The first day we went to the beach at Gaeta, it was a little cloudy and lonely but beautiful. Cold water and a brisk breeze drove us home to homemade minestrone and warm bread. The next day dawned bright and clear, and the Italians were out in force. Crystal waters were filled with natives and tourists alike. We played four-person volleyball, that mostly consisted of smacking a ball into each other's faces.
After them beach we came in to gnocchi and leftovers, then off to Sperlonga (sp?) for a touring afternoon. A tiny town at the top of a bluff, 30 years ago it consisted of falling down buildings and dirty streets- now it is the paragon of Tourism. We saw some places for rent that cost 350,000,000 for a season, in a one bedroom apartment! Craziness.
We came back to Gaeta for gelato atriginale (artistic gelato) which was DELICIOUS.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Gaeta Day one
Gaeta-
Coming into the tiny city of Gaeta is just about the same as any other tiny Italian town. Slightly decrepit, old, ramshackle buildings with narrow alleyways and winding streets. Expressive, loud people who speak little to no English for the most part, but are willing to be helpful if you plead long enough in broken Italian. Like most Italian towns, the population is mostly older, over 50-somethings, mingling with the younger generation-- the ones too young to get out of the small town yet. The teens, as annoying as they are in any culture or language the world round, wreck havoc with newcomers, generally speaking loudly in rude Italian about how 'the stupid tourists are here again!'.
The town itself is mostly residential, but there are two military sections of town (the Italian and the American) as well as the coast guard and a Scuola Nautica (Boating school). The apartment buildings have plenty of signs "Vendersi" and "Affitasi," to let or to buy. It's a town which thrives off of the, mostly Italian, tourism trade. In late July thru the end of August the streets are packed to bursting with loud Italian tourists, awaiting their chance to brown in the sun and enjoy the beautiful bay waters.
On one side of town lies the Marina, the yacht club, and the specialist boutiques (where an arm, a leg, and your firstborn child are required to buy anything). But in "Gaeta Antica," the historic district, the prices might be the same but the stores more quaint and the roads more winding. One can walk the promenade (built after World War II, when the Germans bombed out most of the buildings in Gaeta Antica) and watch the sunset over the mountains. The lights of the other side of the bay, in WWII the American coast, slowly sparkle and gleam off the crystal waters. Even fog, not uncommon this time of year, can't distract from the innate beauty of the place. The old prison, closed after the last prisoner, a Nazi convicted of killing hundreds, escaped in his wife's suitcase, stands ominously on the bluffs. The tower reaches into the sky like something from the middle ages, and delves down through the mountain, and even further down to below the sea level. Even in the daylight there's an eerie feeling about the place, ominous and dark.
In the residential district, things are quiet for the most part. A four and a half minute walk from the apartment I stayed in the beach spread out like something from an Aegean dream. Slightly cool for the early summer, the water was still calm and clear, if not a little cold for real swimming. Families come, parents sunning and watching their children play in the sand and surf, as gypsies and peddlers walk around with bracelets and trinkets. No one really bothers anyone else, and aside from the Ombrellini renters, the beaches are free.
In the early afternoon we wandered back to the apartment and ate homemade minestrone and frittata, sat around talking of nothing and everything. The couple we're staying with tell stories of their years in the restaurant business, their 59-year marriage, their children, and how it used to be. The best phrase is always "To cut a long story short.." because never once has it shortened a story. Always wandering, but entertaining, stories of pre- and post-war Gaeta fill the tiny kitchen. Windows and doors stand open to catch the breezes as the sounds of everyday life fill the air.
Sure, the sounds of traffic can get tiresome, but the birdsong fills the empty times. Families yelling to one another across the balconies fills the early evening, and the smell of fresh-baked bread and home-cooked dinners floats on the cool evening breeze.
Siesta, a wonderful tradition even in Italy, takes up the lazy afternoons, and gelato runs fill the evenings. Sitting on the balcony at night, sharing a glass of wine and sweet cakes, the world seems quiet and restful, at peace with everything.
