Day Tripper (Varenna - Milano)

Another transit day ... to be honest, dear reader, I have just spent the last half an hour trying to work out why my keyboard kept typing 'TO' when I hit shift 'a'. As always a restart solved the problem, but in my dotage, I can't remember how I was going to begin this post. Except it began with 'A'.

Also, I have no photos specific to this day, so I have substituted some unpublished photos of lakeside towns.

Alora, we did the usual things, packed and tried to eat the left over food so we didn't have to transport things to Milan. We vacated at the appointed time and I returned the keys to the Varenna Holidays office and suggested a couple of things that might be attended to before the next guests arrived. They made notes. Whatever.

First light. San Giorgio in Varenna piazza.

It was still an hour before our train to Milan, so we thought we would burn 5 minutes having an overpriced tourist caffé. It was better than the last espresso we had there. A minor win. With an hour to go before the train, we gathered our luggage and commenced the very brief walk to the station.

Platform 2, from where our train was leaving, was packed with people and luggage. In part because, although there are two platforms, it seems the trains all arrive at and leave from the same platform, regardless of direction.

As we were deciding whether to stay on our side for a while, the train from Milan to Torino arrived. Best use the lift down to the tunnel now, we thought. Once in the tunnel the passengers had commenced flooding down the opposite stairs and occupied the full width of the tunnel. There was no going forward. We shrugged our shoulders, leant against the wall and waited. How long could it take to clear the crowd and we had plenty of time to waste?

The last flowering azaleas at Villa Melzi, Bellagio.

The answer to my previous question was an astounding 10 minutes. So many people. It was a spectator sport, watching people walk towards us and needing to make a decision left or right. In the end, it mattered not, you were delivered to Platform 1. The indecision was delicious and the absolute inability of some to choose was captivating. How do they decide what to wear in the morning?

As the last of the day trippers trickled past, we made our way to the platform. And yes, dear reader, that brings us to today's title, Day Tripper by The Beatles from 1966.

The crowd had only thinned slightly because people were waiting for the Milan train. We moved down towards what would be the back of the train. Jayne scored a seat on the bench next to an Australian from Torquay. The Milano Centrale train arrived (late) and the magically we were left almost alone. The lady from Torquay was replaced by one from Brisbane. Interestingly, we have heard few Australian accents in comparison with other other countries. The English and Americans dominate the tourist numbers.

A Facetime call from home managed to occupy the last of the waiting time, extended because the 11:35am to Milano Centrale also arrived late. As I was heading to board the train, two American women asked me in broken Italian/English where the train was headed. I replied in Italian. How hard was it to say Milano Centrale? One said thank you, the other grazie, to which I replied, prego. I was vastly amused. Yesterday, I was asked for directions to the stazione by a couple of Spanish people. I must be assimilating with my 6 words of Italian.

The church at Vezio. It too was closed.

It was only 4 stops to Milan and we secured a good spot for the bags so it was a relaxing journey. Once disembarked, we located the Freccia desk to inquire, once again, about the published national train strike that is scheduled for October 2, the day we are supposed to be transiting from Milan to Bologna. Once again, our inquiry was met with a puzzled/surprised face. The Freccia lady quickly consulted with her colleague after we explained what we knew via the National Infrastructure Site (clearly we are the only ones who ever look at it). We were assured that any action would only affect regional trains, not the high speed ones so there would be no issue for us,. Come Friday. I guess we will see.

Then, after having been to Milan Central 3 previous times, we finally set foot outside the train station and sailed off to find a luggage store to buy a replacement for my battered, dying suitcase. After a 10 minute walk, once we mastered Google maps, I was in possession of a new bag; not the one I wanted, but it is a Samsonite. Then it was straight down the same street, back past the station to our apartment hotel, Torre Galfa Milano Luxury Apartments.

An infinity fountain, Villa Monastero.

Reception is underground, sort of. From the street level, you descend to an atrium and reception. Carlo welcomed us, completed the required paperwork and hit us up for the tourist tax. It's a thing over here so I don't understand why the Murdoch media carry on a treat when such a tax is proposed in Australia. 

Our apartment wasn't ready so we were directed to a restaurant around the corner. It turned out to be around the corner and well down the street. Il Tavolino was emptying of lunch time diners as we arrived. They were most welcoming and we were soon seated enjoying the coperto before our beers and bruschettone arrived.

