Cinque Terre/Cremona--Day 5

Morning came very quickly on the fifth day of our journey across Northern Italy. Luann and I had finally gotten our first good nights sleep since arriving and we woke up refreshed and ready to go. It was still dark outside as I peered out the large balcony doors, trying to get an idea of what the weather was like. There were no people on the streets yet and whatever motor traffic that was visible, was no help. Today, we had been told to dress warmly, so we went through our traditional what shall we wear routine as we got ready to go down to breakfast. The time was 6:45 AM. Luann had been up since 6:00 AM, and I was just starting to move, which is pretty normal. I sleep longer, but I could win an Olympic competition for getting ready when I have to. I decided to wear blue jeans today and a long sleeve rugby shirt. Luann put on a white pull over, with matching sweater and jeans. A quick shower on my part, she was done and dressed, and we were ready to join the others in the dining room. I took the gigantic key off the dresser and we walked out of the room a little before 7:00 AM, with one last glimpse of our room.



























We walked down the short flight of steps to the lobby, handed the huge key to the gentleman at the front desk and headed for the dining room. We noticed that that many of our fellow passengers were done eating and either hanging around the lobby or on the bus. There were bags on the floor waiting to be loaded into the belly of the bus. I wondered how long these people had to have been up to be this ready. We walked into the dining room and to my surprise, we were allowed to sit where we wanted. We found out that our tour group was the last one of the season for this hotel and the hotel would be shutting down. I could sense the relaxed atmosphere of the help as they picked up dishes and brought out food and coffee. We were one of the last people down to breakfast, so we sat by ourselves and ate quickly, eager to start the next phase of our trip. We boarded the bus, after a quick trip back to the room to retrieve something (I wanted to handle the key one more time). The bus pulled out at 7:45 AM, made a big U-turn and headed up, the now busier highway along the lake. The sun was starting to rise and it looked like it was going to be a gorgeous day, just like the previous ones. I shook my head when I looked around the bus at all the people wearing winter coats, heavy sweaters and I even heard some had long underwear on. Our old people preschool bus was sure good at following directions.



























Today we were going to Cremona, where we would spend our last four nights in Italy. We would stop at a region called Cinque Terre, which is a protected marine area through UNESCO that is composed of five villages. When I hear the term village, visions of small huts and natives fishing or sitting around comes to my head. We were given today's instructions from Melissa. There were options on seeing the villages. There were train tickets available to allow a person to visit them at will, there was a walking tour of the villages (recommended by Melissa) or there was a boat tour that she had very little information about. She said the walking tour may be too much for some. The bus was quiet this morning as people settled down for the long four hour drive. Heads nodded off, that's what happens when people get up so early, newspapers were being read and some people were even knitting. I looked out the window at the autostrada as we made our way out of the lake region. I looked down the side of the mountain and said goodby to Stresa and Lago Maggorie. Luann had already pulled out her book and was talking to Sharon while she read. Sharon and Pat were still sitting in the premiere seats and we still had the same seats since the first day, even after the lecture on making sure we didn't hog the seats for the entire trip. I love challenging authority when it's ridiculous.



























We did not hear much from Melissa other than her ritual good morning exercise, with a rule or two thrown in or some comment about what we might see today. About an hour into the ride, the bus slowed down for construction and we went to one lane, just like back home. We observed a work crew pouring asphalt on the far lane. The intercom crackled as Melissa came on. She sounded excited. The bus driver had told her a bit of information that she did not know. He had told her that the asphalt they were putting down was an experimental asphalt that cost $1,000,000, not euros, per kilometer. I don't know the metric system that well, but having run 10K's in the past, I knew that a 10k was 6.2 miles. A quick math told me that they were paying $1M for .62 miles, or $10M for 6.2 miles. To occupy our time and start the ball rolling, I immediately told everyone around me that it had to be wrong. Conversations started, questioning Melissa's ability to understand the Italian word for thousand versus million, the bus drivers knowledge of asphalt, the Italian governments ability to manage money, and even our own opinion on what was actually said. This was the topic of conversation as we pulled into the large service center off the highway. It looked very much like our rest areas with a large gas station/convenience store in the middle of it. We had been on the road for an hour and a half. The time was a little after 9:15 in the morning, as we pulled into the area and parked next to a couple of other tour buses. The day was sunny and warming up nicely, as people with winter coats, heavy sweaters and long underwear got off the bus. I wondered how cold it was at Cinque Terre.



























The place was packed. We walked into the large convenience store through the large glass entrance doors and even had to go through turnstiles to get in. The restaurant was to our right, occupying a quarter of the facility, but was not open. The other three quarters of the store was comprised of shelves, coolers, cabinets and every other merchandising unit imaginable. They sold candy, meats, cheese, games, liquor, beer, gifts and anything you could think of. People were elbow to elbow and ten deep at the cash registers. Luann asked me if I wanted anything and I quickly declined. We only had twenty minutes and that's probably what it would take to get through all the people. I stood there looking at the empty restaurant and at the full store. We decided to make our way through the crowd and see what they had to offer. The prices were very reasonable, but we weren't in the shopping mood. I decided to use the bathroom, which had a lady sitting at a table between the men and the women's doors. On the table was a metal dish for money. It is common here to pay something when you use the facility, which Luann learned in the Milano Garibaldi train station. I had all the euros then and she had to sheepishly walk out without paying. I laughed at the thought of her stiffing someone. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a coin. The coin was so small that I couldn't read the denomination, but I put it in the dish. I didn't want to dwell on the fact that I may have paid the equivalent of three dollars to use the bathroom, but that was justice for Luann ripping them off in Milan. It all works out in the end.



























We saw the hand wave signaling us back to the bus. Our time was up. As we walked out the exit through the big glass doors, a Japanese tour group decided to come in through the exit. It was quite comical watching the poor Japanese getting yelled at by everyone that was stuck in the exit door. They couldn't read the Italian and couldn't understand the words people were saying because some of the people stuck in the exits were speaking English, some Italian and even some German. Their tour guide came to the rescue and they followed her to the right door, smiling and bowing as they headed towards the entrance, three feet away. I think the Japanese are one of the happiest people on earth. They always appear to be smiling. The time was 9:45 AM, as I walked past the driver to get on the bus. I wanted to ask him about the asphalt comment so I could report back to the group, but he was busy chatting with another driver. I tried to imagine how hard it would be to conduct a tour for a group of Japanese that could not speak English or Italian. The day was crystal clear and the mountains and valleys provided a beautiful view as we pulled out of the rest area at 9:55 AM.



























The intercom crackled and Melissa came on to tell us more about the tour today. She had additional information about the boat tour and wanted a show of hands for those interested. No hands went up. She then asked how many were doing the train and a few hands went up. She then asked for a show of hands for the walking tour and the majority of the bus raised their hand. I didn't raise my hand for any of the options. It's bad enough having to have one show of hands. Who knows what we looked like having hands go up three different times. People driving by must have thought we were doing some sort of old people exercise. The bus settled down and we were back to the fun part, looking out the window. Somewhere north of Genoa, I started noticing familiar scenes. There were old remnants of castles on hill tops, there were deep valleys and I noticed train tracks in the distance. We were on the highway route that ran parallel to the train route Luann and I had taken from Milan to Lake Geneva eight years ago. It was so familiar that I couldn't help but reminisce about that trip. I mentioned this to Luann, who raised her head out of her book, looked at the scenery with a smile, nodded and went back to reading. It was about this time that Nancy came up to us. Bruce had wanted to introduce us to her, but we never got the opportunity. I thought that was why she came to our seat, so I quickly stuck my hand out and introduced Luann and I. She was pleased to meet us, the normal salutation. I am still waiting for someone to say, "It is not a pleasure to meet you." She had heard that we had been to Northern Italy years ago and wanted us to talk about that experience or about our experience yesterday when we ditched the group. Our presentation was to accompany some guest speakers that were going to join our tour sometime this afternoon on the ride to Cremona from Cinque Terra. Luann looked at me with her pretty blues eyes that always remind me of Lee Remick, smiled and shook her head no. I have never seen Luann talk to a group, karaoke or make a spectacle of her self in any way. I, on the other hand, will do just about anything to get attention. I told her we would be glad to, fully knowing that there was no part of Luann in that we. She parted and Luann asked me what I was going to talk about. I told her I was going to talk about train travel. Luann replied that they really wanted me to talk about was how nice it was to take a tour like this one and to support the Collette vacation group as they worked on more tours to Northern Italy (this was only the second one). I decided to table the conversation, while I envisioned myself in front of the group making a great presentation and getting applause and a pat on the back from Pat. How exciting.



