Real life will come, hectic as always, but until then, the wonders of Gaeta rest in slow, lazy afternoons and long walks in the evening.
Coming into the tiny city of Gaeta is just about the same as any other tiny Italian town. Slightly decrepit, old, ramshackle buildings with narrow alleyways and winding streets. Expressive, loud people who speak little to no English for the most part, but are willing to be helpful if you plead long enough in broken Italian. Like most Italian towns, the population is mostly older, over 50-somethings, mingling with the younger generation-- the ones too young to get out of the small town yet. The teens, as annoying as they are in any culture or language the world round, wreck havoc with newcomers, generally speaking loudly in rude Italian about how 'the stupid tourists are here again!'.
The town itself is mostly residential, but there are two military sections of town (the Italian and the American) as well as the coast guard and a Scuola Nautica (Boating school). The apartment buildings have plenty of signs "Vendersi" and "Affitasi," to let or to buy. It's a town which thrives off of the, mostly Italian, tourism trade. In late July thru the end of August the streets are packed to bursting with loud Italian tourists, awaiting their chance to brown in the sun and enjoy the beautiful bay waters.
On one side of town lies the Marina, the yacht club, and the specialist boutiques (where an arm, a leg, and your firstborn child are required to buy anything). But in "Gaeta Antica," the historic district, the prices might be the same but the stores more quaint and the roads more winding. One can walk the promenade (built after World War II, when the Germans bombed out most of the buildings in Gaeta Antica) and watch the sunset over the mountains. The lights of the other side of the bay, in WWII the American coast, slowly sparkle and gleam off the crystal waters. Even fog, not uncommon this time of year, can't distract from the innate beauty of the place. The old prison, closed after the last prisoner, a Nazi convicted of killing hundreds, escaped in his wife's suitcase, stands ominously on the bluffs. The tower reaches into the sky like something from the middle ages, and delves down through the mountain, and even further down to below the sea level. Even in the daylight there's an eerie feeling about the place, ominous and dark.
In the residential district, things are quiet for the most part. A four and a half minute walk from the apartment I stayed in the beach spread out like something from an Aegean dream. Slightly cool for the early summer, the water was still calm and clear, if not a little cold for real swimming. Families come, parents sunning and watching their children play in the sand and surf, as gypsies and peddlers walk around with bracelets and trinkets. No one really bothers anyone else, and aside from the Ombrellini renters, the beaches are free.
In the early afternoon we wandered back to the apartment and ate homemade minestrone and frittata, sat around talking of nothing and everything. The couple we're staying with tell stories of their years in the restaurant business, their 59-year marriage, their children, and how it used to be. The best phrase is always "To cut a long story short.." because never once has it shortened a story. Always wandering, but entertaining, stories of pre- and post-war Gaeta fill the tiny kitchen. Windows and doors stand open to catch the breezes as the sounds of everyday life fill the air.
Sure, the sounds of traffic can get tiresome, but the birdsong fills the empty times. Families yelling to one another across the balconies fills the early evening, and the smell of fresh-baked bread and home-cooked dinners floats on the cool evening breeze.
Siesta, a wonderful tradition even in Italy, takes up the lazy afternoons, and gelato runs fill the evenings. Sitting on the balcony at night, sharing a glass of wine and sweet cakes, the world seems quiet and restful, at peace with everything.
Real life will come, hectic as always, but until then, the wonders of Gaeta rest in slow, lazy afternoons and long walks in the evening.
