Mamma Mia (Matera - Bari - Napoli)

Transit days, dear reader, are always a step from disaster. No matter how hard I try to have every detail nailed down, I am unable to control all the moving parts. Our last transit commenced unhappily with a no show taxi and this one began well and ended well, but the middle was very messy and provided a lot of uncertainty. (Reading over this I didn't anticipate this post would be so long, sorry. Perhaps it is a form of catharsis. It was a very stressful day.)

First let's deal with the title. I am not a fan of the Swedish group, now, or in their first iteration. Therefore, I have not bothered to hyperlink the song. However, 'mamma mia' is such a quintessential Italian expression and it suited today's experience. It can describe shock, awe, regret, confusion, surprise, happiness ... a multitude of feelings. All of which we felt at some stage today.

The day began well enough. We woke up, always a good start. Breakfast was at our usual café, the weather was cooler and there was mist on the surrounding hills. We were packed and ready to go in good time, so much so that we had time for a call home.

There are only flowers until Sorrento to help keep calm.

It was just over a 2km walk to the bus terminal. The apartment had to be vacated by 10am and we had decided to soak up some time walking, rather than catch a taxi. The open wound left by being stranded in Lecce was still raw. As we were leaving, we received a FlixBus update, our bus had been delayed and the 11:15am departure would now be 11:20. We shrugged, so we would wait la little longer at the terminal.

The walk was quite straight forward, literally. There was a turn after 100 metres or so and another with 200 metres remaining. Most of it was downhill and we had time. We arrived at the terminal, such a grand term, 'terminal', which does not really describe the square where the buses stopped to disgorge their passengers and ingest others. It was several square metres of tar, divided by concrete platforms. There was a demountable toilet block, for the brave only and a vast area that was once grass and was now unkempt, weed ridden and strewn with rubbish. The only permanent building had long been unoccupied. Picturesque it was not. Mumma mia.

By the time we arrived at the terminal, our bus had been rescheduled for 11:55am. It was an hour or so to Bari where we had a connecting bus to Napoli at 1:30pm. Time was still on our side. FlixBus continued to be of major assistance by sending and resending notifications of the arrival time of our bus. Despite the fact that I could track it in real time and knew it was nowhere near us. My favourite was "buckle up for your trip". If only I was on the bus ... mumma mia.

Breathe.

The scheduled arrival time at Bari was still listed as 12:50pm. I started searching for alternate means of transport from Bari to Napoli. I checked the FlixBus App. Apparently their system would rebook us on the next available bus if we missed a booked ride as a result of their failure to meet scheduled connections that were made on the one ticket. That was our situation. What a fool believes also could have the title of this post.

The 11:15am bus to Bari finally arrived at 12:45pm. The only way we would make our connection would be if it was also running late. That was entirely possible, given our experiences with FlixBus. We encountered heavy traffic heading into Bari. As we passed the exit point of the terminal, our bus to Napoli, the 1574, was leaving. In the end, we missed the connection by 10 minutes. Mumma mia.

When questioned about our predicament, the FlixBus staff suddenly had lost their English. Alora, I put my ear buds in for direct translation and the best I got was "sorry" and "go to the office". In the queue in the office, I was checking email and the spam folder; no message from FlixBus re-booking us, as per their published policies and procedures. Why? Because the staff on our bus had not updated their arrival time, so according to the system, we were arriving in Bari at 12:50, three minutes after we left Matera. Mumma mia. Time travel.

There were begonias everywhere. An old school plant at home.

We finally reached the front of the queue at the office to be told little more than the next FlixBus to Napoli leaves at 2:25pm and you need to buy tickets quickly because there are not many seats left. They could have sold us tickets but didn't offer. I purchased tickets on the App which I later discovered used dynamic pricing. One ticket was almost twice the price of the other. Seated next to each other.

Before all of this unfolded, I had debated whether to rely on public transport in Napoli to get to Sorrento because our accommodation is only 5 minutes from the station. €130 for a transfer against the train ticket price was a serious consideration. In the end, I had booked the transfer which we would now have to reorganise because our arrival time in Napoli would now be 6pm, not 4:30pm. It also meant we would incur a €20 late check-in fee. Mumma mia.

Adrenalin levels were already high when the bus arrived, early. Mumma mia. I checked it was our bus, despite the sign saying it was going back to Matera, and asked the driver to open the luggage area on the other side because the only open one was full. No, was the reply. He pointed to the almost full storage space and said Napoli. We have two medium sized suitcases that forced others out of the way to the other side, the one he wouldn't open.

Relax.

Finally, we were seated, waiting and watched as this rude, arrogant man pushed around his passengers as if he was some feudal king and we were serfs. Just prior to 2:25pm, there was an issue with the seating and he ordered one man off the bus, grabbing his phone to check his ticket. I don't know what was happening, but I do know the man in question had a ticket on his phone. Having had our seats for the previous journey re-allocated I wondered if this was the issue. I also wondered how much of this pugnacious attitude was due the man's colour. Anyway, 15 minutes later, he was back on the bus in a seat in the next row and finally we left, late. Mumma mia.

