Northern Italy -
Our first European trip together
Our first European trip together
Day 11 – Portole, Perugia and The Hit Hotel
The next day was the first day of the trip that Marisa felt better than Chris.
And she felt A LOT better than Chris did.
The first order of the day was to settle up with the hotel and get directions
to his buddy’s country inn situated in the rustic village of Portole. The only
way to get there, it turned out, was along a narrow, winding road that zig-
zagged through the heavily forested Umbrian hills. It really is quite pretty
around there, not unlike Vermont or the Ozarks. After approximately 30
minutes, we came upon a battered sign that told us we were now entering
Portole. Which was surprising, considering the nearly complete absence
of human habitation within sight.
As we came around a bend, we spied an old, rustic inn…sitting alone in
the wilderness. There were a few other small structures here and there
within 100 yards of the inn. That was it. That was Portole. We pulled into
the dirt driveway of the inn, and saw one other car (presumeably that of the
owner). Chris killed the engine, and Marisa started to gather her things in
the front seat. Neither made a move to exit the car.
We decided to keep moving on.
Heading out of the hills and onto the road to Perugia, Chris kept laughing
about that touristic hotspot, the scenic splendor that was Portole. To this
day, whenever we are referring to a place that is out of the way or non-
descript, we always say it’s “just this side of Portole.” And we laugh.
Perugia is an old college town, and yet another intriguing city to explore on
foot. As we approached the centro, we recalled that there were two main
options in the heart of town. One was a grand old hotel that would be out of
our price range. The other was supposed to be a nice, comfortable 3-star
inn right next door…supposedly an outstanding bargain. We parked the car
and approached the front desk of the latter. No, they had no vacancies that
night. Nor would they have had any if we had tried to book it a month in
advance. After all, today was All Saints’ Day, a national holiday in Italy.
Good luck trying to find a room!
On our way out, we found a chamber of commerce brochure listing hotels
and motels in the area. Among them was the “Hit Hotel,” right on the
highway on the outskirts of town. The picture looked nice, it was listed in
the Hachette book, and we had their phone number. Sounded like a hit to
us! So we popped over there. It was a modern-looking hotel, like a decent
Holiday Inn. At that point we weren’t in a position to be choosy. The only
thing that seemed unusual was the impressive collection of very-expensive
luxury and sports cars crowded beside the entrance.
We booked a room, and asked the concierge to call the inn at Portole to
cancel for us. This gentleman told us he had lived in Perugia his entire life,
and he had never heard of a place called Portole (despite its being about
12 miles away). But they looked it up and took care of it for us.
We drove back to town and explored for a while, but the temperature had
dropped considerably and we were both shivering after an hour or so. We
decided to call it a day and have an early dinner at the hotel.
At the hotel dining room, there was only one other table seated before
us…a large table crowded with shady-looking men and a few cell phones
that kept ringing (and remember, this was 1991, well before cell phones
were the norm). They were talking with each other, telling stories, just
barely within listening range. After a little while, three things became
evident: 1. They were speaking Americanized English, 2. They were from
Chicago (our hometown), and 3. They were mobsters, telling tales of urban
savagery and predation.
It was then that the significance of the hotel’s name finally occurred to us.
And as more diners (mostly locals) began to arrive, that impression was
only reinforced. Chris laughed out loud, “We traveled thousands of miles
for our vacation, and we’re hanging out with a pack of Chicago wise guys!”
Chris had had a couple of drinks, and he said this just a tad too loudly. The
scariest-looking guy in the place perked his head up and stared bullets
right at him. For a while – enough to make us look over our shoulders later
as we went back to our room, and to consider moving a piece of furniture in
front of the door while we slept.
Being of Hoosier stock, Chris ordered the “Chicken Indiana.” This turned
out to be a chicken breast smothered in rich, spicy yellow curry (yes, that
kind of Indian). An adventurous dish that made a second, unexpected
appearance around 3:00 in the morning.
Welcome to the Hit Hotel. If the hit man doesn’t get you, the chicken will.