Three o'clock check-in arrived and we returned to the hotel. The apartment is probably a comparable size to home if we drop the second bedroom. It is spacious and from the 14th floor there is an expansive view of parts of Milano and floor to ceiling windows. There is a kitchen with most things you would require except a sharp knife and chopping board. And until housekeeping remedy the situation, wineglasses.

Rose, Villa Monastero.

While I'll miss the balcony overlooking Lake Como and the chaos of the ferry terminal, I won't miss the tourist prices down there. We have an Aldi across the road where decent wine can be purchased for less than €2. If you wanted to go big you could pay €5. Our afternoon excursion was to Aldi to stock up on things for dinner and happy hour - sometimes one is the same as the other.

As the sun stained the clouds pink and the strobe lights on the high rise made their presence felt, we enjoyed a light dinner of ciabatta, tomato, cheese and a selection of cold meats. Perhaps there was also wine. OK, there was wine. I'm not going to bang on about the freshness of food or how much tastier and sweeter tomatoes are, take it as read. I don't know what we do to our produce in Australia, but by comparison with most countries I have visited in Europe, our food is bland.

And another transit day was negotiated with relative ease. Tomorrow, The Last Supper. Da Vinci's not mine. And we are meeting a Greeter. More on that later.

Alla prossima.

Wait (Varenna - Bellagio)

Today, dear reader, was Jayne's planned visit to Bellagio. It is only one stop away, on the correct ferry, but yesterday, it was the port where most people disembarked. The original plan was for me to walk down to the ferry terminal and purchase our tix as soon as I awoke. Encouraged by the lack of humanity around the pier yesterday, I opted not to do that.

Poor choice, dear reader. There was a price to be paid. The queue for the ticket office, have I mentioned no ticket machine, was back to the round-a-bout. Clearly this is the link to today's title Wait by the best group ever, The Beatles, from Rubber Soul released in 1965.

We arrived, 20 minutes before our ferry, to join a surprisingly long line. Knowing there would be many people in front of us who wanted to ask (stupid) questions, getting our tickets before the ferry arrived was always going to be touch and go, or line ball if you are from the continent of Trump. Have you renamed it right?

Anyway, time ticked away. The ferry to Menaggio occupied the car wharf. We moved forward, slowly. The Menaggio ferry refused to give way and was now late. Cool. More opportunity to get our ferry. We were now beside the kiosk so I was able to photograph the 'Buy your ticket online' poster. For future reference, you can't. Don't try. Cruel. Jump into the wound. The Menaggio ferry departed and we could see our ferry waiting to dock.

I am unable to caption my real thoughts.

At least they had to unload cars. We inched closer. The ticket window was in sight. The ferry horn blasted across the lake but it was still there. Goal achieved, we reached the window as the second blast from the ferry signaled it was leaving. Oh well, we would have to wait for the next one.

After we had secured round trip tickets, we moved from ticket office to queue, but one of the attendants pointed back away from the car ferry and said the magic word. No, not that one, seriously, dear reader. Bellagio. A passenger ferry, no cars, was arriving at the other end of the pier. This was a happy circumstance and prompted me to reassess the timetable and my interpretation. Now that is a skill that should be taught at school. What are teachers doing these days? Surely there is space in the curriculum to teach students how to read the Lake Como ferry timetable. It's an essential life skill.

Seated on the ferry, it was a 15 minute trip to Bellagio. Similar to yesterday, many people alighted and spilled onto the promenade where many beautiful people were already posing over the breakfast they would photograph but not eat.

Salito Serbelloni.

Down the main street we walked, around the corner and into a shopping strip that was the commencement of the fabled stone pathway. Or something like that. Cobblestoned lanes, roads, paths are de rigueur. Buzz buzz, as Hamlet would say. However, it did excite the masses, and there was a lot of flicking of hair and adjusting of make up and other boorish behavior.

It was time to tourist, so up Salito Serbelloni we went. I tried to get into as many 'influencer' photos as possible and loitered to look at stones just to delay them, as we have been delayed by their self-absorbed behavior. If only I'd brought my lip gloss, I could have taken more time. I mean, I can't toss my hair can I, dear reader?

Unimpressed. You?