I've had some interesting bus rides in my life, but this one comes out on top. I didn't need to see the speedo to know he was speeding. We passed cars, trucks and other buses. The motorway to Napoli can be windy in sections and centrifugal force told me we were going too fast around bends in a vehicle that size. We could hear the luggage sliding around in the hold below us. Reaching Napoli was a joyful experience. Mumma mia.

Collecting the luggage was like attending the Aldi snow gear sale, except there was no 'special aisle'. People were jockeying for position, unable to reach their bags and pushing others aside, dropping them on the pavement. The bags, not the people. It was the best of humanity. Mumma mia.

Focus.

Our driver, Serafina, was waiting for us and we were soon inside the safety of her Mercedes as she battled the Napoli traffic. Bravery comes in many forms, dear reader. Driving a car in Naples in peak hour rates very highly on the bravery scale. Mumma mia.

The drive to Sorrento seemed to take forever. There were a number of contributing factors. First, peak hour traffic in Napoli. Second, a contra flow that has been in existence for a very long time, a "work in progress" it was explained. We sat in a line of traffic for over 25 minutes. Mumma mia. It wouldn't be tolerated in Sydney. Finally, Sorrento is on the coast and needs to be accessed by a series of very narrow (I would say single lane) roads that wind along the coast line.

This is not the place to comment on the specifics of the journey, but over a glass of wine, or a beer, we will divulge all. Mumma mia!!

Every time we passed a small community, I thought we might be there, but no. Our progress was being communicated by phone to our host who was clearly wanting to head home. And then suddenly there were lights and people and a populated piazza. We had arrived. It was 7:45pm and we had left our accommodation in Matera at 10:00am. Mumma mia.

The view from our balcony on a stormy Sorrento night.

We were given an overview of the apartment, how to get in and out, it's all codes, mumma mia, and lots of other things I have since forgotten. It had been a long day. Tourist tax paid, late check-in fee paid, we bid farewell to our host as she disappeared and we unpacked a few vitals and headed into Sorrento's old town for dinner.

That walk occupied all of three minutes and we dined at the first place we came across because they had a table and we were tired. The waiter proved to be most entertaining, the wine was even better and the food was passable. The whining dog at the next table, no, not a euphemism, was as annoying as the teenager who kept flicking her long hair towards us and our food. Her chair was so close she could have joined us if she turned the other way A pity I don't smoke anymore, a cigarette lighter near her hair would have been ... mumma mia.

Alla prossima.

 

Arrival (Stockholm, Sweden part 1)

The day commenced as usual, dear reader, enjoying the Hotel Continental's most excellent croissant at breakfast and then back to our room for the final pack. My snow jacket was already vacuum packed and since we had generated some washing, that was vacuum packed as well. Aside from the packing cells, this has been a game changer for us.

Sentral Station - Oslo

Once again we decided to brave the weather and the paving and drag our bags to the station via a souvenir store. We needed to drop in the tax refund form for Jayne's Pandora. That was the only aside and we arrived at the station with 15 minutes to spare. A well timed walk. Almost.

Our, not so fast stationary train.

It was at this point, dear reader, that SJ, the Swedish train company, began to resemble Qantas. Not in a good way. Well that's true, there is probably no good way to resemble Qantas these days. Our train was delayed by exactly 1 hour. We found a place inside the terminal where we could safely park our bags and sit in the relative warmth out of harm's way. Jayne sat patiently. I prowled like the tiger outside the station.

Pictures from a train window.

My pacing didn't help. The departure time was unchanged. 20 minutes before the scheduled time, we left the terminal, walked to the platform and to our carriage to line up with everyone else. The doors finally opened 10 minutes prior to the advertised departure. And no, we didn't leave then either. Once on board, bags stowed, an announcement was made about the late arrival last evening and the need for the staff to have sufficient sleep. I believe Qantas refers to this as 'operational issues'. Finally the train left the station 1 hour and 20 minutes late with the promise that those of us who had connections in Stockholm would be looked after. That did not include those of us who were walking to our next destination.

Somewhere in a frozen wonderland.

The only excitement in the journey was when we rounded a corner and a loud bang was heard. As Jayne had the aisle seat, I asked if our suitcase was OK. She peered down the corridor and said, "I can't see it. It must be OK." Later I found this not to be the case (hahaha, the pun master) as our large red suitcase was touring the front of the carriage on its own recognisance. The only solution, given it has no wheel locks,  was to hoist it up into the luggage rack and lay it flat.

A house.

Given we left Oslo late, the original train schedule was out. This meant stopping on sidings to allow other very fast trains right of way in the opposite direction. This put us further behind, despite reaching a top ear-popping speed of 201 kmh. We made Stockholm, eventually, almost 2 and a half hours late. The sun had set. It was cold. We had no real idea about where we were going.

Somewhere. I don't know or care. I want to be off this train.

That leads us, inexorably, to today's title and an apology. Sorry, I mean explanation. Arrival, by ABBA. Yes, I know. It won't happen again dear reader. No more detail. It should be self evident. If you really want to hear the music, it is music, no lyrics. Some clown on Youtube said this is the music you'll hear entering paradise. If that is the case, I'm glad I'm an unbeliever. Knock yourself out. Enjoy is not the word.

