Low-cost midlife crisis

Where we’re staying is not very far from Cinque Terre, this stretch of coastline that people rave about like it is paradise. Five picture perfect villages surrounded by a national park and UNESCO heritage site of incredibly steep hills terraced over the centuries with dry stone walls so that vines and olives can be grown there.

Since we are staying so close, we have train tickets, and the recommended way to go to these places is by train, it seemed like we really should make the effort. So we did.

The coastal railway line spends much more of its route in tunnels than out of them. It in itself should probably get UNESCO designation as it is an incredible feat of engineering – some of the tunnels look so small from the outside you start to wonder whether modern trains will fit through them. A significant number of station platforms are at least partly in tunnels themselves. (Standing on a platform inside a tunnel when a non-stopping express train comes through is quite an experience)

We boarded in Sori and took the train to a place called Sestri Levente, where we changed onto the train that goes through Cinque Terre. As we travelled there were an increasing number of people – mostly, it seemed, Genovese going to the beach at some point down the coast. The trains were busy but not unbearably so. However, this proved deceptive as when we got off in Monterosso, the first of the five Terre, it seemed like far more people were suddenly on the platform than the train could possibly have held. This slow moving stream of people disappeared down the stairs, under the tracks, and back up the other side – to reveal that it was a mere tributary to the much wider river of humanity on the promenade itself. I’ll confess that my first reaction was “why the hell have we come here?”, and my second reaction was more or less the same.

However, having made the trip we persevered. The younger members of the party found a stretch of beach (luckily one of the public bits which are free as opposed to the umbrella/lounger sets which were being offered at €35 which seemed expensive enough but then we were told per hour!) While the energetic oldies set off on the hike to the next village. As this was at about 12.30 in the middle of August this may have been less than advisable but it was good to get out of the crowds (not that the hiking trail was exactly deserted) and see the scenery, which, it has to be said, was pretty spectacular.

Vernazza, the second village was, if anything, even more crowded. Maybe because it was now around 2.30pm. I started wondering how it would be in years when there are even more tourists. After all, this year has seen a big drop off from a lot of countries that usually supply a great many tourists to Europe. China (because Covid), Turkey (economic crisis), Russia (led by a megalomaniacal psycho who has decided to attempt to lay waste to his neighbour), and Ukraine (that neighbour, having the crap bombed out of it by aforementioned fascist scumbag)

It was, in the end a good day out but I did once turn to my partner and say “I wish I was back in Sori” which I guess is not the reaction that the Cinque Terre are supposed to make you feel. Anyway, in case my review is of any use, it is, quite simply “I bet this place is lovely in October”

The only fixed pre-planned part of this trip was a booking at an apartment in the small village of Sori (which is technically within the boundaries of greater Genoa). As a result, today’s train rides involved the 2-hour trip from the epic Milano Centrale station to Genova Piazza Principe, and then three very short hops (two trains and a bus) to get here.

We will be using the interrail tickets on a couple of days, but probably not that much, so, partly to spare you all a bunch of very sorry Sori puns, I probably will be only posting a little the rest of this week. When you see the view from our terrace, you will also see why

– I met a girl on the Ligurian Coast whose face seemed very familiar

– Genoa?

– Turns out that I didn’t. Sori

Would that joke work better with No, Sori at the end? I feel it might. (Of course, there may be some people among you, who think this joke is unsaveable, but you are wrong. I’m not sure if this genre of joke has a name (the Jamaica joke?), but it is one of the finest genres out there.)

We made reservations for the train across the Alps. It was possible to do the journey bit by bit, but in the end the idea of having guaranteed seats all the way to Milan (or as rendered in German, Mailand – I’m not sure if German speakers have some kind of wordplay to help them remember the difference between Mailand and Thailand like with stalactites and stalagmites) was too tempting

Another reason for taking the Germany/Switzerland route as opposed to the French one was because we’d met people in Calais the first time through (father-and-daughter-from-York for those memorising this blog and its cast of characters) who’d raved about how beautiful the line from Zurich to Milan was. So, we took the early train from Stuttgart to Karlsruhe (which staggeringly for a train at 7.30 on a Sunday morning, was full. Who were all these people?), had breakfast there and then boarded our reserved train all the way to Milan. It too was mostly full much of the time, but not overly so, and… well, we had seats. At one stage it was flooded with a large group of football fans who got on at Luzern. I didn’t recognise their team colours and badge – a failing I forgave myself for when I asked one of them and he said they were for SC Kriens, a third division team I’d never heard of, off to play a Swiss Cup game against fifth division Gamborogno-Contone (also unknown to me)

Things for the traveller to note.

