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Camping Europe in an RV
The Milavsky RV Letters
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Camping Europe in an RV |
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Letter
07 Hello again. There is an old song –
I think by Noel Coward – which sings about “only mad dogs and
Englishmen go out in the noonday sun”. Noel could now add the two of us.
We are on our way to Italy – where it is hot and sunny – from
Germany – where it is cool and cloudy.
We are definitely going against the tide – all the Italians seem
to be coming north! This of course
represented a change of plans, if you can call what we do planning.
Our original intention was to tour Germany, get to Munich in the
south and drive west to France. Then we would drive down toward Provence
and get to Italy by driving around the Mediterranean.
But here we were in Germany with only the Alps and Dolomites
between us and Italy. We
decided not to drive to Basel and through the Goddard Tunnel and Lake
Lucerne because the road is one lane in each direction.
If we were slow on that one, we would be dangerous to pass.
The Brenner Pass route from Munich is autobahn all the way—two
and three lanes in either direction. So Munich is a good
starting point to go to Italy. We
were assured by all and sundry, including a lady at ADAC, the German
equivalent of AAA, that even our underpowered little engine can push its
way over the Brenner Pass between Austria and Italy.
Of course in evaluating such advice one must take into account that
in this era of powerful vehicles, few people can really imagine what
“underpowered” means. The first big problem we
foresaw was getting through Austria.
It is all mountains. After
we started driving, and we found it easy traveling, we discussed going to
Salzburg before turning south to Innsbruck.
But there didn’t seem to be a campground with bus service to the
city. There was no
sense in going at least 50 kilometers east of the route to Italy if we
could not get into Salzberg. So we scrapped that idea and decided to head
directly for Innsbruck. Just
before the border we stopped at a rest stop and bought the sticker that is
required for driving on Austrian autobahns. We were still a little
worried about mountains. We
need not have worried – there was absolutely no problem driving through
Austria as far as Innsbruck. Indeed,
most of the way we were able to keep up to 50-55mph –our top speed.
Surprisingly, it seemed to be mostly down hill.
The autobahn, which had three lanes in each direction, allowed
everyone to pass us with no trouble. The scenery was just beautiful.
We drove through a river valley, the Alps loomed on both sides, an
occasional Alpine meadow was thrown in.
We got to Innsbruck and went straight to a suburban campground
without a problem. We never went into
Innsbruck. We only stayed overnight, but it was a very busy visit.
When we checked in, we were impressed by the young staff.
They all had smiling faces, seemed to have a real interest in
helping us and spoke excellent English.
We registered in the campground and pulled into a space.
The electric box was way too far for our extension cord. No problem. The
camp has electric cords on individual reels for campers who need it.
There was not a level surface anywhere.
This is, after all, the Tirol.
No problem. The young
woman who was helping us took a dolly and picked up two big wooden ramps.
She brought them down, one at a time.
But while Ron was driving onto the ramps, one of them flipped and
got stuck under the left wheel support, raising the front tire off the
ground. That was a real problem.
But the smiling staff came out with the solution and an apology.
The man with the jack was coming, but he would not be here for 45
minutes. We sat down in our
chairs to read – and before we knew it, the man (who also spoke English)
drove up with a jack and in just a few minutes, no more problem. We placed
the ramps more carefully, drove onto them and presto, we were almost
level, in a high valley surrounded by mountains, one high enough to still
have snow. Some campgrounds tell you
to “choose your own spot”. We
arrived relatively early in the day so there were many places that we
could settle in. But as the day wore on, more and more RV’s, caravans and
tenters kept arriving with the result that empty spaces became scarcer and
scarcer. Ultimately vehicles
had to squeeze in between others. Talk about infringement on one’s
personal space! When we awoke
in the morning the place was jammed full with campers of all kinds
everywhere. We were in a small
village. To get to the church
and/or the sidewalk, you need to go through a neighbor’s yard.
As we approached, we saw a warning sign that we could not read
properly. But an elderly gentleman motioned us in.