Stockholm

Did that deter us? Not a bit. We wheeled our bags to an information person who had as little idea as we did. His directions proved, well, as reliable as an SJ train timetable. Even Declan, our GPS voice, struggled.

Once again I found that quaint, cobble-stoned or paved streets are wonderful for tourist brochures and photo opportunities, but they are in fact shit for tourists dragging bags. My right arm is now longer than my left. I need to remember to swap the bags over for the reverse journey. Symmetry is everything dear reader. Just like in Georgian architecture. Trust me, I just know.

We eventually found our way to our AirBnB. The door and key safe codes worked, the lights were on, it was warm inside. There was a bed and wifi. Sure there was no alcohol because the bottle shops close at 6pm, but we still had a Mars Bar, chocolate covered licorice, peanuts and some tea bags. Who could ask for anything more? Yeah, OK, but just don't.

The noise from the street was alarming. Narrow paved streets lined by tall buildings means that noise is amplified and reverberates. Happily the noise subsided as the local bars closed. There was one clown around 3am but he was on his own and pleading on his phone. All was quiet until just before 6am and the garbage truck arrived. That was it. No more sleep. Wheelie bins on cobblestones. The noise went on. And on. And on. Culminating in the bottle disposal from the restaurant or bar across the street. It was like recycling night at home.

Gamla Stan

The next day we awoke to snow. Not so exciting because it was extremely light. Eventually it became sleet and then drizzle and almost stopped. All unforecast, but, whatever. We found one of the recommended bakeries for breakfast down by the water. Pastries were good. Coffee was excellent, the best I've had since home. We also purchased a baguette to consume later in the day.

Our street and our windows and doorway on the right.

Stockholm has already found a place in our hearts and we will be back, probably in summer when the points of interest have more accessibility. And Jayne isn't required to wear her snow jacket, although we have learned to work with the weather.

In an attempt to channel France, we went in search of food to go with our baguette. There was no marché so we had to settle for a Coop supermarket where an angry man was cleaning the floor while people tried to shop. Seriously, clean the floors out of hours otherwise shoppers are going to walk muddy prints over the floor you've just cleaned. Again and again. Regardless, we were equipped with ham, cheese and tomato to go with our baguette. This would be our cheapest meal in Scandinavia to date.

They are our rooms above the shop.

It was then the serious search commenced. In Sweden, wine sales are government controlled. No idea why. To purchase for home consumption, you have to find a Systembolaget. No French dinner, peasant or otherwise, is complete without wine. There are no Systembolagets in the old town; it is an island of restaurants, cafés, boutique shops and the palace. Did I mention the quaint cobblestone streets?

The drizzle continued as we headed for one of the bridges to cross to the mercantile centre of Stockholm. It was only a 20 minute walk, dear reader, and one of interest. Stockholm, like Paris, has something to marvel at, every time you turn a corner. There were many photo ops despite needing to put on a beanie and gloves.

Oh happy day, we found the Systembolaget. What's more, it is cheaper than buying wine in Norway. Long live socialist control in Sweden. We purchased a French white and rosé and two Italian reds for $70AUD. Bargain.

NK

Just next door to where the bottle shop was located was NK department store. Excited? Me neither. It's a thing over here, like Bloomingdale's in New York or Harrods in London. Or, as it turned out, DJ's in Sydney. In fact it resembled DJ's very much. Mostly designer brand shop fronts under the one roof, all franchises I assume. 

The Palace.

Apparently there is a view from the top floor. Up we go on the escalator, floor to floor just like David Jones until we reach the point of no return. And no view. Unless it was from one of the numerous cafés that inhabited each floor.

It was a nice store if you have money to  burn. Otherwise no view and no sale. Back out on the street, we made our way back to Gamla Stan by a slightly different way. Across the river, past the parliament and the palace.

Sentral Station - Stockholm

For our afternoon's entertainment, we walked back to the station. Walking from there at night, not really understanding where we were going wasn't helpful. In daylight, we were there in less than 20 minutes. Good to know. Inside there were the 'restaurants' you'd expect in Australia. Fast food rubbish and one genuine restaurant. There were signs to various platforms. Sorry, tracks. A language difference.

River life.

We needed track 10. There were signs for Tracks 11-19. And also for Tracks 1-8. close, but no. Then  we spotted the sign for Track 10. Cool, we know where we are headed on departure day. Curiously we could not see Track 9 anywhere.  And we looked. We actually lapped the interior of the station building. A mystery it remains. Perhaps we will stumble upon it as we depart Stockholm, or it belongs in Harry Potter folklore.

We timed the return journey - wouldn't want to be late for a SJ train. They're always on time.

A fast flowing river.

Back home, we enjoyed our first night of true relaxation since we left Australia. No fancy dinner, no restaurant, no other travellers to dance around or pretend to care about. We had wine with cheese, tomato and ham on a baguette in the comfort of our own 500 year old apartment. More on that later.

Good night.

Until next time.