set out exploring and immediately discovered another world of narrow, labyrinthine streets and alleys, not unlike those in Venice. We saw, atop the high ridge that overlooked the town, the battlements of a sprawling, ancient stone fortress. A strenuous walking trail leads to it, but we didn't undertake that venture. Our regular dinner companions, Nancy and Marsha, evidently did, and they told us that the exertion nearly wiped them out. I did seek and find a couple of geocaches, thus adding a new country to my caching portfolio.

And catses. Catses roamed here in profusion. Kotor is known for its cats, which are essentially feral, although, due to their constant exposure to humans, the ones we encountered were reasonably social. As we came to one of the myriad outdoor bistros in the middle of town, we saw numerous cats lounging about on chairs and under tables. Beth and Brugger found a few shops that piqued their interest (a thing that happened frequently in all our ports of call). For a time, we settled ourselves at a nice outdoor restaurant called Jazz Club Evergreen, which, while Montenegro-esque in atmosphere, paid tribute to American jazz musicians. Cats lounged in profusion here. We availed ourselves to some Montenegrin wine, a varietal called Vranac, which proved excellent—not unlike a slightly tart Cab Sauv with an agreeable touch of mustiness in the finish. Eventually, after negotiating another intricate maze of streets, confusing even with the GPS, we located a nearby restaurant we had previously seen and ordered lunch, doing our best to pronounce the Montenegrin dish names. (Our server gave me a big thumbs-up when I asked whether he could comprehend my questionable vocalizations.) Beth and Brugger ordered pizzas, which were huge and delicious in the extreme. I found myself with a dish that was a variation on Chicken Cordon Bleu, quite tasty, but so huge I couldn't possibly finish it. No worries; there are cats. A couple of very friendly little guys came around and helped me kill what I couldn't eat.

One of our lunch companions

Jazz Club Evergreen

After lunch, we roamed around town a little more (read ladies shopping) before heading back to the port and catching a shuttle back to the ship.

The Rhapsody set sail again late in the afternoon, and after we'd been moving for a while, I ventured up on deck. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of not taking my phone with me. I say it was a mistake because if ever there were sights to photograph, this was the place. I didn't want to run back to the room to grab it for fear I'd miss out on the views altogether. The peaks rising on either side of the channel were prodigious, and as we rounded a peninsula, the town of Perast came into view. What a spectacular sight. Perast is a beautiful, seaside village, with the prominent tower of St. Nickola Church standing out above the shore. The sun had fallen beyond the mountains, and the town's lights were just coming on. I could see, a short distance away, a couple of small islands in the bay. These were St. George and Our Lady of the Rocks. This was, for me, a transcendental moment, a view of such beauty that I found myself mesmerized. I believe, at that point, it would have been physically impossible for me to even attempt to break away and run back to my cabin for my camera. So, unfortunately, you are left with no images of the views that had captured me, though the links above may at least give you an idea.

From there, we sailed on into open sea, our next stop being Civitavecchia, the port city for Rome and Pisa. But it was over a day away, and Tuesday, the 22nd, would be our only full day out at sea. But it too would prove itself spectacular.

October 22, 2019: Anyone for Stromboli?
The few days we'd been in Europe had been busy busy, so having a relaxing day at sea made for a welcome change of pace. There was napping, reading, Casino-ing, eating, and a spot of drinking. In Italy, I had discovered what might be considered, for me, an uncharacteristically frou-frou drink: the Campari Spritz. Mind you, in Italy, the Campari Spritz is considered the "masculine" drink, while the milder-flavored Aperol Spritz reputedly appeals more to feminine tastes. Anyway, once I had drunk one of the damned Campari things, it grew on me. So, for most of the rest of the voyage, Campari and a traditional Damned Bloody Mary were my spirits of choice.

Around midday, the Rhapsody rounded the toe of the boot, passing through the narrow channel between Italy and Sicily at Messina. Here lay the legendary realm of Scylla and Charybdis from Homer's The Odyssey. I had expected to find prodigious cliffs here, but they rose only on the Italian side. The Sicilian shore was long, narrow, and very flat. We could, however, clearly see Mt. Etna in the distance, smoking away, partially obscured by clouds.

It's difficult to see, but far back in the haze, that's Mt. Etna in Sicily, oozing a plume of smoke.

The view as we round the tip of Italy's boot

It wasn't long before a distant, lonely, conical mountain rising from the ocean off to starboard caught our eyes. To our surprise, we could see the mountain occasionally belching a column of black smoke. This, I discovered, was Mt. Stromboli, one in a chain of volcanic islands in the sea north of Sicily. We had a view of the peak for over an hour, passing it close enough to see seagulls flying around the shore. To my surprise, there are two villages at the base of the mountain as well as a cruise ship port. Our dinner companion Dave postulated that one must be able to purchase land for a pittance here. After all, who would actually up and think, "Hey, here is a huge volcano spewing smoke. Let's build a village at the bottom!"

Friend Terry and I figured that, well, as long as the mountain is venting, that's a pretty good sign. If it stops venting, it might be time to worry a little. I shouldn't much want to be nearby should that thing decide to blow its stack.

Mt. Stromboli, seen in the distance as we approach

Mt Stromboli at closer range, now puffing a bit of smoke.

The islands of Salina and Ripari, seen in the distance from near Mt. Stromboli

For our next day's plan, we had decided to forego the splendors (read madhouse crowds) of Rome and instead visit a more sedate location: the ancient village of Tuscania and one of the nearby wineries, about a forty-five minute drive from Civitavecchia. Terry had recuperated from feeling puny and was all ready to tackle some fine wine once again. You may find that tale in my next installment, coming up later.

Read Mediterranean Sojourn Part 1 here.

Read Mediterranean Sojourn Part 2 here.

Read Mediterranean Sojourn Part 4 here.

Read Mediterranean Sojourn Part 5 here.

Read Mediterranean Sojourn Part 6 here.

Read Mediterranean Sojourn Part 7 here.