Day 12 – All Over the Map
Time was starting to run out on our little sojourn, and there were still
important places left on our “to do” list. First among these was Assisi, and
the Basilica di San Francesco. You could not have asked for a more
stunningly beautiful day to tour this charming and ancient hill town. And the
basilica has probably never looked as fabulous, certainly not since the
earthquake destroyed much of it a few years later.
This was still a holiday, All Souls’ Day, and the town was thick with tourists
and locals alike. But it was one of our favorite spots on the trip, and we
would recommend a stop there if you are in the area.
Our next stop was the hill town of Gubbio. The winding road that takes you
there from Assisi is one of Chris’s favorite drives of all time, ranking up
there with the drives from Hana to the Seven Sacred Pools on Maui, and
Cloverdale to Mendocino in California. The only problem was the
occasional slow-moving farm truck, hauling the annual harvest of porcini
mushrooms to market.
We enjoyed some of those porcinis, as well as some truffles (another
regional specialty) at our lunch in Gubbio. Again, if you are looking for a
scenic old hill town in Tuscany or Umbria, we strongly recommend Gubbio
for its steep, narrow streets and alleys and ancient buildings hewn from
local stone. It’s like walking into a time warp.
After thoroughly exploring Gubbio, we re-evaluated our Italy exit strategy.
We were now as far south as we had planned to go, and we would need to
be back in Munich within a few days. Clearly, we needed to start moving
north. We had already planned on spending a couple of nights in Asolo
and day-tripping to Venice before returning to Munich. But we needed a
place to stay that night, and it needed to be about halfway between Gubbio
and Asolo.
Consulting the map, it seemed the choices were rather limited. Knowing
what we know today, Bologna would have been an obvious call. But we
were young and stupid, so we decided to take a chance on Ferrara.
Driving into Ferrara for the first time, you can’t help but feel that you have
made a serious mistake in going there. Ninety percent of this sprawling
city is a butt-ugly industrial wasteland. But if you press on to the city center,
you are rewarded with an unspoiled, untouristy old town with a lot of heart
and a gigantic red-brick castle. We got ourselves a room at a downtown
business hotel, hung out with the locals in a neighboring café, relaxed over
a few drinks and some delicious pizza, and enjoyed a leisurely, romantic
late-evening stroll back to the hotel.
Days 13 & 14 – Asolo and Venice
We got up and on the road early the next day and ventured to the village of
1000 vistas…Asolo. Words cannot do justice to the loveliness of this town,
halfway between Venice and the foothills of the Dolomites. It is lush and
green with beautiful, rolling hills that seem to come from a painting. We
stayed at a small 3-star inn called the Duse, which provided us with a
decent-sized room with light fixtures that looked just like two large breasts.
After a long, tiring drive and yet another day of walking around a scenic
town, we were starting to get very tired and hungry. We found a restaurant
near the hotel that looked promising, so we gave it a try. Turns out it was
only their second night, and we were the first ones in that night. Further, no
one spoke a word of English there, and the menus were Italian-only.
Struggling with the pasta choices, we asked our young, enthusiastic server
(who we later found out was the owner!) what was this thing called “zucca”
that we kept seeing on menus throughout his country. He began to mutter
the word zucca, then held his hands in such a way as to depict a large
spherical object. Noting our puzzled looks, he snapped his fingers and
said “uno momento!” and literally ran back to the kitchen. When he re-
emerged a minute later, he was carrying something behind his back.
When he got to our table, he brought forward…a large pumpkin!
“ZUCCA!!!” he happily exclaimed.
The next day, we drove over and across the bridge to Venice and parked in
one of the all-day lots. What can one say about a first-time encounter with
Venice?! The moment we walked across the footbridge from the station, it
was like walking into the Land of Oz. Everything looked magical, even
though it was overcast and drizzly that day. Chris immediately started
taking pictures everywhere, of everything, until Marisa warned him not to
waste film until we got to the “good stuff.”
“You mean it gets better than THIS??!!!” was the reply.