At the top of the street, we turned toward the Romanesque St Giorgio Church. It is on the list of 'must do' but is unremarkable in every respect. Except that it is really old. Have I banged on about how Australians get excited because a church is 400 years old? No? Not this trip? I might remind you, dear reader, we have the oldest continuous culture in world at home and we disregard it constantly. But hey, what's 60,000 years of culture and successful land management against a church that bled the locals dry to ensure the ceiling was made of gold? Or a street that was cobbled with river pebbles 2,000 years ago?

This is not a church. It is a home. Cool, huh?

Moving on. We wandered the marvelous cobbled pavement, past stores selling the same thing, to a piazza where we could have breakfast. Coffee and croissant. A church dominated the square, St Giacomo's. In all honesty, I don't remember it now but will dutifully post a picture or two below. Jayne tells me he was beheaded. Makes sense given the stained glass window.

A side altar fresco.

The 'rose' window.

The altar and fresco.

The main reason for our visit to Bellagio was to make to Punta Spartivento, the promontory from which you can view three ways up and down Lake Como. I know you'll be shocked to read this, but there were people with selfie sticks and selfie tri-pods, occupying all the best vantage points. Giving zero fu... I mean being totally unconcerned about anyone else. 

Looking back at Varenna.

We managed to move from one end of the prom to the other, before the two (insert nationality of choice) women had moved from their starting point. FML.

Our next stop was Villa Melzi Giardini. As we have experienced, there was a wide lakeside promenade part of the way to our destination that just disappeared, think cycleways in Sydney, and we were forced on to the road, fighting for space with cars. Nevertheless, we survived and made the gardens.

It started out wide enough.

The Villa Melzi gardens are absolutely beautiful and this is the beginning of autumn, where most of the flowering is over. They have banks of azaleas, larger than I have ever seen, that would be truly spectacular in May. As well as rhododendron trees, the Japanese Maples were adding color as they changed from green to hues of red and the impatiens were still providing a pop of color wherever they were planted. 

The money shot?

Or is this one?

The gardens and lawn areas were spread along the shore of the lake and up the side of the hill. There was, as expected, the ubiquitous grand villa, a chapel and green houses. All very impressive and well worth the cost of admission to assist with the upkeep of such a beautiful estate.

The Villa Melzi.

We then ventured back to town to check out the wine shops we had walked past earlier. No deal. They were, as they say, tourist traps. Very expensive. 

Is there a message in this? A butterfly on a drain.

Alora, we walked back to the pier to await our ferry and return to Varenna. Happily, we did not have to queue first for tickets, as we clutched the prized round trip return tickets in our hands. Once back on familiar turf, we went to our favorite store to purchase some wine and walked home to construct a light dinner of small toasted bread, bruschetta style tomatoes, cheese and cold meats. What a life.

The crowd at the ferry terminal as we watched safely from our balcony.

Alla prossima

I am the Walrus (Lucca, Livorno, Vernazza, Porto Venere)

After a full day exploring, we were pretty ready for bed, dear reader, as the next day was another early start. Immediately after breakfast, we were on the move again; this time, a forty minute drive to the town of Livorno. Here we were to go shopping at the Mercato for all manner of produce in preparation for cooking classes over the next few days.

The market entrance.

The aim was to arrive reasonably early to avoid the crowds and ensure the items on the existing shopping list would still be available. It was Saturday and things would sell out, not to be replenished until early the next week. This was evident in the seafood section where two merchants had already sold out, their display fridges empty.

A place to sit and enjoy a coffee.

First stop was a coffee and after that pick me up, we wended our way through the meat section to select a massive piece of bistecca and then headed for the fish mongers where much deliberation and discussion ended in the purchase of three large fish for tonight's dinner. They were probably sea bass. The price of the seafood surprised me, there were uncooked tiger prawns that were €40 a kg.

Anyone for an eel or two?

Then we headed out of the covered Mercato to the open air produce markets to secure various vegetables, zucchini flowers, 3 kinds of tomatoes... we were quite surprised here because we thought Italian etiquette has always been that you do not touch the produce - you let the vendor select what you want. Here we were handed paper bags to fill for weighing.

Fresh fruit and veg as far as the eye can see.

