July 21: Italia - The Alps

In the North West of Italy the countryside changes. The climate is cooler. The burning heat of the South, the golden hills of Tuscany, the generous curves and smiles of Napolitana girls, the dusty streets of Lazio are all distant dreams. One thing that has amazed me on this bus trip around Italy has been the variety of landscape that a single country can produce. Despite the tedious hours spent looking out of a window at the back of a bus for the last two weeks, there has been something so hypnotic about watching the countryside mellow and change around me. Driving through the North West there were a few places I wanted to see but looks as if I will have to wait for another day; Turin/Torino was one city I had hoped to visit - it will have to be some other time.

The further north the bus drives, on my way back to UK, the roads sink deeper into mountain valleys. Sharp, jagged points soar upwards to puncture the thin air. The slopes are covered in green velvet and look amazing. Just how I imagined Switzerland or Austria to look. Bright sunshine, fast flowing alpine rivers, small sloping villages dotted here and there, scattered houses either side of the water. Pale blue skies furring up with fluffy white clouds. The flat, valley floor contracting then spreading wide. Rivers wriggle through, and run down the boot of Italy. Surging road tunnels, dimly lit with flashing orange lights, burrow through the most gigantic mountains you will ever see, and somehow pop out the other side without collapsing. Italy keeps on amazing me.

Just over the border, just over the Alps is Mount Blanc. Right on the edge. I spent an afternoon at a place called Chamonix. With some new friends I have made on my travels, we decided to take a cable car up the north face of Mount Blanc. Unbelievable. At the top of the ride, the mountain ranges raged on forever into their own glacier palaces of secret Shangri-La's and the receeding rubble of last year's fall. Being this close to a mountain summit shapes how you feel - utterly priviledged and utterly insignificant at the same time. Mountains can do this to you. At the bottom of one slope, and down a Jacob's Ladder of steep steps appeared an entrance into a frozen grotto, a tunnel carved into a solid wall of ice. Inside the slippery tunnels, that crawled into the belly of Mount Blanc the melting ice was lit up with changing shades of neon lights. Mount Blanc was something I hadn't planned on seeing but was so glad that I did.

Driving on, the experience of my mountain adventure remained. I thought of a friend of mine in Australia - a Mauritian pirate - who harbours a dream to walk the Himalayas. What is it about travel that is so addictive? Is it because travel allows you to learn more about yourself, about your own world and the world you live in? Is it the freedom in seeing places for the first time with new eyes? Or is the addiction in the in-flight meals? Who cares. Let's make hay while the sun's out. Let's have fun with this body while we can and enjoy aiming for all those dreams... the Andes, Mount Atlas, Machu Picchu, the snows of Kilaminjaro, the beaches of Mozambique, the girls of Montego Bay... Just when you think you've got the travel bug out of your system, something new comes along and you begin to stir again. I want more.

July 19: Italia - Sorrento

On the road again. At the back of the bus again, going down the boot of Italy, down, down to the deep, deep South. Down to Sorrento. As I write this, I look out to my left and there along the horizon, almost staring at me is Mount Versuvius. Amazing isn't it? During my Jurassic school-boy days I used to dream about seeing this volcano, having learnt so about it from my old Latin classes. Sleepy Versuvius still smoking. A black silent shadow that has whisps of lingering cloud crawling around it gingerly. As my bus passes Pompeii, my mobile phone chimes into life. It's a text message from my old boss in Australia. As I am passing through Napoli I am invited to go and visit his family, who live on the nearby island of Ischia. Once my bus arrives in Sorrento, the first thing I'll do is check on ferry times. Invites are too important to ignore.

At the beginning of 2002 I undertook a change of careers. In the Northbridge suburb of Perth, Western Australia, I went to work at a small, Italian restaurant called Sorrento. I felt I was going nowhere in my then office job and really wanted to have a trade under my belt. Hospitality seemed perfect for what I was looking for at the time. Working for the following three years at Sorrento I soon learnt much more than I'd anticipated. It was one of the best jobs I've ever had. It was very hard work, but so enjoyable - on one of my first days I remember being told, Remember, you are here to enjoy your work - if you can't enjoy what you do, you'll never be any good at it.

Sorrento Restaurant was a source of so much laughter - I made so many friends through the place (some of whom I am meeting up with on this European trip) and shared so much laughter. When I went in there on Christmas Eve last year, and told them I was thinking of undertaking this six-month sabbatical but had a few doubts lingering as to why I shouldn't, they listened and gave me the best advice I could've hoped for - giving up my job (Get another one when you return), I had just met a girl that I liked (If she loves you, she'll wait), I didn't think I had enough money (Take no money with you - you'll only resent spending it when there. Work there and travel off that). In the end my doubts had gone... just go and enjoy yourself. It's once in a lifetime.

