Reality...
Paris--Colmar
"Wow, just 30 minutes to reach Germany from France, I bloody love Europe..."
*penny drops as map is finally read arguably 10 years too late and Phoebe learns of Munster, Alsace, France*
Colmar --Strasbourg--Offenberg
*unwanted overnight in Offenberg and a kind stranger to the rescue offering his home (preferable to waiting all night in a train station for 1 AM train) and a phone charger (vital)*
Offenberg--Cologne--Münster, Germany (16 hours later than originally intended).
Münster, ironically enough, is an extremely bike friendly city. Perhaps cycling there would have gone better? It is full of students and for every one of them there is at least two bicycles. It also has a lake which I and two friends rowed in, taking a worryingly long time to realise that our supreme efforts were being put to waste as we 'merrily, merrily, merrily' ...did the motion backwards.
Münster led me to the rebel city of Berlin and with it a trip to a German language production of 'Medea'; not an English surtitle in sight and the word "kinder" being thrown around a lot. I am, at least, familiar enough with the story to know why this was. In Berlin I also took a trip to a Vietnamese market in the suburbs, an abandoned airport, a rather famous wall (beats me) and an interactive museum showcasing some fabulous 60's wallpaper in a mock up East Berlin apartment. Goals.
From the hip and grunge of Berlin I made my way to the Bavarian kingdom of Munich and its little (but wealthy) sister Stanberg with views of the Alps, a lake and a long lost friend met originally on Erasmus in Malta. Munich is also home to a school friend who brilliantly combines both an Irish and a German cultural identity. She was, in other words, a very reliable partner in crime throughout secondary school years.
A too brief stay in Munich and I was on the move again back to a home away from home, Italia.
I learnt on this trip that Italy, as well as containing fantastic people, pizza and wine is also a cycling haven. My route had been planned in typically organised fashion the day before but worked better than a tonno, cippolla pizza (That's a tip, write it down). I got the train to Brescia and spent a delicious evening in this student city's old town; wandering its piazza's and marveling in the wonder that is 'aperetivo' or, in my eyes, 'free food'.
The next morning I set off to Bergamo via lago d'Iseo inclusive of a lake swim, an
octopus sandwich and an encounter with an Italian man who is, apparently, the designer of D&G jewellery. Views on this leg were of picture perfect rolling italian hills dotted with cyprus trees, towers, castles and 2000 year old vineyards bursting with Valcalepio wine producing grapes.
Bergamo's citta alta brought beauty and nostalgia in equal measure with memories of a bittersweet trip four years previously rushing back. The following day's cycle to Milan brought a flat pedal following, for the majority of it, the river Adda and insignificant but idiosyncratic towns along its banks.
This river fed eventually into the Naviglio Martesana (canal) which in turn became Milano's Navigli district and hipster quarter. This area also held my first hostel and that night I dined on pizza with two hostel companions in a restaurant overlooking my watery companion of that day's cycling. Apt.
It is here in Milano that my trip was wrapped up, along with my bike-- packed away in a box for me by the staff of Rossignoli bicycles. It is only now that I'm beginning to scratch beneath the paint and learn more about the brand behind the name: a shop, a bike brand and a store of Milanese pride which survived Mussolini and World War II (when I visited it was surviving Brera's 'design week').
It was also only on this trip, well over my third time visiting the city, that I managed to remove some of the layers of Milan's made up, designer face.
I spent three days hostel hopping, pizza pinching, vintage tram viewing--Milan features the oldest, still active, tram line in the world--and reconnecting with a city that, in previous visits, when I had run away with the circus i.e. toured with a theatre troupe around Italy, had written off as a 'concrete jungle' and a bad smell.
'Milan is design is Milan' is a quote displayed proudly in many corners of the city (and, for that matter, the world). It's correct...to a point, but it's also, thankfully, not the full story. On previous trips I had followed this mantra to a T and so had never veered far from the well trodden path of Corso Vitorio Emmanuele and its spoilt little sisters dripping in Gucci et al and all leading to il Duomo. This time, like a golden retriever wishing to scope out different smells, I learnt to stray and so discovered the charm of the city, which it (and its inhabitants) have in spades.
Before leaving, I shall tantalise you with my Milan tips and in the style of Bridget Jones, a trip tally.
Colonne di San Lorenzo plaza
Tuscan style sandwiches from Antico Vinaio
Coffee looking onto the Porta Ticanese Antica
Tonno et Cipollo Pizza from Berberè
Aperetivo in Porta Venezia (somewhere)
Another Aperetivo in Navigli (anywhere)
Total mileage: 318.07, Units of alcohol consumed: 25, Adaptors lost: 3, Phone chargers lost: 2, Postcards bought: 6, Postcards sent: 0, Advancements thwarted: 3, Wrong trains: 2, Best sunburn: 'L' shape on back, Pure joy: infinite
Conclusion: Forget crying in BMW's...laughing on bicycles and crying in train stations is definitely the way to go.
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