With this part of the shopping list sorted, we headed back inside to go to the egg providore to buy special eggs with more solid membranes, suitable for poaching (who knew these existed?) and some other eggs for pasta making later in the week. I have never seen egg shells so white.

The egg man (and woman) not the walrus.

I am the Walrus by The Beatles was an obvious choice of song title for today. If you are too young to understand, click on the link.

Then it was off to the olive oil guy for a tasting of his prize winning oil as well as one infused with oranges. The other taste sensation came from a pistachio paste - think Nutella but green. I bought a bottle of the olive oil and will now wrestle with the concept of using it before we head home or tucking it away in the suitcase.

The good oil.

Then we wound back to collect the gutted and cleaned fish and the bistecca after which it was time to drive back to the villa for a cooking class using some of the produce, to create a multi-course dinner for this evening.

Bistecca.

Lunch after shopping.

We were warned that tomorrow would be a big day with an early start so it would be advisable to retire earlier that we had been. Good advice, except that the 'light' dinner became 6 courses and we were still eating dessert after 11pm! Very Italian, I'm sure.

Zucchini flowers.

The sea bass pre-salting.

The salted fish going into the fire.

Dinner service.

Anyway, after an 11:30 pm bedtime, we were on the road the next day at 7:30am, stopping briefly for breakfast at a roadside café. We deftly managed to beat a busload of tourists inside by entering thorough the exit to order our coffee and pastries first. While Jayne was ordering our coffees, the server asked what kind we wanted and she replied, espresso, not Americano which met with loud appreciation from the bus driver who happened to standing behind her.

Once fed, not that we needed it, we headed back to the vans to continue the 90 minute drive to La Spezia where we would catch a sardine tin, I mean train, to Cinque Terre, specifically to Vernazza, the fourth town. Again the early start was to beat the crowds as it was a Sunday.

All went to plan with the drive and the parking and then we headed to the train station to buy tickets to board the train. The ticket queue wasn't too bad but then we went to platform 2 which was already extremely crowded and only became more so as we waited for the train to arrive.

The train was a peak hour crush and required the Tokyo 'pushers' to get people on board. The doors kept trying to close and people pulled them back open. We were travelling in a group of 21 and split into two groups and hit either end of the same carriage. Matt had all of the tickets on one receipt but it was obvious there would be no ticket check on the train. I squeezed on, the doors closed and then they opened again another three or four times as more people crammed into other carriages.

There were no unoccupied seats and the end part of the carriage was blocked at the top of the steps by two women who were clearly not moving to allow anyone else access to the standing room in that aisle. Riomaggiore was the first stop and the first of the five lands. Happily the entire end of the train, including the blockade women, departed. It was one tour group. We moved quickly to the comfort of the seats and relaxed until Vernazza.

Across the bay to the church.

We had some time to wander around or go swimming. We opted for a hydrating beer, dear reader, the more sensible option. While we were sitting and chatting with others from our group, a woman at the next table kept turning to look at us. Weird, I thought. When they stood to leave, the three of them came over and asked if we were Kiwis. The matriarch of the group was originally from New Zealand and couldn't quite tell if we were Kiwis or Aussies. She now resides in Seattle and her daughter and granddaughter also live in the US but in the Carolinas. This was a girls' reunion tour, with the matriarch driving the car from Switzerland to Italy.

Enticing.

Acclimatisation done, we walked back to the train station and checked out the shops on the way back down to the water. A swim was tempting as the heat rose and the water looked more and more inviting, but no. We opted for a seat in the shade and looked up at the mountainside and all the walkers coming in from Monterosso, the fifth town. I even pulled up the blog post from that fateful day Jayne decided to indulge me and walk from one town to the other. I'm still laughing, in a positive, supportive way. After a quick look inside the church. It was dark and unremarkable except for the cat ensconced on the front pew.

A comment on the sermon perhaps.

You are never far from a feed or drink on a tour with Matt and lunchtime came around quickly. Our restaurant was La Belforte, famous for its view. The food and service were excellent as well. Watching the vapid and vacuous climb the stairs, gape at the view and then be told no reservation, no seat, was the best fun I'd had all day. One woman, clearly miffed, whined, "but I only decided this morning". So sad. No seat for you. Or the 20 others who were turned away while we were there.

The restaurant is the top deck.

