I had considered visiting Venezia again in the day, but after last night's adventure, I decided to pass that up. It's magnificent and everybody should visit it at least once, but it really is a theme park, because it exists purely for arts and tourism. The glory days of La Serenissima were back in history. It's said that many locals have to live outside and commute to work. Instead I decided to visit Vicenza, the city of Palladio.
At the station I found that the trains to Vicenza were actually buses leaving from outside the station. This wasn't apparent in the timetables. And as luck would have it, I got the milk run, which took minor roads and stopped everywhere. Still, I was in no hurry and I got a good tour of the countryside.
At Vicenza, a short walk took me to the gates opening up on Corso Palladio. Even I, with no eye for architecture, could discern that Palladio's buildings are indeed well-proportioned, but unfortunately it was impossible to step far back enough to take undistorted pictures of any but a few, such as the Duomo.
It was an attractive city, but it felt forlorn and not as lively as Padova. That it was Saturday and that the weather was warm might have had something to do with it. Perhaps some people had chosen to shop, and the rest were relaxing at home.
I had a nice asparagus pizza for lunch, washed down with a glass of chardonnay. Now I'm bound to feel drowsy afterwards, I thought, never mind, I can nap in the train. Desert was irresistible cherries.
I ate them in this garden just behind the market.
The train back to Padova was delayed. Why was I not surprised? Back in the hostel, I showered and used up my phone card calling home since I would be leaving Italy the next day.
I went to Brek for the third time, because of the fresh food, the air-conditioning (it was a warm day) and the absence of a cover charge, which many establishments tack on. Then I digested dinner sitting in the piazza. An Italian kid noticed me eating cherries and asked his mother where I had got them.
When it was cooler, I walked to the end of the main street which opened up onto a park. I saw in passing that some wit had altered a street sign from Via Rogati to Via Drogati (I don't know what the Rogati were but Drogati means drug addicts). It really wasn't as dangerous as suggested, but I'm sure that like any city, Padova had some.
From the vans packing up and the detriti on the ground it looked like there had been a market with clothing stalls. In Italy I noticed many clothing shops and stalls run by Chinese. Do Italians really buy that much apparel? Imagine China conquering the world through clothing and variety stores.
There was a fountain and townsfolk out for their passeggiate.
I walked back to the piazza, found myself a gelato desert, and enjoyed the night air until it was late, then called it a night.
I was a little concerned, this being Italy, that the bus might cause me to be late for the train so I left quite a bit of leeway, but as it turned out, I arrived at the station with 25 minutes to spare. It took me a while to find my carriage as it was a 12 car train. Trieste is, after all, the end of the line for this direction so a long distance train such as the one was taking to Padova would have enough cars to pick up many passengers.
The train travelled northwest along the karst giving a good view of the Gulf of Trieste. Eventually we reached the northern end of the gulf where we lost sight of the coast, "rounded the corner" into the "mainland" heading west, and passed Montfalcone. Incidentally Trieste's airport is near Montfalcone due to the lack of land near Trieste. Eventually we arrived at a train junction surrounded by ugly cranes and buildings. This was Mestre, the gateway to Venezia. The train reversed and headed out the other direction to Padova. 20 minutes later we were there.
There was no problem finding the hostel first go, and there were heaps of free beds. I left my backpack and set out to explore the city. Padova claims to be the oldest city in Northern Italy. Certainly it has one of the oldest universities in the West. It's also where, if you recall, Romeo of Verona was exiled to. In the piazza I witnessed an interesting ritual, graduates getting hazed by their friends and family after successfully defending their thesis. A certain amount of physical humiliation (flour, body paint, women's stockings, ski boots, that sort of thing) is involved and the victim is forced to perform outrageous antics such as singing at the top of their voice, bemusing onlookers.
Posters describing the graduates and their degrees are stuck to the window sills. These posters have a large caricature of the person, their degree, with prose, verse and sketches which are often risque.
One of the graduates had done a thesis on the use of TeX, a computer typesetting system I used to know well. I chatted with him for a short while but he was quite occupied, naturally.
Nearby the Friday markets were in full swing and I enjoyed the variety and colour. I bought some fruit here.
I liked Padova better than Bologna. It's neater and more manageable in size. The student population gives the city a youthful spirit.
Back at the hostel I did my laundry and had a shower while waiting for it to dry. Then I put my evening plan into action. First to have an early dinner at Brek (see photo at right) where I had also lunched. This is a pay-by-weight buffet restaurant that serves delicious and healthy food. Then I hopped into the train to Venezia Santa Lucia (SL). The plan was to take a vaporetto all the way down the Grand Canal to Piazza San Marco and take pictures of Venezia by full moon. Brilliant timing, what?
Well, the ride was indeed scenic and I got some good shots, so I'll run with those for a while.
But, as the vaporetto stopped everywhere, it was slow going.
Finally we reached the end of the canal and open water. Piazza San Marco was just around the corner. Oh what a lovely moon.
However, on the basis that it would take me just as much time again to get back to Venezia SL, I had only a few minutes to grab pictures of the piazza.
I fretted all the way back. I raced into the station but my worst fear was true, I had missed the last train that would get me back before the hostel curfew, the 2217, by a few minutes. Bugger, why are Italian trains punctual at departing when you don't want them to be?
Ok, ok, calm down. Next train is the 2257 which is a sleeper, pausing in Padova. I still had the phone card from Perugia with me. I called the hostel and explained why I would be late and the warden said, no problem, I will come around to open the door for you.
There were no seats in the sleeper train so I stood in a corridor while the train gobbled up the kilometres. When a conductor came along and asked me where my compartment was, I explained that I had missed the last train and would get off at Padova. I didn't quite catch what he replied due to the ambient noise, but from the look on his face, it was basically something like ok no worries, but make sure you do get off at Padova. We were there by 2321, but the walk through the city meant that I reached the hostel at 2345. The warden came by and by, and I thanked him profusely, mille grazie. I crept straight into bed after that exciting misadventure.
At the station I found that the trains to Vicenza were actually buses leaving from outside the station. This wasn't apparent in the timetables. And as luck would have it, I got the milk run, which took minor roads and stopped everywhere. Still, I was in no hurry and I got a good tour of the countryside.
At Vicenza, a short walk took me to the gates opening up on Corso Palladio. Even I, with no eye for architecture, could discern that Palladio's buildings are indeed well-proportioned, but unfortunately it was impossible to step far back enough to take undistorted pictures of any but a few, such as the Duomo.
It was an attractive city, but it felt forlorn and not as lively as Padova. That it was Saturday and that the weather was warm might have had something to do with it. Perhaps some people had chosen to shop, and the rest were relaxing at home.
I had a nice asparagus pizza for lunch, washed down with a glass of chardonnay. Now I'm bound to feel drowsy afterwards, I thought, never mind, I can nap in the train. Desert was irresistible cherries.
I ate them in this garden just behind the market.
When it was cooler, I walked to the end of the main street which opened up onto a park. I saw in passing that some wit had altered a street sign from Via Rogati to Via Drogati (I don't know what the Rogati were but Drogati means drug addicts). It really wasn't as dangerous as suggested, but I'm sure that like any city, Padova had some.
From the vans packing up and the detriti on the ground it looked like there had been a market with clothing stalls. In Italy I noticed many clothing shops and stalls run by Chinese. Do Italians really buy that much apparel? Imagine China conquering the world through clothing and variety stores.
There was a fountain and townsfolk out for their passeggiate.