Salerno Woes
Our trip from Salerno to Gaeta was nothing if not unhappy. Never have I been more fed up with Italy, and Italians, than trying to get to Formia. Air and I got up early enough to pack our bags and check out of the hostel, but we stayed at the hostel for the internet, to book the next set of hostels and send off messages and blogs. The Canadian girls, who had been in the same room as us, were looking for hotels in Salerno, absolutely fed up with the disgusting nature of Hostel Koine. I'll get back to it later, but suffice to say I'd never recommend staying in that hostel if you can help it. We were all enjoying the noon-time breeze while we sat there, chatting and working on our various projects, when these two older men came around asking if we wanted American coffee. Now, not just "coffee" like an Italian might say, or even a normal American accent. "Coi-feeee," the Brooklyn/Boston accent from the Sopranos, that Napoli-thug accent. Air and I sat there, stone-silent and ignoring the hell out of them, but the two Canadian girls, to be Southern for a moment here, Bless Their Souls, kept talking to them in what any woman will tell you is the "get the hell away from me" way. The guys didn't take the hint and kept coming back, saying things like "I run a hostel just over there, you should stay. Free breakfast and nice rooms. Always clean." Coming from the man who smells like three-day-old fish and wearing crocs and sweatpants with a man-purse, you know not to even entertain the idea of staying there. The Canadian girl, either brilliant or stupid, asked him "What's the name of your hostel? Why isn't it listed anywhere?" He couldn't answer. No idea what the name was. "Thanks, but we're fine looking at hotels." Smart girls, sort of. There is a certain etiquette for this type of thing, and it's called RUDE AS HELL. Be that person who won't take that sort of thing. Because, girls, if you don't, you entertain a whole world of trouble that you just can't handle. Air and I never once made eye contact, or said anything beyond, "No, grazie." The twits tried to say that they weren't Italian, but refuted their own claims by speaking Italian to each other. We left asap.
After having looked up train times we knew what train we wanted, how to get to the station, we're well versed in buying tickets and even in asking where things are. Air and I are no fools, we might not be the greatest speaker ever, but we can be readily understood and our simplistic sentences, while simplistic, are to the point. We got the tickets from the automated booth, had a wonderfully nice Italian man, who spoke English (one of three in the whole of Salerno), help us find the right binario, and sat there. We were an hour early, giving us plenty of time to make sure the train was running on time, that we were at the right part of the station, and were headed in the right direction. It was 1:30 when the board suddenly changed from binario 2T, to "CAN." CAN is the abbreviation for "cancellare," easy enough even for the untrained to understand.
Air and I took turns waiting with the bags while the other went to ask for help. I went down to the ticket office to ask if the train was canceled, or just late. Possible outcomes (from my experiences) generally ran from blank looks to helpful information. I waited in a line that ran over twenty minutes for five people, and got to the booth with a pre-conjugated sentence. I asked the old man at the booth, "Is the train to Formia canceled, or late?" Blank look. "Is it canceled, like the board says?" Still blank. "Hello? Canceled?" The man takes the ticket, says in mumbled Italian something about binario due. I looked at him, and just snatched the ticket back and walked away. I went to the Passenger Help center, and had to wait as three people asked rapid-fire questions before I could say, in the same terms I asked the other man, if the train was canceled. This man took the ticket, looked up the train number, told me the time of the train and shooed me away. I stood there, near tears at this point because it's hard enough trying to be polite while speaking little Italian let alone trying to understand such fast, southern accented Italian, repeating that I spoke "un po' di'Italiano!" and "Lentamente, per favore, lentamente!" Finally he seemed to understand that I was not Italian, that I was in some distress, and that I didn't understand him. He handed me the ticket, told me, in fast Italian still, to go back to the ticket desk and exchange my ticket for a bus ticket. I asked him two things, "Downstairs?" and "Bus?" because it made no sense. He had three words of English to his name, and one of them was from the words I had just said to him. I took my ticket back to Air, and she and I took the bags down to the ticket office. We stood in line once more to face the same old man, who was just as helpful this time as last. We pointed to the board right behind us and told him, in Italian, that the board said canceled, the other man had said to change tickets, and what should we do? The man was just as helpful as before, "binario due, binario due." We both looked at him, turned around and asked, loudly, if anyone at all spoke English so we could communicate with the (obviously idiotic) man. Blank stares. We went to the automated ticket stand, checked times, went to the Polizia Ferrovia (Station police) who spoke no English as well, asked every single officer we could find as to what we should do. An hour later we were told to head to Naples, or to Rome.