We plunged head-first into Venice, seeing all that could be seen in a single
afternoon. Piazza San Marco. The Campanile. The Cathedral. The Doge’s
Palace. The gondolas. The bridges. The campi. It was all too much.
We stopped at Trattoria Sempione for an early (yet romantic) candlelit
dinner for two. The photo we took of that trattoria, plus another shot of
gondolas docked on the Grand Canal, are both hanging in our living room
to this day.
Seriously, words cannot do justice to Venice. It is unique among the cities
of the world, and an indisputable treasure. Chris considers it his favorite
city on earth, and it’s pretty close to the top of Marisa’s list as well. Allie
agrees, but she didn’t get to visit until a decade later!
Waterlogged and overwhelmed, we dragged ourselves and out umbrellas
back to the parking garage and headed back to Asolo. We had a lot of
driving to do the next day to get to Munich and find a hotel.
Day 15 – Back to Munich
The next morning was bright and sunny again, and we headed out toward
the north immediately following breakfast and packing. It was out plan to
get into Munich by early afternoon and see as much as we could there
before our flight out the next morning.
The fine art of high-speed driving had come back to Chris after lying
dormant for years. We rolled through the northern extremities of Italy,
admiring the scenery and snapping the occasional photo out of the
window at 100+ mph, and made the Austrian border ahead of schedule.
We stopped for lunch somewhere in that slender western portion of Austria
that divides Italy from Germany at the Brenner Pass.
At the Austro-German border, we encountered several large signs, all
posted in German only, which (apparently) said something to the effect of
“slow down.” Chris sped up to avoid all of the slow traffic he was suddenly
finding. This is, of course, the most infamous speed-trap in all of Europe.
We were waived over, along with a half dozen other victims, into a turn-off
area beside the motorway. A gruff, Teutonic old traffic cop tapped on the
window and started barking something in German to Chris. Chris
deadpanned in return, “I’m really hoping you speak some English, or else
we’re going to have a problem here.”
“Yoo drrrrive moch too fahst een my countrrry,” replied the cop. “Zees ees
NOT GOOT! Now yoo mohst pay…300 Austrian Schillings!!!”
Chris had a small, silent stroke, until Marisa nudged him and told him to
relax. Evidently, that worked out to about 25 bucks American. We cobbled
together scraps and coins representing an adequate amount of lire,
schillings, deutschmarks and dollars, handed it over and got our receipt.
And we were on our way once again, driving just as fast as before.
Somewhere in Bavaria, we stopped at a roadside tourist info center and
inquired about hotels in Munich. A staffer recommended an affordable and
clean 3-star place just west of the historic city center, called the Hotel
Senator. It sounded fine to us, so he called ahead and made our
reservation for us.
Munich is an interesting old city, and well worth exploring on foot. But time
being short, we mostly confined ourselves to the main tourist drag
downtown. Yes, we had a gigantic beer or two and listened to oom-pah
music at the Hofbrau House, along with the other tourists. It’s a tacky
tourist trap, but you know what? It’s a FUN tourist trap.
Much of that evening was spent searching the goofy gift shops for a very
specific type of beer stein requested by Chris’s secretary at work. We finally
settled for one that was, er, close enough and then strolled back to the
Hotel Senator. Unfortunately, it was utterly devoid of electrical power at that
point. We grabbed a couple of lit candles from the night lobby man, and
impressed upon him the urgency of our morning wake-up call…since the
clocks in the rooms were not functioning. Finding our room in the darkened
hallway was more difficult than one might expect, but we were soon fast
asleep in our beds.
The power was restored sometime during the night, and we awoke without
incident. We dropped the car off on time at the airport, boarded our flight
and came back home with a suitcase full of memories, a dozen rolls of
exposed film, a souvenir beer stein, and a ticket for speeding on the
autobahn (suitable for framing). Who could ask for anything more?
THE END
See all of our trip photos on Webshots
our travels
home
contact us
The next day was the first day of the trip that Marisa felt better than Chris.