Happily there was no train ride back; we caught the ferry to Porto Venere and had a relaxing afternoon admiring the villages clinging to the cliffside. We were able to identify the apartment we stayed in at Riomaggiore back in 2017.

Riomaggiore.

The sun was shining, the sky was blue and there was not a cloud in sight. Our day at Cinque Terre was perfect. Porto Venere was a delightful seaside town with some serious fortification and we had some time to kill as Matt, Drew and Alex stayed on the ferry back to La Spezia and were driving from there to pick us up.

The church and castle.

After a walk to the church and the castle we discussed our options. A toilet was my first priority and I was amazed, dear reader, to find a no-charge toilet and then devastated to discover it was a squat. Ahh, memories of working in China.

Eventually a number of us gathered by the water's edge at a bar and enjoyed a beer and chat before the vans arrived to drive us back to Lucca. There was no need for dinner, but we had a 'light' meal anyway. Then bed. Bliss. It was a long day, a 7:30am start and we arrived back around 8pm. Bed was most welcome.

Alla prossima.

When I'm 64 (Sal Salis, Cape Range National Park)

The night was calmer, although colder until the early morning when the wind whipped up again. No drama. The tent stayed anchored to the ground. We heard the sound of distant voices heading off to early morning adventures and dozed on. 

Those voices became the soundtrack to our week. We heard them on the plane up from Perth, on the shuttle to Sal Salis, in the morning as they went on their dawn walk, in the Lodge. I named them Tinnitus because they were always in my head.

Today is Jayne’s birthday (August 19 if you’re reading this out of sync) and the intention is to be as relaxed as possible and just go with whatever takes us. It is also responsible for today's title, When I'm 64 by the best band ever, The Beatles. 

Breakfast was the usual offerings, although this morning we tried the coffee machine. I know, dear reader, there are multitudes of people who believe the new-age machine does good coffee, but I am not among their number. What appeared in a cup this morning, masquerading as an espresso, did little to alter my perspective. I drank it and then opted for a cup of tea.

Stunning every morning.

Following breakfast, we were fitted out for our snorkelling gear, sans wetsuits. The water temperature is remarkably warm and we felt we wouldn’t require them. Back to the tent to change and then it was straight across the sand dune to the water. The reef is less than 10 metres away but the south-north current ensures you need to walk many metres down the beach to allow your snorkel to bring you home. Otherwise, it’s Mauritius or Madagascar, as I’ve heard the guides say.

We walked maybe 500 metres up the beach and then it was into the gutter between the shore and the coral. Mask adjusted, flippers on, into the current, over the coral and let the ocean do the rest. Visibility was still not as good as we’d hoped. The fringing coral was in various states of life or death; it wasn’t easy to tell the difference at times. It’s a spectrum I guess and the opposite ends share some similarities. The coral closest to the shore was covered in sediment which was unsurprising given the current and the nature of the reef.

There was a variety of coral but the abundance and diversity of fish life was astounding. Regardless of whether we were over sand or coral, there were fish. All shapes and sizes and colours. Large schooling fish I would have liked to have taken home for dinner. Trumpeter fish with their oversized beaks. Leather jacket, angel fish, Nemo (well, his relatives) and so many more I didn’t recognise. Magic.

Pretty and  slightly over-exposed.

Back on shore, we retired to our tent for showers and a spot of reading on the verandah. The sun and the breeze ensured our gear dried quickly. The only disturbance was the aircraft. Planes heading out to the reef whale spotting or just sight-seeing and the jets. I assume they were heading for Learmonth which is, after all, a Defence base. And Tinnitus droning away in their tent.

A Nankeen Kestrel falcon.

Sal Salis is one of those resorts where everything is included in the price. Unlike some cruises we’ve been on that profess the same, Sal Salis is the real deal, we paid for nothing after we arrived. An ordinary day offered breakfast, lunch, canapes and dinner with the alcohol cupboard being freely accessed whenever you like. It being Jayne’s birthday, we thought lunch might be nice. The choice was burrata and whatever or bugs and a capsicum (muhammara style) sauce.

Bugs. Wow. Two full bugs with the capsicum sauce and a baguette. I didn’t need to eat that much, but it would have been wasteful not to finish. Absolutely delicious. Even the two corellas that wanted to share my lunch could not distract me. Corellas and bugs despatched, we repaired to the Lodge interior to avoid the sun and consume some more Chardy.