Now, Formia is on the Rome line, not the Naples line, so we tried to get on the next train to Rome, but our tickets were for a different line. The regionale trains, not the intercity ones. We asked the Polizia once more, in Italian, and were shooed away. We asked the next one down the line, and we were blatantly ignored, or so we thought. I followed him and said, loudly and, I admit, rather rudely "ENGLISH. ANYONE ENGLISH? DOES ANYONE HERE SPEAK ENGLISH?" Over and over until he seemed to understand that we needed real help. He brought us to the policeman we had already talked to twice, and finally someone from the rail line came to help. Three men and they couldn't decide if we needed to go to Naples or to Rome. Yeesh.
We finally figured out that we should go to the train for Naples and try to ask once we got to Naples. We asked if we needed to change tickets, and they said yes. So we assumed that meant change tickets at Salerno station, which we weren't going to do. We asked at the train to Naples if we needed to change tickets, and whether or not it was the right course of action, and the nice little old man was the sweetest, most sincere man. He renewed our faith in Italians by saying, "Yes, take train to Naples Centrale, change train to Roma Termini line. Train at 4:36." Wonderful, wonderful man. We asked, almost in tears of relief, if we needed to change tickets there, and he shook his head. We took the train, which left at 3, got into Naples Centrale at 3:45, and went to the customer care center there, asking if we needed to change tickets, and which train to make sure to take. The man was wonderful as well, told us in his broken English that we had were fine, no change necessary, and that the 4:36 was correct. We thanked him profusely, and left to wait for the binario to post.
At this point we'd been carrying our full bags everywhere, were tired, hungry, thirsty, and ready to collapse. At 4:20 I went to look at the departures list, always posted at each train station, which has the Binario numbers for each train, at least which binario the train usually calls from. Since the train hadn't posted yet, we went to the train standing at number 12, the usual for the regionale Roma termini, and asked if it was the 4:36 to Rome. Yes, it was, and we got on immediately. A good thing too, because that train was absolutely packed two minutes later as the board changed and everyone rushed on.
Deflated, Air and I sat quiet and dozing for an hour, knowing that Formia, our stop where C. and T. were waiting for us, normally came up around 5:45. We disembarked and found our friends, and then figured out which bus to take to get to Gaeta. I had to ask the driver where to get tickets, buy the tickets, and get us back to the bus right before it left. We sat on the bus in the back, talking in relief and just resting aching feet and backs. A bunch of annoying teens harassed us a bit, staring and saying nasty things that we pretended not to understand. After we got off the bus (early to avoid the kids) we had a bit of a hike to the place we're staying at, (C.'s grandparent's apartment) but we took it slow. We were greeted by the nicest little old couple I've had the pleasure of meeting in a long time, and that just wiped away the whole ordeal. We had a home cooked meal, went out for gelato, toured around a bit, and had a wonderful evening.
Overall, I'd say that the city of Salerno was nice, Air and I had an easy enough time getting around and making ourselves understood, but the South of Italy is much like the middle of America: they speak one language, and it isn't yours. If you don't know Italian, or aren't comfortable trying to make yourself understood, skip it or make it a day trip.
After having looked up train times we knew what train we wanted, how to get to the station, we're well versed in buying tickets and even in asking where things are. Air and I are no fools, we might not be the greatest speaker ever, but we can be readily understood and our simplistic sentences, while simplistic, are to the point. We got the tickets from the automated booth, had a wonderfully nice Italian man, who spoke English (one of three in the whole of Salerno), help us find the right binario, and sat there. We were an hour early, giving us plenty of time to make sure the train was running on time, that we were at the right part of the station, and were headed in the right direction. It was 1:30 when the board suddenly changed from binario 2T, to "CAN." CAN is the abbreviation for "cancellare," easy enough even for the untrained to understand.