The sights were now getting more familiar as we got closer to the Sea. I recognized the city immediately as we started coming into Genoa. We had passed through this city eight years ago on the Eurorail. This was the home of Christopher Columbus. Luann's tour book was quickly making its way around our part of the bus as people wanted to read a little bit about the history. Once Luann got it back, she started giving me some tidbits on Columbus and his history from the tour book. She started laughing hysterically when I questioned Christopher Columbus's father having the last name Weever. I had not heard her correctly when she had told me that Christopher Columbus's father was a weaver. She shared this with the fellow Iowans around us and they all laughed. Darn ears. Whatever history was in the book was quickly dispelled by Melissa as she came on the intercom. She told us that there was doubt now whether Christopher Columbus was from here. He was from somewhere in the mountains. There was even some doubt that he knew his father, which made the weaver conversation irrelevant. She also said that Genoa was so heavily industrialized that it was not a very good town to live in. It had a bad pollution record, was dirty and not a tourist area. I pondered this as we went up the hill, noticing a lot of factories sharing the sky line with dirty buildings. Most of these buildings were apartments with clothes drying on clothes lines or hung over balconies. Clothes dryers are very rare here. The ocean on the port side of the city looked beautiful. I wondered if all the history books, travel logs and the travel channel knew what Melissa knew about Genoa and Christopher Columbus.

























We continued to wind around road after road, sometimes bumper to bumper with cars and buses. We were approaching our destination and Melissa informed us that we would be arriving shortly. The walking tour would be led by her, which quickly sealed our fate to take the train. The boat tour was to be determined, if anyone was interested yet. However, we all had to take the train at the beginning to get us to the right starting point. We would be stopping in a town called Santa Margharita and spend an hour there as she went to the station to purchase train tickets. As we approached Santa Margharita, the scenery started changing dramatically. We were no longer exposed to large trees, rough terrain or anything similar to what we had seen along the highway. We were now on a highway lined with palm trees and tropical plants. We went through a town consisting of narrow streets and the buildings seemed to connect to each other as if they were one big structure. The various businesses identified only by a different color of paint and their signage. There were hundreds of scooters parked in a row on one of these streets and the people were everywhere. Our tour group would cringe as the driver managed his way through the streets in this large bus, nearly hitting signs and other buses with the outside mirror. I noticed that people were walking with their coats wrapped around their waists, while in the sun, but wearing coats when they fell into the shade provided by the buildings. I wondered how cold it was at Cinque Terre.

























The bus left the city and headed up the hillside, puffing and jerking as the driver kept following the flow of traffic. The sun was out in full splendor, with no clouds in its way to share the sky with. We made our descent down the other side of the hill, winding and downshifting all the way, giving us a great view of the resort town as we came to a stop in front of the Lido Palace Hotel. Santa Margharita was gorgeous. The highway we had come down ran right along the beach, which was now populated with tourists enjoying the sun. There was a dock hosting a variety of sail boats and water craft. We were told that we had an hour to spend here and that we had to be back here to walk to the train station as a group, as if we couldn't meet at the station. I didn't spend anytime listening because I was captivated by the beauty. We have been to many tropical, resort areas, but we had never been exposed to one where the ocean, beach, highway and old world structures came together like this. Palm trees swayed in the breeze as our tour group got off the bus. We were immediately greeted with a blast of warm air. The temperature here had to have been in the upper seventies and it was just past noon. Coats came off, sleeves got rolled up and I wish I would have had a pair of scissors to cut the legs off my blue jeans. We were in a tropical area and we were all dressed as if we were raking leaves on a cold fall day. Pat and Sharon joined Luann and I, as I grumbled about the instructions to dress warm, hoping none of the people laying on the beach would look up and notice the people from the outer limits that had just arrived. If it was warm now, it would be real uncomfortable at three o'clock.

























We didn't have much time, so we walked across the highway to the waterfront. We noticed a young oriental couple taking pictures of their little baby girl on the beach. She was dressed in a pretty pink outfit and the couple looked like professional photographers doing a photo shoot. They couldn't take enough pictures. We walked towards the boats and then retraced our steps back towards the main part of town. As we walked along the sidewalk overlooking the beach, we noticed that there was a historical fort with steps leading up to a church. The ticket office was closed, but it appeared that there was no need to have tickets to walk up to the church. We made our way up the twenty some steps and walked into a small church, that appeared to have been remodeled in the nineteenth century. The church itself dated back hundreds of years prior to that. The most interesting aspect of the church was the glass case with a life size statue of Jesus in his burial linen laying as if it was in his tomb. The Italian plaque on the wall had a prayer related to the display. It put everything in perspective as we looked at that realistic statue for a long time. We took pictures inside and outside the church and now it was time to head back to our old people's preschool class for our walk to the station. We split with Pat and Sharon because they wanted to purchase something. Luann and I ventured up one of the city streets that led to the main square, where I purchased two kilos of grapes. They were every bit as good as the ones in Cuomo. We met up with the group moments later and I readily shared my grapes with Jan and her husband Jerry from Michigan. Jan was sick with a cold, but it didn't bother me. I wasn't going to get sick.























The group, all thirty seven of us, made our way along the sidewalk to towards the train station. Our group was minus three couples who had decided to come here yesterday by train. They had told Luann and I that this area was beautiful and they would give up the tour of Bergamo, the last dinner and the bus ride to Cremona to enjoy an extra day here. They had made the right decision, as I marveled at how nice this place was. The train station was situated on top of a hill and to get there, a person had to walk up a five flights of step, with each flight having at least fifteen steps. The climb was steep and challenging for some. Frank, the Michigan guy who had been scolded by his wife, was having a tough time. I have no idea how old Frank was but he was big. Not big as in fat, but tall and big boned. He looked like he had played some big time sports in his younger days and may have incurred some leg or knee injury. He was being helped up the steps by his wife and two other ladies. As we followed behind him, I noticed people having to pass him up the steps. They would look for an opening around him and then quickly go by him without looking. His walk was made even slower because he would rest at the top of each flight. It took Frank forever to make it to the next flight. Luann was a little ahead of me as I passed Frank on the second flight and she hollered something to me that I didn't hear. I caught up with her and she told me to warn Frank about a small pile of dog crap that was on one of the steps. I yelled down at Frank, Luann doesn't yell because that's my job, and he looked up. I yelled and pointed to the crap and he told me he had already smelled it. I was in utter disbelief. What Frank lacked in mobility was quickly made up with his sense of smell. I had a new respect for anyone that could pick up a scent like that from that far away.























We arrived at the top of the hill , tickets for the train in hand. Melissa had handed them out on the sidewalk when we started our walk. We had all looked like children on trick or treat night stretching our little fingers to get our hands on the tickets. We had to go to Monterosse where the walking tour started and the boat tour would commence. The train would depart from track three. I had no clue as to the direction. I was just glad to arrive at the platform. The train arrived within minutes and the conversation quickly turned to Frank. Many of us thought that he could not have possibly made the train. Our group scattered like ants into the different rail cars and we settled in for the train ride to Monterrose al Mare. Our car was fairly empty, occupied by Luann and myself, Pat and Sharon, Bonnie, Bob, a Michigan couple and a couple of locals. After some seat switching, we had all been able to acquire a precious window seat. At this time, Sharon mentioned to the group that it was time to get rid of her long underwear. The train had bathrooms, but opening the car doors on this train was a hastle. All of us men, except Pat, were instructed to turn our heads while she took her top off and removed the top part of the underwear. She would take her bottoms off in a more lady like manner later. I didn't peek, but steadfastly concentrated on the passing scenery. I was laughing inside, thinking of what Pat must be thinking about this.