He was uninvited.

Horror of horrors. I pulled the wine bottle from the fridge and commenced to pour. The pour was terminated abruptly with a gasp loud enough for Jayne to hear 15 metres away. Some philistine had returned a red wine bottle to the row of chardonnay and I had inadvertently poured red wine into Jayne’s glass. In my defence, the bottles were similar. And who expects to find a red in the fridge? Even up here.

Lunch done, it was back to the tent for a rest before our next meal. It’s a tough life. OK, maybe I spent time writing this blog and reading. What am I reading you enquire? Evie Wyld’s latest, The Echoes. I wanted to dislike it because I haven’t forgiven the Miles Franklin judges for awarding her the Miles over Flanagan’s Narrow Road to the Deep North. The latter did go on to win the Booker so my judgement was vindicated. Quite like the new book though. About half way through. We’ll see. The ending may disappoint, like that of Immaculate By Anna McGahan. Discuss.

A wine induced afternoon snooze followed (for me) before we raised ourselves and changed for dinner. Another excellent three courses: scallops for entrée, rib eye for main and a white chocolate mousse for dessert. As it was Jayne’s birthday, her mousse came resplendent with a ‘happy birthday’ chocolate disc. And a rousing version of ‘happy birthday’, kicked off by the staff and taken up by the guests.

A starry night.

Back at the tent I attempted some night photography. “Attempted” is the correct verb, dear reader. Over exposed. I blame the full moon and will try again tomorrow night. At least I know how to shoot the stars now, Dave. Sadly, they are not as impressive as the night sky on the Larapinta. There is potential, but not with a full moon.

Too much light from the moon.

Until tomorrow.

In My Life (Hamburg, Germany, part 3)

Our last full day in Hamburg, dear reader, and the weather has promised to be ... as fickle as it has been every other day. Drizzle has been forecast. Again. What is it with drizzle? If you want to rain, then rain. Drizzle is like one eye crying, or a drippy nostril, or Melbourne. It's just not OK. Sorry, where was I? Oh yes, we set out for our last tour of Hamburg. Today the Reeperbahn and surrounding area of St Pauli.

First, to cleanse the soul, there will be culture and religion. Well, a church and a recital hall. Not in that order.

It reflects the surroundings. On a good day.

There were patches of blue as we left the apartment and our planned route had us walk past the Elphi. A photo opportunity that was hampered by the weather the last time we were there. We didn't go inside, I just wanted a couple of photos of the outside from an angle different to that of looking straight down our street. That achieved, we continued towards St  Michaelis.

The spire we later ascended.

In what I have come to expect in Hamburg, the spire was visible from a distance. Another church with a massive heaven-reaching spire. How many churches does one city need? We approached from the side and entered the door to the ubiquitous ticket office. I don't remember the cost of admission, nor do I care. It was totally worth it.

The lady who sold us our ticket enthused about the midday organ recital. Apparently there are five organs. Yep. If you've ever wondered how many organs one church needs, the answer is obviously five. St Michaelis has a huge spire too, not as big as St Nikolai so, to make up for inadequacy in that area, they have five organs. And one of them is HUGE.

The view back to Elphi.

But first, the spire. Unlike St Nikolai, the lift was accessed a couple of stories above ground. Stairs were involved. Also unlike St Nikolai, the viewing platform provided a more expansive view unhindered by barricades or grills. Although there was no sun, there was also no rain, so the view was better than yesterday.

Is that a patch of blue sky?

Then it was down into the dungeon. I mean crypt. A low ceiling and mood lighting contributed to the atmosphere. The constant reminder that you were walking on the tombs of dead people didn't hurt either. The crypt is now used as a regular place to conduct services since it is more intimate for a dwindling congregation than the cavernous space of the main church upstairs. It also houses the 5th "hidden organ" whereas the other four are on display on the mezzanine level upstairs.

The crypt. Keep down low.

Up into the church proper for the organ recital. There was a long introduction (in German) and perhaps some prayers. I stood with everyone else and sat when they did. The first few numbers (that sounds wrong) were played on one of the smaller organs to one side. Ok, the acoustics were good, but I still don't get organ music, except for Ray Manzarek's work with The Doors. And maybe Rick Wakeman.

Johann Bach's son's resting place.