Air and I took turns waiting with the bags while the other went to ask for help. I went down to the ticket office to ask if the train was canceled, or just late. Possible outcomes (from my experiences) generally ran from blank looks to helpful information. I waited in a line that ran over twenty minutes for five people, and got to the booth with a pre-conjugated sentence. I asked the old man at the booth, "Is the train to Formia canceled, or late?" Blank look. "Is it canceled, like the board says?" Still blank. "Hello? Canceled?" The man takes the ticket, says in mumbled Italian something about binario due. I looked at him, and just snatched the ticket back and walked away. I went to the Passenger Help center, and had to wait as three people asked rapid-fire questions before I could say, in the same terms I asked the other man, if the train was canceled. This man took the ticket, looked up the train number, told me the time of the train and shooed me away. I stood there, near tears at this point because it's hard enough trying to be polite while speaking little Italian let alone trying to understand such fast, southern accented Italian, repeating that I spoke "un po' di'Italiano!" and "Lentamente, per favore, lentamente!" Finally he seemed to understand that I was not Italian, that I was in some distress, and that I didn't understand him. He handed me the ticket, told me, in fast Italian still, to go back to the ticket desk and exchange my ticket for a bus ticket. I asked him two things, "Downstairs?" and "Bus?" because it made no sense. He had three words of English to his name, and one of them was from the words I had just said to him. I took my ticket back to Air, and she and I took the bags down to the ticket office. We stood in line once more to face the same old man, who was just as helpful this time as last. We pointed to the board right behind us and told him, in Italian, that the board said canceled, the other man had said to change tickets, and what should we do? The man was just as helpful as before, "binario due, binario due." We both looked at him, turned around and asked, loudly, if anyone at all spoke English so we could communicate with the (obviously idiotic) man. Blank stares. We went to the automated ticket stand, checked times, went to the Polizia Ferrovia (Station police) who spoke no English as well, asked every single officer we could find as to what we should do. An hour later we were told to head to Naples, or to Rome.
Now, Formia is on the Rome line, not the Naples line, so we tried to get on the next train to Rome, but our tickets were for a different line. The regionale trains, not the intercity ones. We asked the Polizia once more, in Italian, and were shooed away. We asked the next one down the line, and we were blatantly ignored, or so we thought. I followed him and said, loudly and, I admit, rather rudely "ENGLISH. ANYONE ENGLISH? DOES ANYONE HERE SPEAK ENGLISH?" Over and over until he seemed to understand that we needed real help. He brought us to the policeman we had already talked to twice, and finally someone from the rail line came to help. Three men and they couldn't decide if we needed to go to Naples or to Rome. Yeesh.
We finally figured out that we should go to the train for Naples and try to ask once we got to Naples. We asked if we needed to change tickets, and they said yes. So we assumed that meant change tickets at Salerno station, which we weren't going to do. We asked at the train to Naples if we needed to change tickets, and whether or not it was the right course of action, and the nice little old man was the sweetest, most sincere man. He renewed our faith in Italians by saying, "Yes, take train to Naples Centrale, change train to Roma Termini line. Train at 4:36." Wonderful, wonderful man. We asked, almost in tears of relief, if we needed to change tickets there, and he shook his head. We took the train, which left at 3, got into Naples Centrale at 3:45, and went to the customer care center there, asking if we needed to change tickets, and which train to make sure to take. The man was wonderful as well, told us in his broken English that we had were fine, no change necessary, and that the 4:36 was correct. We thanked him profusely, and left to wait for the binario to post.
At this point we'd been carrying our full bags everywhere, were tired, hungry, thirsty, and ready to collapse. At 4:20 I went to look at the departures list, always posted at each train station, which has the Binario numbers for each train, at least which binario the train usually calls from. Since the train hadn't posted yet, we went to the train standing at number 12, the usual for the regionale Roma termini, and asked if it was the 4:36 to Rome. Yes, it was, and we got on immediately. A good thing too, because that train was absolutely packed two minutes later as the board changed and everyone rushed on.
