Attraverso l’Italia

Snow is on the mountain peaks of the Austrian Alps out my train window. The valley fields are green or a newly plowed under shade of dark brown. The Inn River guides our way. I departed Munich, Germany this morning at 7:30 a.m. This train will take me south, over the mountains, through Austria, and eventually to Verona, Italy where I’ll spend the night. Tomorrow it’s another early morning train, deeper south into Italy, to Puglia and the city of Lecce. It’s there I’ll begin my bicycle journey back north, approximately 900 miles over roughly 30 days.

I’m on an Austrian national train, and it feels like one from the cold war era. Nothing fancy or modern about this train. There’s barely an empty seat, maybe not what one would expect in the middle of April, but it is the spring holiday season, with Easter just around the corner. Apparently it’s a bit of a high holiday season for central Europeans. I found this out the hard way a few weeks ago when I attempted to book my train from Munich to Italy. Not one single space was available for me and my bike on the entirety of the German rail system. Unable to find a ticket online, 30 minutes on hold with Deutsche Bahn and $100 dollar T-Mobile charge later I eventually was able to talk to a ticket agent. Her initial refrains of, “It is not possible. It is not possible,” as she searched the ticket database herself for option after option eventually gave way to an idea of hers to check Austria Rail. “A seat and a spot for your bicycle on a train from Munich to Verona is available,” she told me. I gave her a hearty thank you, hung up and quickly booked the ticket myself online. Problem solved, but not without a healthy share of stress and a fair amount of wondering how I’d salvage my trip if I was unable to get myself and my bike to southern Italy.

I arrived in Munich from Minneapolis on Tuesday. Munich was where I’d been storing my bike, the bike I’d bought while living in Starnberg in 2019 and the bike I’d used to pedal 2,000 kilometers across Germany last summer. Mirjam, a friend and former colleague, had been kind enough to keep my bike in her storage space. My mission in Munich was to claim my bike, take it into the bike shop for a pre-ride inspection, spend a few days with friends, and organize all my gear, some of which I’d also left with Mirjam last summer. I’d be staying with the Schmidts, a family of four from Australia who had also become good friends during my time in Germany.

The last three days have been a whirlwind. My jetlag addled brain, a tinge of culture shock, and anxiety about my bike ride made for more surviving than thriving this time around in Bavaria. I didn’t even make it to a biergarten, which is something, if you know me even just a little bit. I did manage to enjoy several beers with Hans Schmidt, a dinner with the family one night, and pizza out in Starnberg another night with Mirjam and friend Maaike. But my time in the Munich area definitely felt more like business than pleasure.

My bike ride will begin Sunday, as I’ll work my way from Lecce to the Adriatic coast then north. I’m nervous. Pretty stressed out, actually. I wish I could say my predominant emotion right now is excitement, but it isn’t. It’s trepidation, anxiety and fear. And reluctance. A voice inside my head keeps asking, “Why are you doing this, exactly?” I remember hearing this voice last summer, as I was beginning my ride in northern Germany. At the time I’d wondered why I continually and willingly keep putting myself into such challenging positions. Does some deranged part of me, deep down, somehow love bringing stress upon myself? I pushed on, and what gives me solace now, in this moment, is knowing that after a few days on the road last summer, I hit my stride, I loved nearly every minute of the rest of the adventure, and by the end, by the time I reached Austria, I’d had one of the greatest, happiest experiences of my life.

I was chatting with Helen Schmidt the other night. We were talking about our first year teaching together at Munich International School back in 2019. We were reminiscing about the newness of living in Bavaria, the wonderful group of teachers who’d spent so much time together that year. We’d embraced everything Bavaria had to offer, from the biergartens to Oktoberfest to weekends in the Alps to the Christmas markets to Fasching and everything in between. I asked Helen if those things still hold the same charm they did back then. “Yes,” was her answer, but she admitted to not being quite as giddy about them as she was that first year. She told the story of recently attending Starkbierfest, a “strong” beer festival which takes place in Munich every March. She said that while they ended up having a brilliant night, drinking beer together with friends and dancing on tables, earlier in the night she’d had to will herself into her dirndl (her traditional Bavarian dress) and had fought the urge to crash on the couch and stay home.

I took this story as a metaphor for my trip. Planning everything, getting here, getting my bike, taking the train two days to Italy, then embarking on an adventure into the unknown. It’s all a bit like Helen reluctantly getting into that dirndl. It’s a lot of work, and part of me wishes I was back home on the couch. But, if all goes according to plan and if the past is prologue, I’ll soon be tipping back the beers and dancing on tables.

I’ll have a bit of time this afternoon and evening to enjoy Verona if I choose to, but like Munich this time around, Verona is simply a pit stop on the way to the eventual purpose for my time here. I may just decide to grab some food and rest in my hotel, trading perhaps an enjoyable night in a city I’ve never visited for a good night’s sleep. I might need it considering I have another very early train tomorrow morning.

On Sunday the ride will begin. I’m cycling a day and a half along the coast before I begin heading inland, north and west along a route to Rome. I’ll be mostly following EuroVelo 5, the Via Francigena, one of a dozen or so major European cycling routes. If I choose, I could continue on the route all the way through Switzerland and into France. But after Rome, I’ll leave this path and head north to Florence along EuroVelo 7, the Sun Route. Eventually I’ll make my way back east, across the Apennine mountains, at which time I’ll link up with EuroVelo 8, the Mediterranean Route to Venice and beyond.  Or… I’ll scrap all of this and pivot to a different plan. I have a vision for this trip, but I also want to go with the flow and be open and willing to adjust things should I want or need to.

Our train has just entered Italy. I haven’t been in this country since 1998, a crazy long time ago. I think it’s time to settle back and get ready for Verona. Wish me well and keep me in your thoughts. My dirndl is only halfway on, and the table dancing still feels a long way off.