Aerei, Treni, e Automobili

Four years ago and I would have spent the night. This year I'm staying at home. Four years ago I was stuck in the London Stansted airport for 24 hours and missed two flights. This time, we're doing it at bit more...civilized. Last time, disaster. This time a 2:30 wake-up, a 3:20 bus, and a 6:05 flight. No missed flights, no baggage issues, and best of all: no need to wear 18 articles of clothing like a freak.

"Big bags don't fly." - Fergie

Everything went according to plan. Even the airport was nice. Like, really nice. An acute reminder to myself of my last visit: arriving at the airport the night before my flight instead of paying for a hostel, jostling for position with others trying to get a bench without arm rests to sleep on, and the jackhammers. Oh, the jackhammers! Constantly. All. Night. Long. Well, four years later and I guess the airport beautification construction project is complete because the place looks great. We made it through the security line without a problem and were waiting on the plane for a bit longer than usual. All-of-a-sudden, two of the flight attendants were handed a bag, hoisted up from the tarmac below. They then proceeded to hold it up high at the front of the plane for all to see.

"Ladees and genteelman, vee'd like to hav your attenzion please at zee front of zee plane. Whose bag ees zees?"

"Oh shit!", shouts a guy a few rows back.

Anyone who's flown Ryanair would know that bag was definitely not allowed. I mean, these poor girls were really laboring to keep that bag held up. I had to get a picture of this. And it went on for a few minutes too. No one wanted to claim that bag as their own.

"Eef we do noot have szomeone coming to claim zees bag, zee bag veel NOT be flying weef us!"

Oh the shame... The shame! 

After about 2 minutes, a woman pipes up, "Is there a small white bag in the front pocket?"

Don't play games with us. You know that's your bag, lady.

"I think that might be my bag if there's a white bag in the front pocket."

We all know that's your bag.

The flight attendants knew too, because they had that woman out of her chair and up at the front of the plane in no time. If they made her pay for the bag or kicked her off the plane in general, we'll never know. I wasn't paying attention.

Look at those squircles.

A few hours later, we land in the Treviso airport, just outside of Venice. Just as planned, our Fiat Panda chariot awaits. It's a 5-speed manual, does 0-60 mph in a cool 14.2 seconds, has a 1.2 litre engine with a top speed of 102 mph!

Ever heard of a ‘squircle’? It’s a square with rounded edges, and it’s the inspiration for Panda’s design. But those softer contours don’t just look good. They also improve its aerodynamic efficiency and help you make the most of its spacious interior, with fewer obstructions and inaccessible areas. You just can't make this stuff up - that 'squircle' bit is straight from the Fiat Panda website...

Anyways, we've got the car all loaded up and we're on our way! We try our hands at finding a pizza. I mean, first things first, right? I had activated a phone in London a few days ago and topped it up with some money to use it in Italy. We try Yelp!, but that was a dead end. We try Google, with a bit more luck, and are directed off the autostrade (auto-strade, inter-state? meh.) towards a seemingly dead town. It is a mix of industrial Italy and farmland Italy and it does not have pizza. Well, here's what it is: a town with two closed pizzarias that, according to their posted store hours, should have opened 2 hours ago. Back on the autostrade. Amanda takes a nap.

happy girl with pizza

A few hours later, I hit the end of the autostrade and need to pay at the toll booth for my journey. A few minutes later we start to drive by lakes, ravines, and up into the mountainside. I then veer off the road at the first sign of pizza. After a quick look at the menu in the pizza-serving hotel, we decide on the pizza quattro formaggi - that's a four-cheese pizza for those of you keeping score at home.

Anyways, the guy at the register says no, but I can't imagine why. We ordered this pizza quattro formaggi in perfectly awful Italian and seemingly have enough euros to pay for it. After a few more words from the man behind that counter that go right over our heads, he grabs a pad of paper and writes "12". It's 11:45am. We will wait 15 minutes for your kitchen to open, sir. I order a cappuccino, which is not time-dependent, and waited outside with Amanda. Fifteen minutes later I returned to the counter, head held high, and proceeded to order us our pizza. There was further confusion after a few follow up questions from her in Italian. I returned to the table outside where Amanda was waiting. Unsure as to whether we would be served a four-cheese pizza or whether we would be served four cheese pizzas, I returned victorious to Amanda. The pizza was delivered and the goods were consumed. It was unreal how good that pizza was. Back in the car and off to Corvara! Amanda continues her nap. The Panda climbs onwards, up high into the Dolomite Mountains on our way to Corvara in Badia.

Climbing... Climbing...The Panda and I just keep on climbing and this is shaping up to be one of the most enjoyable drives I've ever had. The scenery is amazing, jagged cliffs fading into the distance as others start to emerge from the vast and ravine laced expanse ahead. The company? Well, Amanda's been laying down trying to sleep in the back seat of the Panda which makes for a quiet journey and it's probably for the best. I'm working this Fiat hard. I mean, really hard. Since selling my six-speed back in The States before moving I've been itching to get behind the wheel of a car. And what better than a 5-speed on hairpin mountain roads? Even if it is a Fiat Panda...

Panda or not, this is one fun drive; we're really flying. Corner? Downshift. Straightaway? Accelerate, pass car, upshift. Corner? Downshift. Bicycle? Veer left. Uphill? Downshift, accelerate, upshift. Corner downhill? Downshift, turn, accelerate, upshift. Backseat? Silence. And every one of these turns is sharp. When I say sharp, I mean sharp.

Your typical stretch of alpine road.

When you've got sheets of rock looming overhead and your turning in your seat, craning your neck to stare at them like a tourist, you start to realize it's probably best to pay attention to the road. I mean, there's hardly any cars on the road, really. It's pretty light traffic all the way with a few bicyclists here and there, but when that massive tour bus comes careening towards you head-on out of a turn on a narrow mountain road with a bicyclist on your right, it gets a bit hairy. It's a good thing my passenger is out cold.

The road to Corvara in Badia.

At this point we're nearing Corvara, driving by towns straight from The Sounds of Music. Forno di Zoldo, Dont, Zoldo Alto, Colle Santa Lucia, Arraba. The signage for each town is in two different languages this close to the Austrian border in Ladinia. Amanda wakes up and I tell her we did Dont. She thinks I'm great I'm sure. Closer... Closer... Closer... aaandddd... We're here! My God. This place. Corvara. Is. Amazing.

And the view from our hotel room?

It's just not even fair.