He told us (as near as we could figure) that the sign was to
prevent teen-aged drivers from coming through.
He spoke not one word of English and you know about our
non-existent German! Nevertheless,
we talked a while. He wanted
to know where we were from, and he was all excited that we were Americans.
His daughter and his three grandchildren live in Oklahoma.
He told us that his beautiful flower garden was too much work for a
man of 86. We agreed we are
all getting along in years, and left. Later that evening, Ron
and I had dinner at the campground restaurant – so I can assure everyone
that I had wiener schnitzel and apfel strudel in an Austrian restaurant
with a breathtaking view of the Alps.
Didn’t see Innsbruck – but now that we know we can travel in
Austria, we’ll probably be back. We left in the morning
prepared to do battle on the Brenner Pass.
We knew from our maps that we had to climb 4,000+ feet in 20 miles
and worried about The Little Engine That Could.
But it chugged along, downshifting whenever it was necessary, never
quitting or showing any strain. At
some points along the incline it could go no faster than 25 mph in second
gear. Those twenty miles took
a long time but we got to the top, paid our toll, and then relaxed as we
coasted down. Fifteen minutes
later we were in Italy. irst stop, Vipiteno/Szerling,
recommended by Italian campers we met in Augsberg.
Kind of an odd name combination.
Found out that the area belonged to Austria until WWI.
People still spoke German - except for the Italian man who checked
us in. He looked at our passports. They
were issued in June. He was
not sure enough of his English reading to know with certainty that June
was the month he suspected it was. So,
he began counting, showing his fingers.
We stopped him at six. He
looked at the date of birth on the passport.
Again, he counted and when we stopped him, he entered the Italian
name. Then he gave us lots of
instructions in Italian. We
nodded and smiled our thanks. Fortunately
the people in the restaurant that ran the camping place which was part of
a highway stop, complete with hotel, restaurant, tobacco and magazine
store, showers, WC’s, a washing machine and dryer, public phones, and
even an ATM. We were in a paved area
that would hold a couple of hundred rigs, all with electricity.
All around us were the Italian Alps.
There were two well-preserved castles on the surrounding mountains
– and one ruined one. The
only word for this setting is “Wow”.
There was nothing much in town to see, except the very Alpine style
buildings with beautiful flowers. Next stop, Verona, where
we spent two days. The drive there took us through the craggy limestone
Dolomite mountains. Very
pretty. When we registered, we were given a list of the operas being
staged in the Roman Amphitheater. The
scheduled performance that night was Verdi’s “Aida”. Did we want to
go? The price of tickets included a bus ride to the theater and back to
the campground. We had come
during the Opera Festival. After
due consideration, we decided that we couldn’t miss this opportunity.
That meant that we couldn’t go into Verona for the afternoon,
because the bus was scheduled for 5:15.
At that time we were standing at the gate with a large number of
other campers waiting for the bus. Ron
brought a backpack with his cameras and our sandwiches, and I had an
umbrella because the sky looked dark.
It was quite warm, so we didn’t bother with our raincoats.
Big mistake.
The bus was over an hour late –but that left plenty of time. “Aida” didn’t begin until 9pm, as we discovered when we
arrived in the town. We got
to the arena before 7 and picked up our tickets.
The clerk assured Ron that the gates would open in about a half
hour. In that half hour
(which turned out to be considerably longer than 30 minutes), the heavens
opened with a vengeance! We
were grateful for our umbrella, but it really wasn’t enough.
We were soaked to our skin long before they opened the gates.
It was a real crowd scene. Indeed
one young lady fainted and was carried out.
And what a crowd. Absolutely soaked no matter what rain gear they had come with
– and cheerful right up to the time the amphitheater opened the doors.
We were in the first wave of people to get in. We were sitting in The
People’s Seats – marble bleachers from the first century.
We therefore opted to rent cushions.
We could not believe how many people streamed in after those who
had been standing in the rain with us.
We decided that there were thousands.
Uneven steps – some so high that when Adelle tried going down to
leave, she could not do it without help.