Taking the train through the villages has its drawbacks. The majority of the trip encompasses a a maze of tunnels and the train moves so fast that your eyes can't adjust fast enough to focus when you come out of the dark. It makes it very hard to enjoy the scenery. After a twenty five minute ride that seemed like an hour, we came to a stop in Monterosse. I still had my grapes, not many by now, in a plastic bag inside a paper bag. I offered the paper bag to Sharon so she could finish her disrobing duties in the privacy of a bathroom. The bag could serve as her luggage for the now useless long underwear. We got off the train, walked down the exit ramp and followed the crowd under the tracks to the open area that would treat us to a view I was not expecting. The passageway from the trains opened up to a promenade that was overlooking the beach. It was a concrete portico that seemed to jut out from the side of a mountain. The mountain was behind us. There were mountains to our left and to our right. The ocean was directly in front of us, separated only by a beautiful sandy beach that stretched for a couple of miles, before becoming part of the mountain again. The temperature was in the low eightys and I wondered how Shirley could be comfortable with her winter coat on. Poor Cindy had a black, wool turtle neck sweater and jeans on. Doyle, the smart one of the bunch, had worn a short sleeve shirt under his windbreaker and was looking comfortable. All he was missing were shorts. This was a major tourist location, as evidenced by the number of people getting off trains and coming out of the tunnel like waves lapping onto a beach. At this moment, I thought to myself that I would be comfortable ending the tour now and staying here for the rest of the time. I enviously looked down at the numerous sunbathers and swimmers. A young lady in swimsuit laying face down caught my attention immediately. She had removed her top and was enjoying the sun. I asked Bob if he would take a glass of water and pour it on her back for a quarter. He replied that I wouldn't have to pay him. We laughed and shared this bit of male bonding with the wives. I don't think they got the joke.























There we stood, all thirty seven of us. Frank had made it. Sharon had returned with her personals neatly packed in her newly acquired luggage and we gathered around Melissa as she gave instructions. I could not hear her, so I strayed away and watched the group as it eagerly listened for the latest news on the tour of the villages. Luann would take care of our agenda and I was confident that we would be with Pat and Sharon and possibly Doyle and Cindy. I continued to marvel at the scenery and couldn't help but be disappointed in our tour rep that she could possibly have missed the weather this bad. Most of the group was now carrying his or her coat. I love the sun and could have gotten a burn or tan today, but now I was getting hot, smothered by my jeans and long sleeve shirt. Instruction period was over. The group started going in different directions. Melissa took the McDaniels and two other couples and started their walking tour. Another group, all Michigan couples, went in the opposite direction. Luann waved me over to her as she stood there with Pat, Sharon, Doyle, Cindy, Bob, Bonnie Anne and Pat.Our small group was going to hang around here until the next train came to take us to the next village. We could walk around this village, get something to eat and enjoy the sun. I was glad I wore my running shoes and not the leather ones.























I don't know why they call these villages. It did not fit my idea of a village at all. Where were the huts or the natives? The buildings were made out of stone and painted in a colorful variety of pastels and there were people everyhwere. We started our walk along the concrete sidewalk overlooking the beach. The sun shining on top of the water, twinkling like Christmas lights. We constantly looked down at the beach, which was getting busier by the minute. The fact that there were some people in the water indicated that the water temperature must not be that cold. Our walk took a left turn as we walked through a tunnel that was used by both pedestrians and vehicles. The tunnel was extremely narrow and I wondered how many people got injured in here. My thoughts quickly went away as I started hearing the song Que Sera, Sera being played on a violin by a young Italian boy. He was dressed in black pants and wore a black and white striped shirt with long sleeves and no collar. The black hat he was wearing made him look like the gondalier on one of the Venetian gondolas. This was Italy at its best. He also had his violin case open to catch loose coins or bills falling from the pockets of all the tourist walking through the tunnel.























We came out the other end of the tunnel where the sidewalk expanded on both sides to form a large area for tourists to congregate at. There were facilities underneath the sidewalk for those that needed them. The sidewalk narrowed again as it followed the contour of the mountain and we could see a couple of restaurants in the distance. These restaurants were on a steep climb, with countless steps leading to them. We could see the guard rails outlining the meandering steps. Our group headed up that way and we noticed that the first restaurant we passed was closed. As the other restaurant was still a good hike, we turned back, not wanting to waste the passing minutes with another futile effort. We walked back down the sidewalk and found a restaurant at the bottom of our walk. The restaurant had no outside seating available so we walked in and the waiter quickly seated us at two different tables. He was in a hurry and appeared to be rushed to the point of frenzy. I went into the bar area to check on the beer choices because there was no beer listed in the menus we had been given. I found that there was only one choice in this restaurant, but there was plenty of wine. We sat there, with no service, for five minutes. Our train departed for Manorola at 2:45PM and we only had forty minutes. We agreed that our group was too big to be able to get served that quickly so we all stood up and walked out, as the rushed waiter started taking our order. He started collecting our scattered menus as we left and I couldn't help but feel sorry for his poor dog. He would probably kick it when he got home after the day he appeared to be having.





















We had now walked into the heart of the village. The streets were so narrow that you could almost jump from one sidewalk to the opposite one. The restaurants were packed with cutomers. Though we were pressed for time, we still looked at the menus in case we saw something that could be eaten quickly. The group had also gotten thirsty. We passed a small store, with a glass cooler outside the front door. The cooler contained sodas, water, juice and beer. The beer was a light lager beer in a container that was larger than twelve ounces, but not quite the size of a quart. For 2 euros, a person could buy one. I purchased mine, to share with Luann, while Doyle, Cindy and Pat each purchased theirs. We walked up the narrow streets drinking our beer and talking about how neat this place was. We cut across an open area to get to the street parallel to this one and started walking back down the street, lined with shops. Before leaving the area, Luann, Bonnie and Sharon had found a small restaurant that served paninis (sandwiches) nestled between the two streets. We had approximately twenty five minutes to catch our train. As we entered the restaurant, the table nearest the door was occupied with the group from Michigan. Raggedy Anne and Andy were there drinking beer and waiting for food. They had taken the boat tour, that no one had raised their hand for on the bus, and were loving it. It looked like Anne and Pat would join that group on the boat. The ladies ordered their sandwiches at the bar, sipping on the oversized containers of beer while they chatted. The restaurant had a unique openness to it and I noticed that the store we had bought the beer at was across the street from the opposite entrance we had walked in. As the sandwiches arrived, our group came together and we walked out the opposite entrance. We stopped at the store and another 2 euros later, we had another oversized bottle of beer. Our group, minus Anne and Pat, headed back up the large sidewalk, through the tunnel where the violinist was still playing the same song and up to the portico that housed the tunnel leading to the train platform. We stopped at the end of the tunnel for our group picture, with the ocean serving as the backdrop, while sipping beer and munching on sandwiches. Was this cool or what?





















We entered the tunnel, passing two monitors that showed the arrivals and departures. No one looked at the monitors because we had a copy of the train schedule that Melissa had given us on the bus. It wasn't the complete schedule, just a xerox copy of the page that pertained to the villages. No one in the group, including me, noticed the missing piece. We arrived at the top of the stairs and stood there waiting for the train. There were only two tracks in this station. This track and the track opposite of ours that had a train sitting on it. Our group had long since finished the beer and now the sandwiches were being disposed of when Bob mentioned that our train should be here any minute. I looked at the schedule Melissa had given us and asked the group if anyone knew what track we were leaving from. I suddenly had the feeling I had been here before. I ran down the steps to check the monitors, but they weren't working properly. The screens were jumping around like the TV sets we had when I was growing up. I couldn't make out the numbers. Bob came down and he couldn't make them out either. We walked back to the group and as I started telling Bob about Luann and my screw up yesterday, the train we were supposed to be on started to pull away. We had missed the train in the exact same way we had missed it yesterday. I could not believe what I had just witnessed. The experienced travelers ride again.



















It took another twenty minutes for the next train to arrive. We were going to the next village and it was pretty evident that we would not see all of them on this trip. We climbed on board and took the ten minute ride. The tunnels were becoming longer and more frequent as we made our way through the mountain, so we were relieved when we arrived and were able to get off the train. This stop was a lot different than the last one. We climbed off the train and noticed that there were not many people here. We could not tell if we were in a station or if we were in another building. A quick look around found two small bathrooms on the other side of where we had arrived, but there was nothing to indicate where we were or what direction to go. As we walked away from the tracks there was a man and woman in uniform sitting at a table. Next to them were steps pressed against the side of a mountain that looked like the way out of here. As some of us started to climb up, the couple stopped us and asked us for our tickets. We had no idea what tickets they were wanting. Out of nowhere Melissa appeared with the McDaniels and another couple from Michigan. They were the last people I expected to see here. Melissa went to the table, talked to the couple in her imitation Italian (some Italian, little Portugese and hand gestures) and purchased tickets. We were back to trick or treat night, our little fingers stretched out to grasp the valuable commodity. We climbed the steps that were pressed up against the side of the mountain and came out to warm sunshine and a view that was phenomenal.



