Deflated, Air and I sat quiet and dozing for an hour, knowing that Formia, our stop where C. and T. were waiting for us, normally came up around 5:45. We disembarked and found our friends, and then figured out which bus to take to get to Gaeta. I had to ask the driver where to get tickets, buy the tickets, and get us back to the bus right before it left. We sat on the bus in the back, talking in relief and just resting aching feet and backs. A bunch of annoying teens harassed us a bit, staring and saying nasty things that we pretended not to understand. After we got off the bus (early to avoid the kids) we had a bit of a hike to the place we're staying at, (C.'s grandparent's apartment) but we took it slow. We were greeted by the nicest little old couple I've had the pleasure of meeting in a long time, and that just wiped away the whole ordeal. We had a home cooked meal, went out for gelato, toured around a bit, and had a wonderful evening.
Overall, I'd say that the city of Salerno was nice, Air and I had an easy enough time getting around and making ourselves understood, but the South of Italy is much like the middle of America: they speak one language, and it isn't yours. If you don't know Italian, or aren't comfortable trying to make yourself understood, skip it or make it a day trip.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Koine gets a two for cleanliness, actually. Someone pissed all over the floor in not one but TWO of the women's room stalls. NASTY.
Went to Amalfi yesterday, which was rather a letdown in the "beautiful beaches" department, but the views were fantastic. Crystal blue-green water, you could see down for at least ten feet. It was bloody cold though, because we managed to find the freshwater melt stream to swim next to. Aside from freezing for a while, and paying WAY too much to try the fresh lemon gelato (fabulous, by the by, they make it from the lemons grown outside the city!) we had a good time. Tired and a little sore of foot, we took the crazy bus back.
Let me describe this bus ride for you: terrifying and fun at the same time, like a roller coaster. A full size bus filled with people, making its way along the coastline on roads hardly big enough for two cars abreast in places. At each sharp curve and hairpin turn the bus slowed and honked, trying to warn oncoming traffic to give way, but there were several idiots willing to chance their lives, and cars, to go up against the bus. I was seated next to the window on the wall side, so on any given moment I could have, if the windows rolled down, touched the wall only a few inches from my face. The other side is a sheer drop into the ocean, but gorgeous views to be certain.
All along the way there were lemon groves, just private family groves, tiny towns and overly expensive restaurants overlooking the bluffs and ocean. You could see the whole Bay of Naples from the top of the mountains. Amalfi, while being a tourist rip-off, is quite beautiful. I reccomend, for any backpacker especially, to give Amalfi about four hours and then go. Not worth staying the night, nor would I recommend the restaurants if you want to eat for less than thirty euro a person.
Air and I are off to Formia by train, then to Gaeta by bus. We'll be meeting up with C. and his girlfriend, T. Home cooked meals and the ability to see the ocean out of the windows more than makes up for couch and floor sleeping for a few days.
Ciao tutti, and remember: if anything goes weird, if buses run late, if the shops close at seven, that's Italy for you.
Went to Amalfi yesterday, which was rather a letdown in the "beautiful beaches" department, but the views were fantastic. Crystal blue-green water, you could see down for at least ten feet. It was bloody cold though, because we managed to find the freshwater melt stream to swim next to. Aside from freezing for a while, and paying WAY too much to try the fresh lemon gelato (fabulous, by the by, they make it from the lemons grown outside the city!) we had a good time. Tired and a little sore of foot, we took the crazy bus back.
Let me describe this bus ride for you: terrifying and fun at the same time, like a roller coaster. A full size bus filled with people, making its way along the coastline on roads hardly big enough for two cars abreast in places. At each sharp curve and hairpin turn the bus slowed and honked, trying to warn oncoming traffic to give way, but there were several idiots willing to chance their lives, and cars, to go up against the bus. I was seated next to the window on the wall side, so on any given moment I could have, if the windows rolled down, touched the wall only a few inches from my face. The other side is a sheer drop into the ocean, but gorgeous views to be certain.
All along the way there were lemon groves, just private family groves, tiny towns and overly expensive restaurants overlooking the bluffs and ocean. You could see the whole Bay of Naples from the top of the mountains. Amalfi, while being a tourist rip-off, is quite beautiful. I reccomend, for any backpacker especially, to give Amalfi about four hours and then go. Not worth staying the night, nor would I recommend the restaurants if you want to eat for less than thirty euro a person.