Sorrento is beautiful. It slides down towards the Mediterranean blue from somewhere up on the Amalfi high. The bay of Napoli stretches out around an arc of breathless coastline and disappears in a dreamy hue. Off the main road of Sorrento run rabbit warren side streets drenched in cooling shade - the best place to be when the town closes for siesta. There are plenty of places to eat or doorways to explore. I chatted to one old woman called Carmel, outside her home, crushing dried herbs and chilli to make as a seasoning for her oil. I passed one shop selling legends of how mermaids and Ulysses enjoyed each others company in the sacred waters of the Amalfi. Another sells shirts of a different legend who came ashore here - Diego Maradona, the Argentine footballer who inspired little SCC Napoli to the Serie A Scudetta in 1987.

Walking around Sorrento it felt as if I had come a full circle. Because of a job in a restaurant in Australia, I was able to speak good enough Italian to order a coffee, and chat with locals and understand what they were saying. It was magic. Part of this trip to Italy was to visit Sorrento. When you work for a place like Sorrento Restaurant something stays in your heart forever, and I had to go and see its namesake for myself. If anything, just to say I'd been there and to send a postcard down under; Ciao de Sorrento, et grazie.

July 18: Roma, Fiuggi & Florence

I am walking through the Vatican Square. More like dragging my tired legs at the end of my own Roman holiday. I am looking at the giant Egyptian obelisk which stands in the middle of the St Peter's Square. The burning heat makes everything feel dizzy. Rising heat shimmers in the air. The giant monolith rises up into the sky, through the glare of the squinting sun, without breaking sweat once as the cool, smooth stone soars. It's hot today. A real stinker. Rome has been melting all day in this dire heat. I've finished my walk around the Italian capital and have seen all the things I've wanted to. I'll never forget the feeling of walking down past the Piazza Venezia and seeing my first glimpse of the Colloseum in the distance - hairs standing up on end sort-of-stuff. It was great to walk on and see the Circo Massimo and to imagine what it must've looked like when Ben Hur was racing around it.

On the outskirts of the surrounding suburb of Lazio is a small town called Fiuggi. Its location looked perfect for me to go off and explore both nearby Rome and Florence. I loved being there. There are two parts to Fiuggi - the old town and the new. The new is where I have been staying. The old town seems to have been happily cut off from time on top of a lofted hill. On my last night I decided to spur the trattorias and bars and head off up there.

It was quiet and dark as I walked up the thin road to the old town. Streets somehow staying upright on slippery cobblestoned hills almost pitched up at vertical angles. The night air was black, but pure enough to see bats and foxes roaming free. Up and up I went, following nothing more than an instinct that I sort of knew where I was going. I passed through narrow alleys lit in a dense coating of yellow lanterns. Old women outside homes smiling and chatting to me as I passed by. Each twist and turn I took produced three paths to take; the medieval part of town was tighter and more condensed than elsewhere. Buildings black and giant wooden doors almost ajar. I kept following my nose until I came through a square and ended up outside the town church. The Tuscan winds blew cool air through a view that was incredible. The shooting stars I saw that night were like nothing I've seen before.
If Rome is seductive, then equally so is Florence. The capital of Renaissance art, famous for its Medici family, famous for its Ponte Vecchio bridge which stands over the River Arno, famous for its cathedral, The Firenze Duomo - famous for so many things. During the middle of the day Florence can be claustrophobic - especially with the thousands of overheating tourists, but at night it is better - sumptuous, just stunning. With the air still warm, but no longer searing, streets are empty and cool. Shadows move through the silence. But there's mischief abound too; bars spill out onto the banks of the River Arno. Friends can easily make naughty new friends with beers in hand on the steps of the floodlit Cathedral. An hour of fun can turn into an entire night of revellery, and before you know it the first purple hues of dawn begin to dance upon the waters of the Arno.

July 16: Italia - Verona & Siena

One of the things I love most about life is the way we are all able to stumble on a hidden treasure when searching for something else. It's almost as if we are being given an adventure within an adventure. Usually these moments occur when our guards are down and our expectations low. We are distracted by what lies on the horizon. Then seemingly at once, people, places and moments come out of nowhere and touch us in a way that makes a deep impression, lasting within us long after the initial meeting fades. And before we have time to stop and give thanks, the moment has vanished, and we are on the march again. En route to Rome and Florence, I visited Verona and Siena, and wish that somehow I had lingered longer inside their Roman walls.