We were now in place that was surrounded by mountains and hundreds of feet above the ocean. As far as a person could see, the beautiful ocean was directly in front of us. To our left and right were mountains with protruding jagged inlets. Blue waves soon turned white as they beat the mountain and frothed up on the way back out, only to gather strength and try the ordeal again and again. We were lterally on a stone path. We walked along this path totally engrossed with the view. I don't think I have ever been anywhere that was so breathtaking. It was similar to the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, only this scene stretched forever and we were right in the middle of it. Behind us was a mountain side and there was graffiti everywhere. Some of the graffiti was artistic, but most was not. It was on boulders, concrete retaining walls, electrical boxes, literally everywhere we looked. It saddened me to think that there were people who could mar such a beautiful setting. On the side of the mountain above us someone had planted a large vineyard. The grape vines were neatly lined up, with small containers and plastic tubing that was used for watering alongside. Nets covered the vines to protect them from the birds and small tools were visible. I could not comprehend how the grapes had been planted among the boulders or how they were harvested. Who took care of this was one of countless questions running through my mind as I stood there taking it all in.



















Melissa's group had reached this location by walking, while we had taken the train. I had a lot of respect for Kenny and Shirley for doing the walk, after seeing the terrain. Our small group had become intertwined with the walking tour group, but as we progressed along the path, we started getting back together. Our group walked much faster so we left the walking tour and headed down the path to take pictures and look for a nice outdoor bar or cafe so we could enjoy the view sitting down. We passed a young man selling his paintings of the view in a little stand he had set up. Luann and Bonnie paused to look at them, but nothing was purchased. We continued our walk and came up to a small outdoor bar that had a spectacular view of the mountains and ocean. I thought the place was perfect, but I was quickly outvoted with assurances that there would be another one farther up. I considered this a missed opportunity. We continued our walk down the path and noticed that we were coming down an incline towards a train station. That was going to be the end of our excursion into the villages. We stopped at a small cafe and we were able to have a glass of beer or wine before we had to end this part of the day. Our group sat in the sun overlooking the sea and the mountains, laughing and having a great conversation. I was asked if this place was better than the pervious stop we had passed up. I replied that it would do, still wishing we could spend another day here. The group laughed.



















We all met at the train station, not more than fifty yards from where we had our beer and wine. I inquired at the ticket counter if it would be possible to make the trip from here to Cremona, our final destination, in the event anyone besides me would like to stay here a little longer. It could be done, but it would be risky if we missed the train or if something happened. The whole tour group had united here to take the train to La Spezia, where our tour bus was waiting. The train showed up and we piled in. It was getting late so the train was pretty full. Pat, Sharon, Luann and I stood in the area between the cars and enjoyed the ride back, mostly through dark tunnels. The ride in the train was uneventful as we blasted through tunnel after tunnel. It took us forty five minutes to get to the bus and another twenty five minutes to get everyone loaded. We climbed on board and noticed that some of the passengers that had gotten back earlier had drawn the red curtains across the windows. The sun beating on the window panes was bright, not to mention hot. I pulled my curtain back to its original position so I could look out the window. In the process, I broke the plastic hook that kept the curtain bunched up. I quickly dropped it on the floor and hoped no one would notice. If someone told Melissa, I would probably get yelled at. The bus was loaded and we were off. I hated leaving this place and vowed to return, just like McArthur in the Pacific. As we rumbled out of the city into the broad stretches of the four lane autostrada, Luann asked me if I was still going to make my presentation. I had forgotten all about it. The fact was, I was mad at having to leave the neatest place on the trip. I told her no. My heart would not be in it. She quickly went up to Bonnie's seat and told Bonnie to pass the news on to Nancy that pouting Herm would not be presenting to the group because he couldn't stay and play longer in the Villages. There were a total of five villages and we had only seen two of them.

















What happened next would be a topic of conversation for the rest of the trip. One of the Michigan group leaders turned on the intercom and made the announcement that we would soon be hearing from our guest speakers. I looked around the bus and saw the same people that had gotten in the morning, pretty much in the same seats. I didn't see anyone that looked like a guest speaker. The intercom blared as the leader talked about the Michigan tour and the alumni association for some junior college. I looked at Luann and asked her what this was all about. I always look to her when something is out of whack and this didn't seem right. She shrugged her shoulders and I looked out the window sensing a battle coming up. The voice continued to mention something about the tour and about someone who had graduated from the junior college and now was big time because that person had graduated from a four year college in Chicago. I looked at our Iowa group and they were busy napping or reading. including Luann. I didn't want to read. I was chomping at the bit to lay into someone for disturbing my tour with commercials about an alumni association for a two year college.

















The voice finally stopped and introduced Nancy, who was in charge of the guest speakers. I continued to look around, thinking I may have missed them. She put that to rest quickly. She began by telling us that the guest speakers were our own tour members who had been here before and would talk to us about their past experiences in Northern Italy. So much for the term guest speaker, but I sat there like the others and took it in. She introduced Bill. Bill was a tall man that I had not paid much attention to, but that changed in a hearbeat. Bill started his talk by telling the group that he was an ex CEO of the European division of Whirlpool and that he had lived in Italy for a few years. He addressed the Iowa contingency by mentioning the respect he had for Maytag, which was purchased by Whirlpool and hoped that it had not had too bad of an impact on the Iowa economy. He proceeded to explain to us how he had brought Whirlpool to a new level in Europe and did this and did that. he loved the Italian people and that they weren't lazy but hard workers. I was in a frenzy. What the heck was this all about? Luann was now dozing, as was Sharon and Pat. I looked over at Doyle and his look told me that we were on the same page with this idiotic waste of our time. I tried to turn my hearing aids off, but that didn't help. I tried reading my Italian dictionary, but Bill on the mike was too loud. I did what I had to do. I muttered to Luann, "You've got to be kidding me." She did not give me a dirty look or scold me in any way, which was my signal to take it to another level. I looked at Doyle and gave Bill the thumbs down. I had been loud enough with my grumbles to have stirred Sharon. The Iowans were getting restless. We had not come to Italy to hear an appliance commercial. Bill ended his lecture on the Whirlpool saga in Europe and handed the mike back to Nancy for the next guest speaker, while almost everyone on the bus clapped and patted him on the back. Andy spoke next. He was also a Whirlpool employee and had been a lobbyist in Washington for the company. We had Whirlpool coming out of the woodwork. Sharon was surprised at this information. Andy proceeded to talk about Whirlpool and continued where Bill, who I later named Earl Pool, left off. If I had had a yellow penalty flag, I would have thrown it. This was a personal foul in the worst sense. Luann, by now had her her fill of it, as did the rest of the group.

















Luann is a very well prepared person and can make a bad situation right real quickly. In her oversized purse she had two of the wine boxes we had bought for our train ride yesterday. She even had enough plastic cups for the six of us (Pat, Sharon, Doyle, Cindy and us). As the Whirlpool part two presentation rambled on, we distributed the wine and started our own game of assigning nicknames to the individuals in our group so we could be better identified. We laughed hysterically as we joked around in the back of the bus, like the immature old people we were. Andy finished his presentation and got his applause, not as big as Earl's, but he wasn't a CEO and walked back to his seat. The presentations died down and there was mention that the Iowa group had chosen not to do one. I could have talked about being fluent in Spanish by the age of four, attended college and even had a job or two. I was so glad I had not gotten up there and made a fool of myself. I don't like that kind of attention. The wine lasted us until we started seeing Cremona in the distance.













The presentations ended and Melissa was back in control of the mike. She told us that we were now in the agricultural heart of Italy. A view of the surrounding area confirmed a lack of mountains and farmland stretching in all directions. The surrounding landscape was very similar to the Midwest. The stretch of highway we were now on was very similar to the drive on interstate 80 going through Iowa. The only major difference was the size of the vehicles here. Though the occasional SUV would pass us, mostly it was the small Fiats and cars I didn't know. We learned that Cremona was known for the violin and that this had been home to Stradaverious, the famous violin maker. The Stradaverious violin was extremely rare and that there were makers specially trained to make this violin. The waiting period for the violin was two years because of the demand/supply issue. The price ranged from a few thousand to hundreds of thousands. Sometimes being culturally inept has its advantages. I could buy a guitar at Walmart tomorrow and it would not cost me anywhere near that. I didn't share this thought because I didn't want to embarass Luann. Melissa continued to talk about the hotel we were staying at and our agenda for the next few days. I kind of paid attention, but Luann had found something in her travel book that was more interesting. She told me that Cremona was home to the tallest tower in Europe and taller than anything in the western hemisphere. It had been built as a defense and lookout tower in the fifth century and was the focal point of the city. As I looked out the window, I noticed the tower from a good five miles away. The afternoon was starting to fade away into early evening and as the sun set behind us, this magnificent structure started rising out of the earth. I could not make out any buildings, but I could see the bus heading towards it. A lost tarveler could have found Cremona just by heading towards the tower. I had never seen a structure stick out that majestically before.