Air and I are off to Formia by train, then to Gaeta by bus. We'll be meeting up with C. and his girlfriend, T. Home cooked meals and the ability to see the ocean out of the windows more than makes up for couch and floor sleeping for a few days.
Ciao tutti, and remember: if anything goes weird, if buses run late, if the shops close at seven, that's Italy for you.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
An explanation of grading scale:
Everything goes on a scale of 1-5, one being worst and unreccomended, five being the best and highly reccomended.
The catagories are as follows:
Amenities: Does it have a kitchen, a recroom, wifi, computers, security lockers, maps, etc.
Staff: Is the staff friendly, dot hey speak in more than one language, can they point out points of interest, are they helpful.
Comfort Level: Things like beds, sheets, and cleanliness of bathrooms and kitchens.
Location: Nearby to the train or bus station, noisy city sounds, nearby to points of interest, easy to find or get to.
Fellow Hostelers: Creepy, nice, smelly, friendly etc. Interactivity such as talking or helping out with directions or such adds to the Fellow score.
Everything goes on a scale of 1-5, one being worst and unreccomended, five being the best and highly reccomended.
The catagories are as follows:
Amenities: Does it have a kitchen, a recroom, wifi, computers, security lockers, maps, etc.
Staff: Is the staff friendly, dot hey speak in more than one language, can they point out points of interest, are they helpful.
Comfort Level: Things like beds, sheets, and cleanliness of bathrooms and kitchens.
Location: Nearby to the train or bus station, noisy city sounds, nearby to points of interest, easy to find or get to.
Fellow Hostelers: Creepy, nice, smelly, friendly etc. Interactivity such as talking or helping out with directions or such adds to the Fellow score.
Hostel Koine', Salerno, Italy, is a strange place. Though it posits "VIETATO FUMARE" (no smoking) the whole place smells of ciggarettes as the cleaning ladies smoke in the bathroom, and the people in the streets below send plumes up to the second floor windows.
No kitchen and the 'rec room' is little more than two computers, some chairs and tables, and a tv across from three little vending machines.
The beds are classic IKEA, hard as a board, but clean. They aren't the usual bunks, which is nice. The lockers are great, but some of the drawers that have locks don't ACTUALLY lock. The women's bathroom has one shower stall with five showerheads, so sharing is going to happen at some point. At first hard to find, the directions will eventually get you to the right place. The staff, mostly, are nice and helpful, but the cleaning staff is live-in and rude. Again, they smoke in the ladies' when it is posted not to, but the other staff at least move to the door to the outside before lighting up.
Overall, I give Koine a 3 of 5.
Amenities: 3
Staff: 3
Comfort Level: 3
Location: 3
Fellow Hostelers: 3
No kitchen and the 'rec room' is little more than two computers, some chairs and tables, and a tv across from three little vending machines.
The beds are classic IKEA, hard as a board, but clean. They aren't the usual bunks, which is nice. The lockers are great, but some of the drawers that have locks don't ACTUALLY lock. The women's bathroom has one shower stall with five showerheads, so sharing is going to happen at some point. At first hard to find, the directions will eventually get you to the right place. The staff, mostly, are nice and helpful, but the cleaning staff is live-in and rude. Again, they smoke in the ladies' when it is posted not to, but the other staff at least move to the door to the outside before lighting up.
Overall, I give Koine a 3 of 5.
Amenities: 3
Staff: 3
Comfort Level: 3
Location: 3
Fellow Hostelers: 3
Well then... An interesting set of events has finally culminated in one thing: Italy. We took a plane to Charlotte, NC and hopped from there to London. A seven hour flight with the most ill-mannered stewardesses I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. They ran two drinkservices, one of them with dinner, and then never once came to offer water to those who were not sleeping. Dehydration is not pleasant, especially when you have to hit the ground- literally- running. So Air and I were tired and cramped fromno sleep and a lackof hyrdation, got into Gatwick and hoofed it to the trains. C. stayed in London to meet up with his girlfriend.
