Love and Hate....and pigs.

Trip Start Jul 02, 2013
Trip End Ongoing

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Flag of Slovenia  , Koper-Capodistria,
Wednesday, October 9, 2013

EM_TY Cont'd:

We came out of the wet white mountain having done 45 minutes of laborious riding and had progressed maybe 20 miles. We pulled out onto a frustrating and dreary trucker road and gunned it, still with Venice in our thoughts. We tried very hard not to hate Italy. We discussed His best traits, conceding we had chosen the route that showed the worst of them. Our diplomatic viewpoint was abruptly rebutted by yet another shower of god-damn rain. We savored the last of our positive attitudes and continued to ride through flat dull towns with muddy paddocks either side, our outfits slowly soaking up the wet.

When the rain started to make that slapping sound and we were wiping our visors with our gloves every 20 seconds - it was time to stop. And we did just that, the first sign that said 'hotel' (Somewhere before Ferrara), we were off the bikes and patrolling the building praying a person saw us and saved us from our misery. It was that kind of taunting that happens when you are so busting to wee and you can see the toilet in the distance, and your body knows it’s near and starts to relax. It was cruel that no one was there. We circled, buzzed, knocked and called out, and eventually (just as we were about to give up) a slow moving old man came towards us like a sea turtle coming ashore. We had the place to ourselves, and huddled inside our room spending the evening drying one item at a time with the hairdryer. It is here that reinforced my main memory of Italy – Pizza in a hotel room. We scoffed it and proceeded to attempt sleep on a bed that was so old, we were scared if we turned the wrong way it would fold in half.

It was with stiff backs and stinky clothes that we left the next morning determined to make it to Venice. I think Italy felt sorry for us, as it stayed dry long enough for us to make some distance, assisted by some pump up music playing through our helmets – we were on a mission. The night before we had looked up accommodation in Venice, and as no hotel offered car/bike parking we thought we would just wing it when we go there. This was a rookie mistake for these two happy-go-lucky non-researcherers. Who knew Venice was a world on water accessible only on foot or boat?! We arrived to Venice, having ridden over the bridge to become internally embarrassed at our lack of knowledge. We then rode back out, and then caught in road works rode back over, and then back out. Just as we were about to loop around and accidently ride back over we saw a hotel near a bus stop, and checked on in!

For the third time on this trip, we were in the prostitute street. They entertained our curiosity while we waited for the bus to take us back over the bridge. When we got off and wandered into the secret world that Venice is, we were taken aback at how invigorating it was. We ignored the three thousand other people, and focused on the images in front of us like we were on a movie set. Venice is slightly inconceivable; it is a city of old buildings resting on each other in order to stay up, which are submerged in water. We roamed in awe through the narrow streets, browsed the shops of masks, food and ancient artifacts.

The network of lanes which weave in and out and over the dividing water are like mole burrows of dark sections and unexpected lively openings. When the sun went down we felt like we had been transported back in time and we should watch out for Jack The Ripper in the midst of the dark passages and eerie air. The truth was we were lost in the dim local part of the ‘island’, not the bright dynamic tourist areas. We walked and walked, relying on our compass like we were back on the bikes navigating the highways. We didn’t have a timeframe to be back at the bus, but there is something spooky about walking through the damp shadows of tall stone structures that are older than your country, while the sounds of water lapping against rocks the only echo to fill the air.

We haphazardly found the bus terminal with the help of strangers and gelato, pleased it was someone else’s turn to take us home for the night. We left late the next day, our bodies not used to emitting so much energy the day before. We had really only ‘planned’ up to Venice, so we left expecting to make it as far as we felt like. And like pressing the repeat button, this happened to be up until the F-ing sky opened its wet sad hell onto us again.

We had followed the coast aiming towards the Balkans, our ultimate destination being Greece by the first of November. We were flying along the roads and laughing in pure connection after absorbing the romance of Venice. And we were so close to loving Italy again too, but He had His vindictive and unforgiving last outpour right as we crossed into Slovenia – "And don’t come back!". Actually, to be honest the only reason I knew we were in Slovenia, was that Tracey went burning through a pedestrian crossing with a man waiting to cross. I was so focused on her mishap that I couldn’t stop in time myself. The consequence was hearing the man’s bellows so close to me that I physically felt his roar on my neck. It wasn’t in Italian, so we must be in Slovenia now.

Like a wet broken record we slipped off the main road in Bertoki and found a hotel. As we idled into the car park we saw a metal cage structure on fire. Upon closer inspection, it was a roasting house, with the carcass of an empty pig rotating on top of the coals. They have actually positioned this on the main road like an advertisement, and being soaked through, it worked for us!

We dragged puddles of water into the foyer with us, checked in and headed to our room to carry out our wet to dry ritual. That evening after hair drying our belongings again, we sat in the restaurant downstairs sipping red wine and discussing the disaster that was Italy. It was also six years since my Dad had passed away. We talked about loss, family, and our appreciation of having each other. This past week had been so draining emotionally for us, that it rivaled the rain storage of Italy.

From the menu I selected the suckling pig feeling risky. It came out looking like a chain-sawed cross-section of pig torso. I don’t know why I thought the one I saw earlier would be merely a display model and mine would be like a sliced pork roast. I guess from our brief stop in Slovenia, they own pigs. I picked at it, went back to our room and pretended not to see the weather forecast for the following day. We had a feeling Slovenia and Italy were besties. 

SIDE NOTE: Due to this gloom, our camera gave up and died. But if you need some proof of our pure hatred of rain - Check this bolg entry. 
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meagan on

oh so sorry you had so much rain!!! I will give you sunshine everyday when you visit me!!! guaranteed!! maybe some dust thrown in but always sunnty and hot here!!!

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