The afternoon sun was now a thing of the past, as dusk welcomed us into the city of Cremona. We pulled off the autostrada and onto the main street heading towards the downtown area, which would have the tower situated in the main square. The tower was so tall that we couldn't see it from the bus. I marveled at how every town we drove through or stayed in had its own distinct look. Back home, you could visit any small town in a specific region and it would be very similar to another town in that region. Cremona had the normal narrow streets, but this town had to have been the bicycle capital of the world. As we passed by the private hospital on our left and businesses on our right, the driver manuevered the large bus to a stop two blocks away from the hotel. The bus was too large to make its way to through the square to the front of the hotel. We were instructed to leave the bus, our bags would be delivered to the rooms. We walked off the bus into a street busy with pedestrians, scooters and cars. The most noticable form of transportation was the bicycle. People flew by us on bikes, skirting around parked cars and scooters. There was no age limit on the bikes. There were kids with their back packs, shop keepers in uniforms and even professionals dressed in business attire. Old people handled the bikes in the same manner as the younger ones. No one looked at each other or nodded, they just concentrated on the traffic and pedaled. Most of the bikes had baskets on the front or back that held briefcases, bags, packages and books. It was quite impressive and I had to wonder if these people owned their bikes or rented. The bikes all looked identical. We walked the two blocks to the hotel and in the middle of the block heading towards the square was the hotel Impero, its neon sign a welcoming the newly arrived contingent. From the outside, the hotel had two small glass doors that entered into the lobby. The hotel was neatly tucked in between an apartment building and a restaurant/bar. Outdoor tables, with umbrellas put away for the evening lined the narrow sidewalk as our group, now dispersed walked in to the lobby. Like the hotel in Stresa, check in was a breeze since we didn't have to mess with bags or with reception. As Melissa took care of check in, we looked at the small lobby area. There were two frosted glass doors that led to the dining room and a small table inside the front doors with newspapers and magazines neatly arranged. Off the lobby were the stairs and the elevator. The lobby, though bigger than the previous hotel, was fairly small. It was, however, modern and extremely well maintained. We were handed our keys, not the big huge key anymore, but the small plastic cards. We were informed that dinner was at 8;00PM at a restaurant, a short walking distance from the hotel and we would meet in the lobby at 7:30. Luann and I joined Pat and Sharon on the elevator and headed up to the fourth floor to see what the rooms were like. Having deposited Pat and Sharon on the second floor, we arrived on the fourth floor and were greeted by darkness. Two steps off the elevator and the darkness turned to light as the motion detectors turned the hall lights on. How impressive.





Our room was a world away from the hotel in Stressa. The room was much brighter and definately more modern. The dark wood that was such a part of the previous hotel was replaced by metal and plastic. The wood that was in this room was stained a light color versus the dark, rich brown of the more traditional buildings of a past era. We had a large queen bed in the middle, with two night stands on each side. A telephone rested on the side nearest the door. On the far side of the bed, there were two tall doors leading out to a small balcony that overlooked an enclosed patio area, surrounded by the buildings. An apartment complex that looked like it belonged to this hotel was directly across from us. A television set sat on a dresser at the foot of the bed and it was a set that could have fit in most American hotels. I would not have given this away to Goodwill, but would have probably put it on EBay. Next to the dresser was the door to the bathroom. The bathroom took up the width of the room and had a large sink, bidet and large shower. Tile floors made the bathroom seem even bigger and much more modern. We quickly took an inventory of our room and left to meet Pat and Sharon in the lobby. We were going to do a quick walk around the square before dinner.



In the lobby, we found some concern among the fellow traveler related to the bags. As the four of us stood at the front door of the hotel, we saw four of our Michigan counterparts pushing a large hotel garment and bag cart through the doors It was filled with bags. Apparently, the hotel was not staffed currently to do this in a timely manner and people wanted to change for dinner. We only had a little over an hour. We decided to walk back to the bus and get our luggage. We quickly got the bags, walked back to the hotel and dropped them off in the room before meeting back down on the lobby. We heard some grumbling from people, but at least we had our bags.



Our hotel was situated on a side street that led to the city's infamous square. We walked out the front doors and saw that there were shops and restaurants on both sides of the narrow street. The restaurants all had tables set out for outdoor dining. We noticed that some of these restaurants were closed, apparently a sign that the tourist season was coming to an end here as well. We walked around the square quickly and came back to a restaurant that was at the end of the block directly opposite of our hotel. Doyle and Cindy were already there. Pat purchased a round of drinks and we toasted our arrival to Cremona Italy, as the darkness of a cool fall evening wrapped around us. It was a great way to start our first night here, laughing and reflecting on the bizarre bus trip home. What made this area so appealing was that it seemed all the store fronts had their own built in squares. They had a large patio area in front of their stores and the stores and restaurants blended together so nicely that it looked like one huge outdoor mall. The six of us returned to the hotel after our one drink, went to our rooms to freshen up for dinner and then met the rest of the tour group, including the group that had went to the villages on their own, in the lobby at 7:30. Forty three American tourists left the front of the hotel, as darkness settled, and started to walk to a restaurant that no one a clue to its location. We had been told that it was located in the square so we walked into the square.



To say the square was big is an understatement. As we walked up the narrow street from our hotel, the street emptied into a perfectly squared area. On our left was a large red brick building with arched, brick columns supporting the structure. This building housed the government offices even a violin museum. It took up the wole side of the square, with the visitors bureau being the last office on the corner. To the left of the building and up the side, there was a narrow street where motor vehicles were prohibited, but bicycles and pedestrians traffic passed the many shops, bakeries, ice cream shops and restaurants. Directly opposite us, at the top of the square stood the tower. It had a huge clock on its face and the entrance was guarded by two stone lions, their backs supporting the columns that supported the facade. Words in old Latin were inscribed along the building's face, that also include countless statues and engravings that dated back to centuries before the new world was discovered. The tower reached up into the darkness and it was intimidating, but awesome. To the right of the tower was the Cathedral. The baptistry was located on the street which closed up the square. Directly behind it were more stores and restaurants. A side street, used by cars and scooters, was directly to our right. Our group took all this in as we walked around looking for the restaurant, which was not to be found. Some of us went behind the tower, some peered through windows of other restaurants, while others chose to stay in the background and look like they were not part of the group. The large group found itself leaving the square and heading down a larger street away from the hotel and the square. Someone had found the restaurant, not in the square itself, but a block away. Graffiti greeted us as we walked down the sidewalk and were welcomed into the restaurant. There were only a few customers in the restaurant and the look on our greeters face told us that they were not expecting a group this large and this late in the tourist season. The Michigan people had already filled a small alcove above us, so our group of twelve was seated at a long table in the main part of the restaurant, just outside the small alcove. Our group picked up two ladies from Michigan that could not fit into the small adjacent room. They became part of our group from then on.



Once both rooms were seated, the waiters and waitress (she would not smile for anything) began bringing out wine, which was welcomed by all. We sat there toasting, laughing and talking about today's tours. Anne thought I could have made a presentation like Earl's easily enough. We all laughed. Our first course (piatto) was pumpkin ravioli, which was delicious. The waiter, wanting to impress us, kept saying halloween and we couldn't understand him, in reference to the dish. This was October and we all laughed when we figured it out. I was able to converse with him a little and it gave him an opportunity to speak English and me Italian. Our second course was a risotto rice dish that was very rich. The review from the group was mixed. The third dish was roasted potatoes which were delicious and plentiful. The large dishes containing them were taken away partially full. The main dish was veal, which everyone enjoyed. I gave mine away as I don't like meat very much. We finished off with a cake dessert, which was very good. We could tell by the meal that we were now in the agricultural region, as opposed to the sea and lake region we had been in the previous three days. I hoped that I would get some seafood or fish sometime during our stay here.



