Back in the Saddle

I’m on a train, bound for Rome. Yes, Rome, and yes I’ll be there for the funeral of Pope Francis tomorrow – Saturday. Crazy idea? Well, maybe. I’m sure the city is going to be nuts, and I’m not sure I’ll go through the effort to try and attend the mass at St. Peter’s Square. But, I’ll be in the city and I imagine there will be a vibe no matter where I end up. I’ll be staying with Dmitry, a Warm Showers host, about 15 miles outside the city. I have no idea what to expect or how much I’ll actually end up immersing myself in the madness, but I’ll be there.

After my route realignment from last Saturday, I had two rest days in the gorgeous coastal city of Barletta and then I’ve been cycling along or close to the Adriatic Sea in southeastern Italy for the past three. It’s been a mix of beautiful seaside towns and some inland cycling through rolling hills, past vineyards and farm fields. Like nearly every day of this adventure so far, each ride has felt like a quest. The cycling in the south of Italy has felt like a microcosm of southern Italian culture. A bit chaotic, sometimes poorly organized, very unpredictable, but gorgeous, welcoming, open, and with wonderful surprises around every corner. No day is void of terrible roads, roads that are not actually roads but dead ends and u-turns, and stretches of roads with heavy traffic and narrow shoulders. But, that’s about one quarter to one third of the time. The rest of the time it’s stunning, traffic-free roads with vistas that never get old. The numerous climbs are worth the views from the summit and the ride back down the hill. And I’ve been very lucky, lately, with the weather. Sunshine and very limited winds. Great cycling weather.

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The people here never cease to amaze. I’ve encountered so many wonderful, kind, local people along the way, many of whom speak very limited English but do their best to give me a hearty hello and pass on their well wishes for my journey. There was host Ricardo at my B&B in Barletta who kept me company every morning during breakfast with rich conversations about Italian culture, religion, travel and a whole lot more. There was Rosaria in Candela who arranged for a car to bring me into the city Friday night and who gave me beers and snacks for the road at no cost, no questions asked. There was gregarious Enzo, owner of the gas station bar where I stopped for a coffee yesterday morning. He loved my bike jersey and was so happy to hear I’d come here all the way from America. Then there was Mauricio at a cafe in San Severo Wednesday afternoon, who also pointed out my journey from one table over and peppered me with questions in Italian for 20 minutes. The young woman behind the counter served as our interpreter. When he left he gave me a hearty handshake, we captured a selfie, then he stood on his tip-toes and gave me a kiss on the cheek. In addition, there have been numerous Italians who’ve given me smiles with “ciaos” and “buongiornos” and “buona seras” at every turn.

The afternoon rest period is a real thing and it’s alive and well in southern Italy. Most days I’ve been pulling into town around 2:00 or 3:00, and most days I’ve arrived to a ghost town. It surprised me at first, thinking that the cities were dead, but I quickly learned that by about 5:00 or 6:00 the cities come to life and the strolling begins. Late afternoon is time for a walk or a sit down for a small coffee. It’s families and friends, the places alive with people living the good life and desiring to be out, in the company of neighbors or fellow holiday-goers. It’s a wonderful thing. I absolutely love it. Then comes the dinner hour – usually between 8:00-10:00 – followed by another period of strolling. Perhaps another coffee, but more likely a gelato and some slow walking. I could definitely get used to the pace of life here, and it makes me a bit sad to think this convivial culture of strolling, getting out into the streets every afternoon and evening, is sadly lacking in most American cities.

Yesterday was Termoli, another beautiful beach and port town along the Adriatic. It marked what I feel is a symbolic ending to Part 1 of my bike journey. Because I hopped a train this morning, and because I’m leaving the south behind and will be biking out of Rome Sunday into the more touristy, northern parts of Italy including Lazio, Tuscany, and Umbria, I believe the biking, and the culture, will be quite different from what I’ve experienced so far. Every Italian I’ve spoken to, and cyclists I’ve chatted with online, have told me that the roads and the cycling culture are more established north of Rome. I don’t doubt I’ll still experience some chaos, and for sure some steep climbs, but I’m hopeful I’ll deal with fewer busy highways and fewer dead ends.

It’s sad, though, at the same time. I haven’t loved all of the cycling between each destination so far, but each city I’ve visited here in the south has been amazing. And I’ve already mentioned the people. Nothing but warmth and kindness. Also, I’m a rarity here. I feel alone among my fellow tourists, most of them local and very, very few international. This, I think, explains the hearty handshakes, the numerous questions, and the pecks on the cheek. I like being in a place largely off the international tourist path. I love being just among Italians. And I imagine when I enter Tuscany and Umbria, much of that will change. What I’ll gain in perhaps more consistent roads and better cycling I may lose in genuine, somewhat untouched Italy. So it’s with a tear that I say goodbye to southern Italy, but with a smile to be heading to the equally beautiful north.