And she felt A LOT better than Chris did.
The first order of the day was to settle up with the hotel and get directions
to his buddy’s country inn situated in the rustic village of Portole. The only
way to get there, it turned out, was along a narrow, winding road that zig-
zagged through the heavily forested Umbrian hills. It really is quite pretty
around there, not unlike Vermont or the Ozarks. After approximately 30
minutes, we came upon a battered sign that told us we were now entering
Portole. Which was surprising, considering the nearly complete absence
of human habitation within sight.
As we came around a bend, we spied an old, rustic inn…sitting alone in
the wilderness. There were a few other small structures here and there
within 100 yards of the inn. That was it. That was Portole. We pulled into
the dirt driveway of the inn, and saw one other car (presumeably that of the
owner). Chris killed the engine, and Marisa started to gather her things in
the front seat. Neither made a move to exit the car.
We decided to keep moving on.
Heading out of the hills and onto the road to Perugia, Chris kept laughing
about that touristic hotspot, the scenic splendor that was Portole. To this
day, whenever we are referring to a place that is out of the way or non-
descript, we always say it’s “just this side of Portole.” And we laugh.
Perugia is an old college town, and yet another intriguing city to explore on
foot. As we approached the centro, we recalled that there were two main
options in the heart of town. One was a grand old hotel that would be out of
our price range. The other was supposed to be a nice, comfortable 3-star
inn right next door…supposedly an outstanding bargain. We parked the car
and approached the front desk of the latter. No, they had no vacancies that
night. Nor would they have had any if we had tried to book it a month in
advance. After all, today was All Saints’ Day, a national holiday in Italy.
Good luck trying to find a room!
On our way out, we found a chamber of commerce brochure listing hotels
and motels in the area. Among them was the “Hit Hotel,” right on the
highway on the outskirts of town. The picture looked nice, it was listed in
the Hachette book, and we had their phone number. Sounded like a hit to
us! So we popped over there. It was a modern-looking hotel, like a decent
Holiday Inn. At that point we weren’t in a position to be choosy. The only
thing that seemed unusual was the impressive collection of very-expensive
luxury and sports cars crowded beside the entrance.
We booked a room, and asked the concierge to call the inn at Portole to
cancel for us. This gentleman told us he had lived in Perugia his entire life,
and he had never heard of a place called Portole (despite its being about
12 miles away). But they looked it up and took care of it for us.
We drove back to town and explored for a while, but the temperature had
dropped considerably and we were both shivering after an hour or so. We
decided to call it a day and have an early dinner at the hotel.
At the hotel dining room, there was only one other table seated before
us…a large table crowded with shady-looking men and a few cell phones
that kept ringing (and remember, this was 1991, well before cell phones
were the norm). They were talking with each other, telling stories, just
barely within listening range. After a little while, three things became
evident: 1. They were speaking Americanized English, 2. They were from
Chicago (our hometown), and 3. They were mobsters, telling tales of urban
savagery and predation.
It was then that the significance of the hotel’s name finally occurred to us.
And as more diners (mostly locals) began to arrive, that impression was
only reinforced. Chris laughed out loud, “We traveled thousands of miles
for our vacation, and we’re hanging out with a pack of Chicago wise guys!”
Chris had had a couple of drinks, and he said this just a tad too loudly. The
scariest-looking guy in the place perked his head up and stared bullets
right at him. For a while – enough to make us look over our shoulders later
as we went back to our room, and to consider moving a piece of furniture in
front of the door while we slept.
Being of Hoosier stock, Chris ordered the “Chicken Indiana.” This turned
out to be a chicken breast smothered in rich, spicy yellow curry (yes, that
kind of Indian). An adventurous dish that made a second, unexpected
appearance around 3:00 in the morning.
Welcome to the Hit Hotel. If the hit man doesn’t get you, the chicken will.