After no small confusion, Air and I figured out how to get to Stansted, which involved not only National Rail, but the Tube as well. Luckily we know our way through most of the tube system from last year, so with minimal confusionwe got to Tottenham Hale. Now, we took the Gatwick Express to London, and it was a fairly normal ride. The Stansted Espress was something out of a nightmare; running fast and hard, it had to have been from the early days of trains, a real relic of train tracks! We got out in one piece only to be foiled by Easy Jet. Easy Jet is inexpensive, and you get exactly what you pay for: the absoluteminimum of service. There were over three hundred people in one queue because there was only one attendant. It took an hour to get to the front, after they opened up three more queues.
After a flight in which Air and I both passed out from exhaustion, we ended up in the Naples airport. We were exhausted, smelly, and weighted down with our bags, but none of that mattered when we had finally gotten here! However, the tourist info was wrong about bus times, so we missed the bus and had to wait until seven to grab one. We read our books and watched Doctor Who (yay!) which made the wait more bearable. A long thirty minutes later we were off the bus and in Salerno. With limited confusion, because we both can read some Italian, we foundthe hostel before dark. We promptly took showers and fell asleep for, oh, fourteen hours or so. After kebab and walking along the beach we came back still feeling under the weather. We both realized that part of our problem was dehydration. After several bottiglie di acqua, we are feeling much better. Tonight we will try to get out and about, see some of what goes on in Salerno at night.
The weather is gorgeous, though how the italians wear jeans all the time is beyond me. We leave Salerno in two days to got to Gaeta, then onwards to Milan. We're going to try to go to the Amalfi coast tomorrow, Paestrum or Ercolano maybe as well.
That's all for this round, the keyboard is too awful on this horrid hostel computer, but I'll post again soon :)
After no small confusion, Air and I figured out how to get to Stansted, which involved not only National Rail, but the Tube as well. Luckily we know our way through most of the tube system from last year, so with minimal confusionwe got to Tottenham Hale. Now, we took the Gatwick Express to London, and it was a fairly normal ride. The Stansted Espress was something out of a nightmare; running fast and hard, it had to have been from the early days of trains, a real relic of train tracks! We got out in one piece only to be foiled by Easy Jet. Easy Jet is inexpensive, and you get exactly what you pay for: the absoluteminimum of service. There were over three hundred people in one queue because there was only one attendant. It took an hour to get to the front, after they opened up three more queues.
After a flight in which Air and I both passed out from exhaustion, we ended up in the Naples airport. We were exhausted, smelly, and weighted down with our bags, but none of that mattered when we had finally gotten here! However, the tourist info was wrong about bus times, so we missed the bus and had to wait until seven to grab one. We read our books and watched Doctor Who (yay!) which made the wait more bearable. A long thirty minutes later we were off the bus and in Salerno. With limited confusion, because we both can read some Italian, we foundthe hostel before dark. We promptly took showers and fell asleep for, oh, fourteen hours or so. After kebab and walking along the beach we came back still feeling under the weather. We both realized that part of our problem was dehydration. After several bottiglie di acqua, we are feeling much better. Tonight we will try to get out and about, see some of what goes on in Salerno at night.
The weather is gorgeous, though how the italians wear jeans all the time is beyond me. We leave Salerno in two days to got to Gaeta, then onwards to Milan. We're going to try to go to the Amalfi coast tomorrow, Paestrum or Ercolano maybe as well.
That's all for this round, the keyboard is too awful on this horrid hostel computer, but I'll post again soon :)
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Greetings!
Greetings oh fellow travellers, I am AshesAbroad. A weary traveller who revels in the delights of the new and fascinating. Here you will read about my adventures abroad, both as stories and as a sort of guide to fellow travellers. Reviews of hotels and hostels, of food and drink, of people and fun.
I love to travel and I share that love here with you.
Welcome, friend. Rest your feet a while and enjoy the ride.
"There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works of days and hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred wisions and revisions,
Before the taking of toast and tea.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder 'Do I dare?' and, 'Do I dare?'"
--"The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T. S. Eliot
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