Dinner lasted a solid two hours. The staff could not keep up with the wine demand for such a large group and we were constantly asking for more. Three bottles of wine doesn't last long in a group of fourteen during a two hour dinner. There were a couple of tables across from us. At one table was a young man that had been there before we got there. He had finished eating, had a bottle of Heineken and a cup of coffee. He was studying a book and would put the book aside, drum his fingers on the table as if playing an instrument, write something on a piece of tablet paper, and then compare it to the book. His eyes closed as if he could hear the music. He did this the whole time we were eating. I was intrigued. Could he be a violinist or a protege of some kind? I have never really paid attention to anyone that studied music, but it reminded me of college. The table directly across from us had Melissa and the bus driver. They were on their second bottle of wine when I noticed them and wondered how they had gotten wine so easily. The driver had even gotten Melissa an after dinner drink and an extra piece of cake for them to share. Tomorrow was a non bus day, so the driver had the day off. Melissa had set up us with an optional tour of the cathedral and a violin manufacturer, but after that we were on our own. They were unwinding. As they got up from their table, we asked the driver if he was going to enjoy his day off. Through Melissa's interpretation, we were informed that he had to spend most of the day cleaning the bus because someone had spilled wine in it. The only wine on the bus had been ours and Luann had been meticulous about pouring it and disposing of the containers properly. The only whining that could be considered a problem was mine during the Whirlpool presentation. Needless to say, I quickly gave our bus driver a new name. He was now Massimoto, instead of Massimo. I was offended at the inference. The Michigan group was now closing up their festivities with their renditions of alma mater fight songs. The Michigan fight song was sung, the junior college fight song was sung and we think there was a Whirlpool fight song somewhere in the medly. We finsihed our meal and walked out of the restaurant. The evening had turned chilly as we walked through the square and back to our rooms. We said our good night to the group and headed to our new room. It did not take long to pull the covers back, switch on the TV and lay there watching CNN in English, while Luann read her book. We would see what Cremona had to offer on day six. Falling asleep, my mind went back to Massimoto and envisioned him cleaning the bus. I couldn't help but smile at the short, chubby Italian wearing sunglasses, whining the whole time.

Day 4--Bergamo

Here we go again! I awoke from a deep sleep just like the night before. I had no idea what was going on with me, but here I was, in the same position I was in the night before. We had no clock in the room and Luann's cell phone was in another room being charged and I had no idea what time it was. We set a wake up call for 6:30 AM, so I knew it was earlier than 6:30 because we had not been called yet, but that's all I knew. To make matters a little more complicated, the room arrangement had changed. On our first night, Luann and I had a king size bed, so we thought. They were actually two twin beds, with the bed spread over them, making them look like one big bed. It fooled me. Last night, the beds were separated and I was in my own bed and Luann in hers. How crazy was that? I thought of poor Pat and Sharon who also had twin beds, but Sharon's was stuck in the closet, while Pat's was in the center of the room. Sharon called it a Murphy bed. I had never heard that term before. I had not closed the heavy blinds last night because I didn't want to pull any muscles and I wanted to make sure I could see in case I woke up in the middle of the night. Waking up at this moment, I couldn't understand how wide awake I felt. I made a vow that I would not get up and walk around the room again, but that I would lay there and sleep. I tried real hard and managed to doze off.

The chirping of the phone woke me up. Without my hearing aids in , it was feint, but I could hear it. The phones here don't ring, they chirp. Everything here chirps. I was real sleepy now and cautiously opened my eyes a little. I was laying on my stomach and I had to make sure Luann didn't see that I was even close to being awake. She would have hit me with the line she uses to make me move. "We better get up, because we don't want to be late." I hate that line. Luann didn't even look over to my bed. She mumbled something to who ever called and laid her head back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. She was probably saying a prayer to have me wake up in a positive mood, not the normal negative mood she is so accustomed to seeing in the morning. I chuckled to myself when I thought how I must really make her life challenging. I was drifting back into sleep when that little voice in my head tried to tell me something. I didn't listen to it last night at the reception desk and I didn't listen to it now. I knew Luann was awake and I would be getting the line in a few minutes. We had plenty of time and I was sleepy. I heard the little voice laugh a little as it went back into my subconscious.

I did not have my hearing aids in, but I heard it loud and clear. The knock on the door. It reminded me of the knock on the door when Dorothy, the lion, the scarecrow and the tin man arrived at Oz and they had to use the big knocker on that huge door. The sound resonated all through Oz, just like this knock was resonating all through the room. Luann jumped out of bed and I thought she had reached the door in one giant leap. I, on the other hand, could not understand what had happened. Luann asked who it was and a faint voice on the other side of the door asked, "Are you guys coming?" Luann's frantic look told the whole story as she replied, "We'll be right there." WE HAD OVERSLEPT. That's what the little voice was trying to tell me. The wake up call was too early. Oh man, we were in for it now. Luann brushed her teeth, as she tried to get her pajamas off and a sweater on. I couldn't move because I was frozen with the fear of climbing on that bus and all those people looking at us. Also, my blood in the morning is not much thicker than the frozen fuel lines on diesel trucks and I don't move very fast. Frantically, we both looked at at each other and I had an idea. I did not have any time to test the waters, but I softly, very unusual for me, suggested to Luann that we take the train and meet them in Bergamo. It took two seconds for her to reply. " You want me to go down and tell them we will meet them later?" I replied, "What do you think of that idea?" There was no reply from her as she bolted for the door. This was going to be fun I said to myself, wondering where the train station could be. I was also wondering what the others would think when they learned we had taken a bottle of wine to our rooms before bed. They would never believe we only had one small glass each before bed. I looked at the almost full bottle and pondered the situation when I heard the door open.

Luann had returned, feeling much more at ease and she even mentioned that this was going to be a neat adventure for us. I was agreeing with her, wondering where the train station was. In the whole fracas of the morning, Luann had gotten her cell phone back, which now gave us a clock. After some quick calculations, we determined it was around 8:00AM. We showered, dressed and headed down to breakfast. We arrived to a fairly empty dining room, but once again, we were asked to sit with someone else. I could not figure out why we were never allowed to eat by ourselves. I softly mentioned this to Luann, which brought about the look that told me to knock off the complaining. We were escorted to a round table that could seat eight, but at the present moment, it had one person sitting there. The white table cloth and linen napkins were neatly in place as we sat down and met Bruce.

Bruce was from Michigan and was traveling with his girlfriend Nancy, who was one of the tour hosts for the Michigan group. He was sixty nine years old and had just retired. As we shared pastries, coffee and breakfast, we discussed our kids, careers, retirement and a whole set of worldly issues that did not mean a thing to anyone but us. Bruce had decided to skip today's tour because he was burned out with all the bus travel. Our explanation was that we wanted to travel by train. We didn't quite tell him that we had overslept. Bruce had no plans for the day, as he was just going to hang around Stresa. This was our last day at this location and he had not had a lot of opportunities to see the town. The three of us finished breakfast and parted company in the small lobby. Bruce went up the short flight to the mezzanine to use the Internet and Luann and I went to the front desk to get directions to the train station.

It turned out the train station was a ten minute walk from the hotel, towards the back of the town. I did not get complete directions, but had a general idea of where to go. Hand in hand, Luann and I walked out the front door and headed towards the main street that ran parallel to the lake. We noticed that there were tents across the street that had not been there before. It appeared there was some sort of market going on. We turned left and headed past the hotels and inns. We stopped at a hedged in garden,where there were numerous oil paintings sitting on easels. We walked into the garden and were very impressed with the beauty of the setting and the talent being displayed. It looked like it was one artists personal show and he was busy talking to another on looker. We talked about the talent my daughter Erin has when it comes to art and creativity and I had to remark to Luann that she gets that talent from me. I could trace a stick figure with the best of them. We didn't stay long because it would be futile to figure out how to get a painting home and we had a mission far more important than paintings.

We walked down the busy sidewalk and saw the sign post for the station. We took another left turn and found ourselves walking uphill to the municipal area of the downtown. Small sign posts with directions to various departments were on every corner. They also included a hand drawn picture of the department, in case the visitor could not read. It was a pleasant walk and we knew we were close when we saw the tracks above us. A couple of misdirected steps was all it took to make us decide to ask someone for directions. We saw an old couple walking down the driveway of their home towards us and the street. I asked them for directions to the station in Italian and they were eager to help. The nice lady began giving me lefts and rights in that beautiful language and I was doing fine until the older gentleman decided to get his heroics in. I stood there on a quiet, residential street watching fingers pointing in all different directions, hearing more lefts and rights than in a boxing match and finally walking away. Luann asked me if I knew where we were supposed to go and I replied, "Of course."