Day 12 – All Over the Map
Time was starting to run out on our little sojourn, and there were still
important places left on our “to do” list. First among these was Assisi, and
the Basilica di San Francesco. You could not have asked for a more
stunningly beautiful day to tour this charming and ancient hill town. And the
basilica has probably never looked as fabulous, certainly not since the
earthquake destroyed much of it a few years later.
This was still a holiday, All Souls’ Day, and the town was thick with tourists
and locals alike. But it was one of our favorite spots on the trip, and we
would recommend a stop there if you are in the area.
Our next stop was the hill town of Gubbio. The winding road that takes you
there from Assisi is one of Chris’s favorite drives of all time, ranking up
there with the drives from Hana to the Seven Sacred Pools on Maui, and
Cloverdale to Mendocino in California. The only problem was the
occasional slow-moving farm truck, hauling the annual harvest of porcini
mushrooms to market.
We enjoyed some of those porcinis, as well as some truffles (another
regional specialty) at our lunch in Gubbio. Again, if you are looking for a
scenic old hill town in Tuscany or Umbria, we strongly recommend Gubbio
for its steep, narrow streets and alleys and ancient buildings hewn from
local stone. It’s like walking into a time warp.
After thoroughly exploring Gubbio, we re-evaluated our Italy exit strategy.
We were now as far south as we had planned to go, and we would need to
be back in Munich within a few days. Clearly, we needed to start moving
north. We had already planned on spending a couple of nights in Asolo
and day-tripping to Venice before returning to Munich. But we needed a
place to stay that night, and it needed to be about halfway between Gubbio
and Asolo.
Consulting the map, it seemed the choices were rather limited. Knowing
what we know today, Bologna would have been an obvious call. But we
were young and stupid, so we decided to take a chance on Ferrara.
Driving into Ferrara for the first time, you can’t help but feel that you have
made a serious mistake in going there. Ninety percent of this sprawling
city is a butt-ugly industrial wasteland. But if you press on to the city center,
you are rewarded with an unspoiled, untouristy old town with a lot of heart
and a gigantic red-brick castle. We got ourselves a room at a downtown
business hotel, hung out with the locals in a neighboring café, relaxed over
a few drinks and some delicious pizza, and enjoyed a leisurely, romantic
late-evening stroll back to the hotel.
Days 13 & 14 – Asolo and Venice
We got up and on the road early the next day and ventured to the village of
1000 vistas…Asolo. Words cannot do justice to the loveliness of this town,
halfway between Venice and the foothills of the Dolomites. It is lush and
green with beautiful, rolling hills that seem to come from a painting. We
stayed at a small 3-star inn called the Duse, which provided us with a
decent-sized room with light fixtures that looked just like two large breasts.
After a long, tiring drive and yet another day of walking around a scenic
town, we were starting to get very tired and hungry. We found a restaurant
near the hotel that looked promising, so we gave it a try. Turns out it was
only their second night, and we were the first ones in that night. Further, no
one spoke a word of English there, and the menus were Italian-only.
Struggling with the pasta choices, we asked our young, enthusiastic server
(who we later found out was the owner!) what was this thing called “zucca”
that we kept seeing on menus throughout his country. He began to mutter
the word zucca, then held his hands in such a way as to depict a large
spherical object. Noting our puzzled looks, he snapped his fingers and
said “uno momento!” and literally ran back to the kitchen. When he re-
emerged a minute later, he was carrying something behind his back.
When he got to our table, he brought forward…a large pumpkin!
“ZUCCA!!!” he happily exclaimed.
The next day, we drove over and across the bridge to Venice and parked in
one of the all-day lots. What can one say about a first-time encounter with
Venice?! The moment we walked across the footbridge from the station, it
was like walking into the Land of Oz. Everything looked magical, even
though it was overcast and drizzly that day. Chris immediately started
taking pictures everywhere, of everything, until Marisa warned him not to
waste film until we got to the “good stuff.”
“You mean it gets better than THIS??!!!” was the reply.
We plunged head-first into Venice, seeing all that could be seen in a single
afternoon. Piazza San Marco. The Campanile. The Cathedral. The Doge’s
Palace. The gondolas. The bridges. The campi. It was all too much.