Anyway, after another crafty prayer interlude, our organist swapped machines and sides of the church. The organ on the port side (that's the left facing the front) was larger but still nothing compared to the one that graced the back wall above the entrance. The first time his fingers touched the keys, however, it was apparent the keyboard he was manipulating was for the major organ above the entrance/exit door. The sound reverberated through the building and vibrated through the floor. After the usual churchy dirgey stuff, he let loose with some more upbeat Hollywood musical style number. People's toes were tapping in a very irreverent way. I liked it. Jayne was waiting for the Monty Python crew to soft shoe their way across the apse.

A bigger organ you won't see at the Reeperbahn.

After the recital was over, we were able to fully appreciate the church. The Lutherans split from the Catholic church for a lot of reasons; one was for a more simple form of worship. While I've seen that in evidence elsewhere, this place was next level and could have easily passed as a Catholic church. The soaring white interior, the gold rail around the altar, the pulpit ... for a specifically built protestant church, there didn't seem much to protest about.

The altar. Nothing over the top here.

The pulpit. Or chariot. I'm not sure.

After the soul cleansing, it was time to head off to the Reeperbahn, Hamburg's red light district which is apparently a mecca for hen's parties from across Europe. Having wandered through Amsterdam's equivalent quarter, we were rather underwhelmed by the journey along this supposedly iconic strip. Admittedly, it was rather early in the day for a neighbourhood that does not start to wake up till mid afternoon. Actually it looked pretty seedy and tired and is probably not somewhere we would like to find ourselves after dark.

Classy stuff. Not sure how you join that club.

I've never been a fan of Kings Cross at home, day or night, and the Reeperbahn in daylight is best avoided. There were more homeless men on the street than there were tourists and while we didn't walk the main sidestreet 'where anything goes but beastiality', I don't feel I missed out. The whole experience, like that of finally discovering Beatles Platz, was entirely underwhelming. Maybe it's an age thing. Perhaps I should have come here 45 years ago. Not that I could have afforded the plane fare, let alone the extras offered at the Reeperbahn. And I don't mean a set of steak knives.

Um ... yeah, no comment.

It took a while, but we found the Beatles Platz, unsurprisingly right next to the Beatles Platz Hotel. It was billed as a tribute to the Fab Four with statues positioned on a circular area that is paved to resemble a vinyl record. Words fail me momentarily so, dear reader,  I'll leave you to look at the picture to make your own judgement on whether it was worth the effort. We elected not to go down the side street to the club where it all happened - the Star Club in 1962. Just as well since it has been demolished and replaced by a Thai restaurant and a commemorative wall plaque... disappointing.

WTAF. Stu Sutcliffe out of picture.

After this anti-climax, (see what I did there?) we headed across the Reeperbahn and over to the Police Station, Davidwache, which houses, in an apparently distinctively ceramic tiled building that features frequently in European films and TV series, the constabulary who keep the Reeperbahn inhabitants and visitors under control when they eventually crawl out onto the street. 

Statues in the Fischmarkt area. At least they had fish.

We then walked down towards the waterfront and turned towards the FischMarkt in the hope that it would be operating in some capacity that might yield us a lovely seafood lunch. No such luck - the building was totally devoid of life (sea or land) so we turned and walked back towards our beacon, the Elphi that was shimmering in the distance. On the way, we passed the pier and the entrance to the Elbe Tunnel, a walkway that goes under the water from the mainland to one of the islands, (not ours).

Further along on the pier, we passed a pub and a beer beckoned. After being chided for walking to the bar to order, "What are you doing? We come to the table," we settled in for a schnitzel lunch which happily coincided with the next downpour. A seriously heavy one that saw many passersby join us, although we were dry and they were not. Once the rain had passed, we headed home to plan our transit day. Not the day of sightseeing that we had envisaged.

The guiding light for the walk home.

Ok, title explanation. It had to be a Beatles song given we are in Hamburg and we visited Beatles Platz, as sad as it was. Stu Sutcliffe, the original bass player, was with them in Hamburg and left the band there to pursue art school. In My Life is song of remembrance and an acceptance of change. A lot has changed since The Beatles performed here.

Tomorrow we transit to Berlin. A short train journey in comparison with other trips. Two and half hours doesn't really rate.

Until next time.