To this day, I cannot understand where those old people were telling me to go. The station turned out to be right behind their house, not more than two blocks from where we were at. As we walked up a small inclined street, we could see the station. It was a long brick building, with taxis parked along the narrow street waiting for the inbound passengers. The station was divided into three parts. The center of the station served as the main ticketing area, while one end hosted a small shop for buying newspapers, magazines and tobacco and the other end was a restaurant and bar area. We walked into the main area and immediately noticed that there were no ticket offices open. It was Sunday. There were two monitors detailing the inbound and outbound trains but no one available to help up us.

We knew from our past travel here that Milan was the center hub for train travel. A quick look at the departures showed us there were two trains going to Milan. One was going to Milano Centrale, the largest train station in Europe, while the other was going to Milano Garibaldi. The Garibaldi train was due to depart from here at 10:23 AM, while the Centrale train was departing at 12:30 PM. If we wanted to catch the group, we needed to get to Bergamo by 2:00 PM so we decided to take the earlier train to Milano Garibaldi. There was no one working in the ticket office, however, there were machines that looked like self ticketing kiosks. We tried our luck with the machines, but I had forgotten my reading glasses and could not see the small print. Luann could not read Italian and we didn't have time to have her spell things to me and me trying to translate them. We gave up after a couple of futile attempts. . The train was due in about fifteen minutes so we rushed out the main doors to the tracks, to see if we could get some help.

We immediately caught the attention of very person waiting for trains. It wasn't that we were causing a scene. It was just that we were trying to act real cool and we stuck out like sore thumbs. We would smile, walk real fast and try to open doors, while talking English to each other. The doors we tried were all locked. On Sunday morning, most of the people waiting were locals and they could not help but smile as we continued our futile attempt. I finally saw the group of engineers sitting in the engineer's office. There were four young men, dressed in their tan uniforms with the Trenitalia embroidered above their right pocket. I asked them if any of them could speak English. All four replied in unison that they could not. I had no choice but to get myself into an Italian dialogue with them. I did my typical Italian impersonation (little Italian, some Spanish and a lot of pig Latin). I was in a hurry, so my languages got all messed up, but I was able to find out that the Garibaldi train would work to get to Bergamo and that we could get a ticket inside. We were directed to the newspaper stand, where a machine would let us purchase a ticket. We rushed to the newspaper stand, but found no machine. We ran back into the main lobby and found ourselves looking at the same machines we had seen not more than fifteen minutes ago. We were helpless as the train pulled in. We had to get on, so we did. As people watched, we flew out of the main lobby back to the outside waiting area and headed for the train. I asked the engineer, as the train pulled away, if they sold tickets on board. He smiled and nodded. I don't know if he smiled because they didn't or if he smiled because these two cool, experienced travelers looked like they had never been on a train. We were off and running exactly at 10:23 AM.

We jumped onto the train and sat down in the first seats available. We faced each other sharing a valuable window seat. We had also picked the side of the train that would give us a better view of the scenery as we worked our way towards Milan. I had observed a young man waving a 5 Euro bill to the engineer I had talked to, which gave me a more confident feeling that we would be able to buy a ticket on the train. The young man got into the same car we were in, as we started pulling out of the station. It was a bright, sunny Sunday morning and we were the only ones in the car. The train we were on was considered a regional train, which is much different than the Eurostar or inter country trains. This train would stop at many small towns along the way, picking up and dropping passengers. We sat back and enjoyed the ride, observing the different vegetation Northern Italy has to offer. We saw a number of small towns, winding rivers and streams and even got a good view of the lake as we headed inland. On the third stop, a small town call Argona, the young man that got on with us made his departure. As he walked past us, I asked him how far to Milano. The look he gave us made me think that we may have gotten on the wrong train, however, that thought was quickly replaced when he laughed and told us Milan was a long way away. The way he replied and smiled made me wonder what we had gotten ourselves into. I also noticed that he had never had to give anyone the 5 Euro bill he had shown back at the station. We had not gone very far, but I thought we should have seen a conductor by now.

Our conductor showed his face thirty minutes later. As Luann and I continued to marvel at the scenery, the far door leading into the car slid back, with a gust of air, and our conductor strutted in. He was thin, about 5'9", with a sharp nose and wire rimmed glasses hanging on a chain around his neck. He was dressed in the green uniform of the Trenitalia company, with matching tie, belt and hat. He looked just like the conductor on the Polar Bear Express movie only in green. His route guide was as thick as a New York City phone book and he had his puncher out and ready to punch tickets. He also had a big wallet attached to a chain leading into his pocket. He had his ticket punch out as he stood in front of us, waiting for the ticket. He had a pleasant smile and blue eyes that smiled in sync with his mouth. The poor guy had no idea at that moment that his easy, slow, uneventful Sunday was now going to have its first challenge. He saw me smile up at him and wish him good morning in Italian and then ask him if he spoke English. His head dropped as he said no. I then asked him if he spoke Spanish. His head turned and dropped as he said no. I wanted to ask him if he spoke pig Latin, but Luann wouldn't like that so I didn't. I told him in imitation Italian that we didn't have a ticket and we needed to buy one. He was so soft spoken I could hardly hear him. I could not make out if he was asking me where we were going, where we got on, or if we were having a nice time. I just sat there with a dumb smile on my face nodding. That's what I do when I can't hear someone. I just nod. The poor guy took his New York phone book, ticket punch, put his glasses on, and sat in the seat across the aisle from us. I then mentioned Stresa, thinking he needed to know something about where we got on and then I mentioned Milano and he quickly figured out that we weren't here for a free ride. Licking his fingers, he began paging through the million pages he must have had in that huge route guide. To make matters worse, we had now stopped at a town and were picking up a lot of passengers. He kept looking at the ones getting off and wondering to himself how many he was not able to get tickets punched for, or worse, had gotten a free ride. I could have told him about the young man, but I didn't. At this stop, the train was getting fuller and anyone coming into this car had to get their ticket punched as they walked by our conductor. Luann and I sat there as the conductor got on his cell phone and kept calling. He was getting more animated as he talked, but whatever he was asking was not getting answered. He kept pouring through the book for a rate. He now took another small book out and looked at it, but still could not find a rate. I should have just sat there quietly, but I didn't. I mentioned to Luann that maybe he was going to give us some exorbant rate and rip us off in the process, which resulted in a scolding on my not being able to trust people and always being negative. Another poorly timed comment. The poor guy was still at it when I mentioned to him in imitation Italian that the day before, we had been given a rate of 9 euoros from Cuomo to Stresa. He quickly took the ticket pad that he carried underneath his route guide and wrote us a ticket for 9 euros. I gave him a 10 euro bill and got my change. He said thanks and I apologized the best I could for having screwed up his easy Sunday. We saw him one station later walking off the train heading for the station.

At 12.30 PM we arrived at the Milano Garibaldi train station. It was not as I expected. The station was a nice modern facility, unlike the Milano Centrale station. There were approximately eleven tracks situated in an open area under a large canopy. Though there were people getting off and on trains it was nowhere as busy or congested as Centrale. As we walked off the train and walked along the platform to the terminal, we began our search for the next train that would take us to Bergamo. We saw the monitors identifying cities like: Roma, Genova, Firenza, etc., but no Bergamo. Luann looked at the paper schedules taped to the large posts in the middle of the platforms, but there were so many cities to look at, it was like searching for Waldo.

We had no choice but to find a ticket office and ask for help. I knew they would talk English here. The ticket office was around the corner, just as we walked into the main concourse from the train platforms. We went to the second window because it was available and asked the short chubby man if he spoke English. He said no and pointed to the next window, which was the only other manned window. There were three people in line there and we didn't have time to wait. I had to do my imitation Italian routine with him and to my surprise, he understood. He quickly printed off two tickets and gave them to me. He pointed to the ticket to explain to me that we had to go Luscano and Bergamo would be one of the stops. I just nodded, kind of understanding what I could hear. Departure time was 1:10, so we had forty minutes to kill. A quick look at the departure monitors and posted schedules confirmed that we were on the right track.