1. Italy is the second country that we’ve been in in which mask wearing is mandatory on public transport (though while this was adhered to on the train, it is much less adhered to on public transport in Milan). This led to the odd situation where many people wore masks while they were in Germany, took them off in Basel for the Swiss section and then put them back on again in Como.
2. I knew Switzerland was in Schengen, but wasn’t sure what this would mean for phone roaming charges. Luckily I checked and then when the “Bun venit in Elvetia” message came through (my phone talks to me in Romanian) I checked the prices and mobile data was charged at an incredible rate one hundred times that of the within the EU rate. I made sure the kids knew this as there was no WiFi on the train either.

In other news, this evening I have found parts of Milan that I like. In the past I’d only really been here fleetingly and I realise that I don’t really like the Piazza del Duomo and the roads around it. I mean the buildings are impressive, obviously, but simply not my cup of tea. However we wandered down some quiet back streets and ended up in the Navigli area and suddenly I had encountered a Milan I’d like to return to.

Lille was great as before. Like the anti-Calais. In the morning we set off through cycling country (or at least a part of the world I only know from the names of bike races). Through Roubaix and on to Kortrijk (confusingly rendered as Courtoi by the app). Change there for the Brussels train, where we only had a 5 minute connection time, at a big station. Another advantage of the Internet is that you can find out which platform you need to get to before you get off the previous train.

The next train there though was full and that was our longest leg, just under 3 hours to Frankfurt. I managed to get a seat from Aachen so it wasn’t too bad, but the discomfort of the packed train was a reminder of some of those legs between Hamburg and Copenhagen in the dim and distant past a couple of weeks ago.

Reservations revisited

We are now headed to Italy. The fastest way to get to Italy from Lille is to go through France. French TGV trains are the fastest, it seems, in Europe and the network is really good, covering much of the country. The problem with TGV trains is that they all require reservations, but more crucially those reservations are really expensive. A typical seat reservation will set you back €22 – when you are travelling as a group of 5 that adds up fast. Lille to Nice for example (which would be at least two trains) would probably cost us getting on for €300 on reservations alone – basically the cost of the original interrail ticket.

So, instead we decided to take the slightly longer and slower route through Germany and Switzerland. A lot of this trip seems to involve decisions between the lesser of two evils. Slower trains with more changes and potentially no seat vs high cost reservations. Sleeping with the window open and getting bitten by mosquitoes or being incredibly hot. (On the other hand we do get a lot of positive choices. Shall we go to Denmark or Poland? Malmö or Roskilde for a day trip?)

One more train from Frankfurt took us to Stuttgart, a city I’d never been to before. It was incredibly lively (it was Saturday night and there did seem to be a wine festival occupying much of the middle of the city, but still). One of the richest cities in Europe (it says here) and home of both Mercedes and Porsche. Perhaps this explains the buzz about the place. The hauptbahnhof is a total mess of a construction site, though, and the woman we shared a compartment with from Frankfurt said it had been for years. Perhaps a city built on money from car manufacturers is not in a rush to make the rail travel experience a good one.

The boat was on time. It left exactly on schedule (precisely 7 minutes after we got on) and arrived on time too at 6.30pm. There was a train to Lille at 7.30 and another (the last) at 8.30. It looked like we would get the earlier one which would have been nice. We joined the other foot passengers in the holding area where we had to wait for all the cars and lorries to leave first. I have no idea why this is the case but it is. Another example of the foot passenger as third class citizen.

This particular boat, weirdly, had as many foot passengers as anyone else. There were a few lorries and one or two cars but 59 foot passengers. Well there were supposed to be 59, the problem was that only 58 could be located. We waited and waited, and nobody else showed up. It seemed to me like the most likely explanation was that someone on board had bumped into someone they knew with a car and got a lift. But the officials said that was illegal – but no one mentioned to foot passengers that it was and obviously I have no idea if anyone told drivers. And nearly all the checks in this post Brexit border happen on the side of the Channel that you’re leaving, not when you’re arriving. So, who’d actually know?

Eventually they gave up looking for the fugitive and led us down to the car deck, where the vehicles heading to the UK were already driving on. We waited a bit longer in that car deck smell of petrol and fumes. Eventually a bus arrived and all 59 58 of us piled on. They drove us round the port to the terminal building from where the buses to Calais centre run. We arrived there at precisely 19.15. The last bus left there for the town at… 19.11

So we had been held on the ferry for exactly the right amount of time to miss the last bus. The free bus, no less. Among the 58 there was a lot of tired anger. My inner Karen re-emerged and I accused the woman in charge of deliberately making us miss that bus in some kind of act of spite. She tried to placate people by saying she’d called the taxi company and they would be picking everyone up. Not for free of course. Good business for seemingly the only taxi company in Calais. I’m still angry about this 21 hours later.

We did at least get to Lille because that last train, though pretty early at 20.31, was still catchable after the ferry company stitched us up. But seriously… ouanquères.