We stopped at Trattoria Sempione for an early (yet romantic) candlelit
dinner for two. The photo we took of that trattoria, plus another shot of
gondolas docked on the Grand Canal, are both hanging in our living room
to this day.
Seriously, words cannot do justice to Venice. It is unique among the cities
of the world, and an indisputable treasure. Chris considers it his favorite
city on earth, and it’s pretty close to the top of Marisa’s list as well. Allie
agrees, but she didn’t get to visit until a decade later!
Waterlogged and overwhelmed, we dragged ourselves and out umbrellas
back to the parking garage and headed back to Asolo. We had a lot of
driving to do the next day to get to Munich and find a hotel.
Day 15 – Back to Munich
The next morning was bright and sunny again, and we headed out toward
the north immediately following breakfast and packing. It was out plan to
get into Munich by early afternoon and see as much as we could there
before our flight out the next morning.
The fine art of high-speed driving had come back to Chris after lying
dormant for years. We rolled through the northern extremities of Italy,
admiring the scenery and snapping the occasional photo out of the
window at 100+ mph, and made the Austrian border ahead of schedule.
We stopped for lunch somewhere in that slender western portion of Austria
that divides Italy from Germany at the Brenner Pass.
At the Austro-German border, we encountered several large signs, all
posted in German only, which (apparently) said something to the effect of
“slow down.” Chris sped up to avoid all of the slow traffic he was suddenly
finding. This is, of course, the most infamous speed-trap in all of Europe.
We were waived over, along with a half dozen other victims, into a turn-off
area beside the motorway. A gruff, Teutonic old traffic cop tapped on the
window and started barking something in German to Chris. Chris
deadpanned in return, “I’m really hoping you speak some English, or else
we’re going to have a problem here.”
“Yoo drrrrive moch too fahst een my countrrry,” replied the cop. “Zees ees
NOT GOOT! Now yoo mohst pay…300 Austrian Schillings!!!”
Chris had a small, silent stroke, until Marisa nudged him and told him to
relax. Evidently, that worked out to about 25 bucks American. We cobbled
together scraps and coins representing an adequate amount of lire,
schillings, deutschmarks and dollars, handed it over and got our receipt.
And we were on our way once again, driving just as fast as before.
Somewhere in Bavaria, we stopped at a roadside tourist info center and
inquired about hotels in Munich. A staffer recommended an affordable and
clean 3-star place just west of the historic city center, called the Hotel
Senator. It sounded fine to us, so he called ahead and made our
reservation for us.
Munich is an interesting old city, and well worth exploring on foot. But time
being short, we mostly confined ourselves to the main tourist drag
downtown. Yes, we had a gigantic beer or two and listened to oom-pah
music at the Hofbrau House, along with the other tourists. It’s a tacky
tourist trap, but you know what? It’s a FUN tourist trap.
Much of that evening was spent searching the goofy gift shops for a very
specific type of beer stein requested by Chris’s secretary at work. We finally
settled for one that was, er, close enough and then strolled back to the
Hotel Senator. Unfortunately, it was utterly devoid of electrical power at that
point. We grabbed a couple of lit candles from the night lobby man, and
impressed upon him the urgency of our morning wake-up call…since the
clocks in the rooms were not functioning. Finding our room in the darkened
hallway was more difficult than one might expect, but we were soon fast
asleep in our beds.
The power was restored sometime during the night, and we awoke without
incident. We dropped the car off on time at the airport, boarded our flight
and came back home with a suitcase full of memories, a dozen rolls of
exposed film, a souvenir beer stein, and a ticket for speeding on the
autobahn (suitable for framing). Who could ask for anything more?
THE END
See all of our trip photos on Webshots
our travels
home
contact us
Perugia
Assisi
Gubbio
Gubbio
Ferrara
Venice
Venice
Venice, Palazzo Ducale
Venice
Venice
Asolo
Tyrolea
Tyrolea
Hofbrau Haus, Munchen