Last night I celebrated the ending of Part 1 with two large Peroni beers, a trip to the grocery store for some snacks, a stroll on the beach, and some time to savor the sunset – yes, even though the majority of this part of Italy faces east, I was in a place that juts out in the sea, providing a western-facing view and my first glimpse of a seaside sunset. I had dinner at my pension, a 30 Euro fixed-price meal that included a first course of risotto with seafood, a second course of grilled fish, a side of salty, fried potatoes, a half liter of white wine, a large bottle of fizzy water, and a small espresso to end the meal. It was fantastic. Utterly. I’ve eaten and drank well during my time in Italy.

The day before yesterday was San Severo, a largely unspectacular town but one that provided some good rest and a bit of evening strolling. I opted for a quick, easy dinner at a little counter-service pizzeria. The pizzas were laid out under the counter, on large sheet pans. You tell the young man which pizzas you want and he uses a scissors to cut apart the giant rectangle into smaller slices. Then he takes your slices to a scale and you pay by the kilo, not the slice. Ingenious!

On my ride into San Severo that day I encountered a rural traffic jam. Not of cars, but of goats. A whole herd of them, clattering bells around the necks, mostly black and with horns intact, being shepherded by a boy of about 14 years and his dogs, guiding the goats down the road. I held back, in no rush, happy to take in the scene. From time to time a goat would dive into the ditches or the fields for a quick nibble on some grass or farm crops. They didn’t get long, though, as the young boy would quickly pepper them with rocks or sticks and hollers to get back onto the road. I followed behind for about 20 minutes, but eventually realized this could go on for a while, and when a car ahead of me parted the sea of goats, I followed behind, holloring and calling out myself as to not spook them or end up with a horn in the backside.

The day before that I cycled from Barletta into stunning Manfredonia, another seaside town, this one on the crook of the Gargano Peninsula, a rocky outcropping that juts into the sea. It was a gorgeous town, full of life, and one I would definitely love to come back to. On my way, I cycled on a tiny strip of land, the Adriatic on my left, a salt marsh on my right. In Barletta, Ricardo had told me that this area is one of the largest producers of salt in all of Europe. In addition to the salt, there were many sea birds including pink flamingos dotting the marshes. There was also a harvest of white onions and garlic going on all around me. The smells were incredible. At one point I pulled over. The group of seemingly happy harvesters, singing and loudly conversing while they picked their onions, gave me a wave from across the field. They appeared to be large groups of friends or family, perhaps coming together on days like this to participate in the harvest together. This is different from the scene I’ve witnessed while passing by other fields, these fields being worked by what I would assume to be immigrants new to Italy from Africa.

On my ride in the south I’ve encountered large numbers of vacant, run-down homes, large homes that appear to have been quite fancy, nice structures at one point in their histories. Houses that I imagine were teeming with big, middle-class Italian families sometime in the past. I don’t have the knowledge to explain this, though I have heard stories of people leaving the south for the better economy of the north. It’s strange to see these nicely built, still fairly nice structures just sitting empty. Farm families that could no longer make ends meet in the new global, post-NAFTA, European Union world? I’m not sure, but that’s the assumption I make. Some of these buildings were occupied, even those in a ramshackle condition. Squatters? Again, I don’t know. Are these homes for sale, or can anyone just take one over and call it home? Lot of questions that perhaps I’ll get answers to at some point.

The clouds outside my train window have darkened, and my inner-city train is stopping at every town. Because of my bike, I was unable to take the high-speed, more direct train to Rome. That means a seven-hour journey, with a three-hour stopover in Ancona. I’d love some good, spicy Wifi, but such is not the case on this train. I’m hoping to get some for my three-hour stop.

I’m a little behind in my “30 Days, 30 Stories” postings, so three hours of wifi would be a beautiful thing. I think this trip is likely going to last longer than 30 days, and even so, I may still be posting stories when the ride is all said and done. The trip has been a whirlwind, and at times, my lodgings have had poor Wifi or no Wifi at all.

The stories have been great so far, and the response to the stories even better. I feel so blessed to have received these contributions from friends and loved ones, and I hope you’ve been enjoying them. Please stay tuned. There are many more beautiful, courageous stories to come!

With that, I’ll settle into the rest of my ride. I’m happy to be in a comfortable spot, on a nice train, having lots of time to chill. I’m a bit nervous about Rome and expecting the unexpected. I have a train ticket to my final destination and will be greeted by Dmitry about 7:00 tonight. Then, I’m hoping to get up early tomorrow and head into the city, no agenda other than to be a part of the action and find my own way to pay my respects to Pope Francis. May the journey continue, and May Part 2 begin.

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