I went to Verona knowing very little about it - save for the fact that a girl called Juliet had once stood on a balcony and called out for her love, Romeo. Her balcony still exists there. It's very easy to find and is very popular with those in love. A small archway leads off from the Via Cappello to Juliet's house. Inside this archway are a million messages of love written on both walls. Lipstick kisses, lipstick love hearts, names etched onto crumbling brickwork plaster this colourful tunnel of love, which leads down to the courtyard of Juliet's house. It's a push and shove to get through, but I did and even added my own offering to those already written in ink, Karlo & Chica - whoever Chica is, was and wants to be.

Further south, in between Rome and Florence, is Siena. This has to be one of Italy's best kept secrets. Medieval and Renaissance buildings sleep standing up through winding streets that wriggle and wander across the hilltop town. Facades of homes seem ready to crumble into dust at any moment. Wooden shutters keep out the glare of the sun. Not a breath of wind can be found in any street. But high above the terracota rooftops, the tall and thin Torre de Mangia keeps watch from the sloping and spacious Piazza del Campo. The Cathedral of Siena is just as impressive. You could be forgiven for thinking you had stepped back into ancient Egypt. Rows of black, white and golden hooped pillars rise up to glittered ceilings far out of reach of mortal thoughts. On the catherdral floor reads a mosaic, Suscipite o licteras et leges Egiptii.

It is a quarter past three on a very hot afternoon in Siena. The air is dry and hot. The streets seem coated in a fine yellow dust. I am sitting in the shade of a park near the Porta San Marco, waiting for my bus to pick me up. I am off to Lazio, the surrounding suburb of Rome, to stay there for a few nights as I continue to explore Tuscany and the Italian capital. My bus is due in ten minutes. I look out onto the hills of Tuscany. How beautiful a place this is. The light is so different here, colours take on a more vibrant shade, and the air seems alive with energy - almost as if the earth is vibrating on a higher level. Almost as if a grid has been fired and suddenly we can all see beauty with a greater clarity. No wonder people fall in love with Tuscany.

July 12: Italia - Venezia

Few things can ever prepare you for your first sight of Venice. Drifting on the promise of a long, unwinding dream, rocking domes and spires seem to hint at something magical on a distant horizon which begin to make an imprint onto you long before you reach the flat, sapphire waters of St Mark's Square. The approach to Venice along the Canale Della Giudecca is slow. Beautifully slow. It's almost as if nature is trying to whisper to you that the more time you take on your journey, the more you will fall in love with your eventual destination. Ignore what people say about Venice being smelly and overcrowded - go anyway, and enjoy what feelings arise in your heart as you sail towards it. A subtle uplifting, a veil of mystery being removed from one of the most beautiful places on earth - Venice.

The haunting opening to Luchino Visconti's cinematic adaptation of Thomas Mann's novel Death by Venice comes close to the real thing. The mists of morning clinging close to the colours of a thawing sunrise as the music of Gustav Mahler's Adagietto from his Fifth Symphony opens the film is beautiful. For as long as I am alive I will never forget seeing Venice for the first time. Having spent most of my childhood and adulthood dreaming of those peaceful canals and red-and-white striped mooring poles, I felt incredible excitement sailing towards them. The realisation of dreams are either a great anticlimax (hence the eternal warning to enjoy the journey) or a sublime moment spent basking in a smugness of pure self-indulgence. The smile I wore as I sailed past the dome of the Santa Maria de Salute up onto the Piazzetta de San Marco is something few in this lifetime will ever see again.

The trouble with something as incredibly beautiful as Venice is that human nature soon takes hold; as with anything of great beauty, you eventually desire exclusivity. Wandering through its narrow back streets, and over delicate bridges you resent the other tourists there. You wish you could have the whole of Venice to yourself. Just at dawn, maybe at sundown, just for a moment. The more you explore the labyrinth of arches, the more you are carried off along your own private canal. No time is ever enough. With things of great beauty there is also an avarice, where there is never enough; we always want more. How do we combat that? Try to keep a loose reign on those things we love most; be grateful for a moment of bliss and let go. Things of beauty are never ours to own, instead there to share with others, in order that our own appreciation of them might grow. Love affairs with Venice grow stronger each time you say goodbye.

I read a message inside a Baci chocolate:
Come ti vidi m'innamorai. E tu sorridi perche lo sai (I loved you at first sight. And you smile because you know it). I smile and I know it. This is only one aspect to Italy I have seen so far, Tuscany awaits, as does the deep South. Dreams sail on forever.