Yet people much older than either of us were going up higher into
the theater. It was
absolutely an amazing experience – to view an opera with 15,000 other
people. That’s how many
were there. The acoustics
were good enough so that there were no microphones.
We were very high up and we heard it quite well indeed. The cast
was almost 300 strong and they made a hellofa great chorus.
The scenery, the staging and the lighting was spectacular.
Although the sky was
certainly threatening, it never rained once the performance began.
As night fell, it began to get cold, and we were shaking. We knew
that the last act would not be over until 12:15 because that was when the
bus would meet us. But we
decided to leave at the second intermission, missing the last act.
We thought that there must be open cafes and if not, walking around
on ground level was certainly going to be warmer than sitting still, way
up in the stadium. We left and found
ourselves walking through the main streets of the town with hundreds of
other people. It is a pretty
long street opposite the Arena, lined with restaurants and cafes.
In Verona, everyone comes out to walk around, have coffee, gelato,
a drink, or sit and talk in the late evening.
The procession even has a name – passeggiata.
We ordered hot chocolate to warm us up – and it was delicioso. Then we walked around the way we would have done in the
afternoon, walking around the old town.
Eventually, we met our bus “hostess” and the rest of the
operagoers, and were driven home.
Even though we hadn’t seen the last act, we enjoyed the opera –
especially the triumphant procession at the end of the second act.
The next morning we awoke
to the sound of an incessant conversation in Italian.
A couple in the next site started talking about 7 a.m. and still
had a great deal to say by 9 a.m. They
were talking and laughing at rather high volume.
Italian is a lovely, musical language even though we could not
understand a word of what they were saying.
After listening to this couple for a day or so, Adelle decided that
talking is an Italian National Sport, and this lady is a champion.
It was amazing that they had so much to say to each other.
That afternoon, a caravan parked on the other side of us.
It was owned by a Dutch family with a young daughter.
After their time in the swimming pool, they set out a table with
candles – and they and a friend talked incessantly in Dutch until long
after midnight. So we had point on one side and counter-point on the
other, all evening long. Adelle
had trouble falling asleep that night. The following day we
spent in the city – checking out the sights.
It was a festival day of some kind, so very little was open.
But it was enough. On
Tuesday, we set out for Venice, stopping before we got onto the highway
for fuel and groceries. We
drove up to the Auchon Supermarket, a chain we knew from our first trip in
France, and found we could not go into the parking lot because of a 2
meter high overhead barrier. We
drove on until we found a smaller supermarket and did our shopping.
Then we drove along the side road and found that we could get into
the Auchon parking lot from a different direction.
Our original intention
had been to be in Venice for lunch, and we could have done so if we had
only shopped in the one supermarket. But Auchon is not just a supermarket.
It is an experience. First of all it is huge.
Bigger than most than we’ve seen.
It had about thirty cashiers.
It is a food cum everything else (like Wal Mart) but there is no
comparison when it comes to the food that they carry.
For the first time since we got to Europe, there was a huge fresh
meat section – maybe fifty feet. Then
there were more than one sixty-foot refrigerator case of (1) ham, pates,
sausages, etc., (2) yogurt, (3) hard cheese, (4) soft cheese and much
more. It was unreal. The “deli” counter had fifty feet of prepared
things…salads, olives, etc. But
there was also a huge prepackaged section for each of these things.
We no longer needed food, but that didn’t stop us from buying
some things, and drooling at everything.
It’s the best, except for the Carrefours, another French grocery
chain with stores in Italy. And
we agreed that it was as much fun as anything else we could see or do.
It may cost us as much (or more) than a museum, but it is always
delicious. We had a very
exciting morning. Our biggest problem seems to be that we can’t eat fast enough. Shopping for food either in Food Museums like Auchon or outdoor markets is one of the best parts of being in Europe. We have to restrain ourselves. Oh well. There’s always tomorrow. Adelle and Ron
Adelle and Ron Milavsky, Authors © Adelle and Ron Milavsky, 2005
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