The train station had three floors and we had arrived on the ground floor. We could see taxis out the front double pane glass doors. We took the steps down to the lower level because the escalators weren't moving. We acted like we were curious as to what the station looked like, but truthfully, we were looking for the bathrooms. A quick reconasance told us that down here there were vending machines, storage rooms, but no restaurants or bathrooms. We walked back up the stairs and looked around the main floor. There was a convenience store, some shops, the ticket counter and more vending machines. We walked out to the train platforms and still could not find a bathroom on this floor. We found a sign identifying the bathrooms as being downstairs. We went down the stairs again and rewalked the same passageways that we had just walked a few minutes before. We found nothing. We went back up the stairs to the main floor and then up the the top floor, which had nothing but offices. It was not desperate yet, but it was getting close. We stopped and asked a young lady where the bathrooms were and she pointed downstairs and we looked at her in disbelief. We told her we had been there twice to no avail. She bent over the railing and pointed to a section around the corner, opposite of where everything was located. As we headed for the stairs, we walked by the escalator and it turned on. The escalators were on motion sensors and we thought they were broke. We felt pretty stupid then. Down we went, took a right at the bottom of the escalator and then saw the welcome sign for the bathrooms. We had burned more than half of our forty minute layover.

Refreshed, we were now ready to head for the train. We took the escalator back to the main floor and went to find the track, which should have our train sitting on it. No such luck. As we walked the width of the platfrom we kept coming up missing one track, ours. We wondered if they had made a mistake, if we were in the twilight zone or if we had just screwed up. Our track was not there. We ran down the steps looking for the track in the same places we originally looked for the bathrooms; No track. This was ridiculous, a word that I use constantly. We were going to miss our train. Then Luann spotted it on the way back up the stairs, escalators were too slow. There was another set of tracks on the other side of a wall across from where the bathrooms were. The sign was small, hanging from the cement rafter and how she saw it was beyond me. We ran up a small four step set of stairs and there was the train on the track,with the conductor standing on the platform. We approached him and he confirmed that this was our train. He also informed us that we needed to transfer once more, in a small town called belazo, which was five stops away. We would not have know that if we hadn't talked to him. He also said we needed to validate the ticket quickly because we were leaving. He told us to go back down the small stairs and use a yellow machine located at the bottom of the steps. We ran down the stairs and put the ticket in; Nothing. We turned the ticket upside down; Nothing. This was really getting annoying. I left Luann standing there and ran back up to the conductor. I interrupted his conversation with a young man and tried to explain to him that the machine didn't work. The young Italian said he would help us and we took off together. He took our ticket, stuck it in the machine and it worked. We thanked him and back we went to board. Luann and I looked at each other in disbelief wondering if we had gotten this way because of something we had eaten. We boarded the train, wrong car of course. We had second class seats, not first class. I started wondering if the conductor had known what the word junk meant when I used it to describe the yellow validating machine. I do know what idiota means when he was probably describing me. I thought a lot about this as we pulled out of Milano Garibaldi. At least we had not missed the train.

We spent the next ten minutes counting stops. It's amazing that we didn't miscount, but it wasn't long before we stopped at a small Italian town in the middle of nowwhere. We were supposed to catch our train to Bergamo, so we quickly got off the train and headed for the station to check and see how much time we had before departure. It was 1:20PM and we had not eaten. We disembarked across from the station and had to go down a tunnel that crossed underneath the tracks and then went up, similar to the entrances used at stadiums to separate sections. As we walked to the station, Luann noticed a small restaurant/bar right next to it. It looked closed to me, but I didn't say anything for fear of the possible scolding I would get for being negative. We walked in and looked at the monitors, all two of them, and noticed that our train would be leaving in about ten minutes. We would depart from track three, wherever that was. As we walked out of the station to look for the track, the PA system crackled and began making announcements on various inbound and outbound trains. It sounded pretty standard. The little voice I had heard the last couple of days popped up again, but I quickly dismissed it. We needed to find the track because we didn't have much time. It looked like any chance to get a bite to eat was out of the question. We walked back down the entrance of the tunnel and walked underneath to the other end of the platforms to look for track three. The tracks were marked with navy blue metallic signs above the respective sections. Normally the tracks are in pairs, but not here. Tracks one and two were paired up, but the other tracks were by themselves. There were a total of five tracks. It took us a couple of walks up the wrong sections to realize that we were having trouble understanding the track layout. On the second pass, the PA system cracked and the announcements came again. This time I heard three key Italian words imbedded in the announcement; Bergamo, tre, quattro (Bergamo, three, four). I looked at Luann in horror and told her, "I think they changed the track!" We ran up the entrance to track three, amid a group of waiting passenger, in a sweat. A man in his early fortys stood there patiently waiting for a train. I asked him if his train went to Bergamo. He looked at me with a blank face. I mentioned in Italian, "Bergamo, treno". He didn't smile and he didn't talk. He just pointed behind us to a lone track that had a train starting to pull out, smoke coming from the engine. The train had been sitting there since we arrived and was now pulling out of the station. The experienced travelers that we were had now had missed the train to Bergamo and now we didn't know if this was the only train, or worse yet, if there was a way back to Stresa. I was attacked by a myriad of worst case scenarios within two seconds. I confirmed again, with my non-speaking Italian friend, that we had actually missed the train. He confrimed it with a nod of his head and said something I couldn't understand. I did what comes naturally to me. I kicked the platform with my right foot in disgust. Luann quickly accused me of trying to kick a fifty yard field goal, soccer style, at the fleeing train. The devil took over my tongue for a few short seconds and then all was eerily quiet as Luann and I absorbed the moment.

The most optimistic and positive person I have ever met is my mom, Alicia. A very close second is Luann. The most pessimistic person I have ever met was my dad, Ricky. A close second is me. I knew now that it would be impossible to meet up with the tour group. After my missed field goal attempt and the ensuing penalty scolding, Luann cheered up and said, "Don't forget that we are having a new adventure today. We need to stay positive." I couldn't reply to that. As we walked back to the station, she talked about having a beer and a sandwich at the station restaurant/bar. This time I responded that it was closed. I didn't care if it sounded negative. I was screaming at myself for having not paid attention to the intercom. A four year old Italian child would have picked up on the track change. We entered the station and to our relief the next train for Bergamo was due in at 2:15 PM. We had forty five minutes to kill.

We walked back out of the station, past the closed bar and headed out to the street. There were a few cars parked in front of the station, but for the most part, nothing else stirred in this town. Every shop, apartment building, office and garage had large gates over their front entrances. The gates were the ugly, gray, corrugated metal type that served as a graffiti artists favorite canvas. The streets were deserted and every gate was covered with more graffiti than I had ever seen in one place. I felt like I was on the set of the old movie "Escape from New York" starring Kurt Russell. I was a little nervous. We walked down the main street and saw some young people hanging around a store blocks ahead. We stopped and went back to the station. We went in and checked the monitors and walked back out to the street. We decided to go right this time and saw there was nothing open that way either. We were hungry and totally alone here. Other than a few people coming and going from the station, there was no one around. We went back to the station, walked around the small waiting area and then walked back out to the main street. It was time to put our fears behind us and walk towards the only sign of life we had seen. We headed for the place where we had seen the youths.

The walk down the main street was uneventful. Other than a fellow traveler asking me for directions in a language I couldn't understand, we did not see anyone until we arrived at the small store. It was a pizzeria. There were two young Italian men making pizzas. One looked like the owner instructing the younger of the two on how to make a pizza. The place was not very big, but it was very clean. A small cooler sat in the corner and offered a variety of soft drinks and small cans of beer. I immediately got two of the peroni beers and we walked up the counter, which served as the make table and supported the cash register. I told the proprietor that we had about a half hour to catch a train and he assured me that we had plenty of time to eat. Luann and I sat in the two chairs that served as a waiting area for pickup orders in front of the large plate glass window and opened our beers, finally relaxing. Our pizza arrived about ten minutes later. It was delicious. We wondered why American pizza took so long to make and hypothesized that it had to do with the thicker crusts we use here. We ate our pizza and drank our beer as if we hadn't eaten in days. I got two more beers out of the cooler, paid our 9 euro bill and headed back to the station. We arrived ten minutes ahead of our departure and moments before the train. We boarded immediately and watched as a group of youths sparred with each other, danced and smoked cigarettes outside our car window. I wondered if these kids were responsible for any of the graffiti all over this town. I was glad when the train started moving. Finally, after four hours, we were finally heading for our destination. We could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

The final leg to Bergamo took less than half an hour. The train stopped at approximately 3:40 PM and we followed the crowd along the platform to the station. The station was packed with people. We followed the crowd into the main concourse area and quickly checked monitors to see how long we could stay here. The monitors did not help us, but the posted paper schedules showed us that we could get back to Stresa, through Milan, on a Eurostar train that went to Geneva Switzerland. We waited in line and found an agent that said he could speak a little English. His English was excellent. We had a choice of leaving at 4:45 PM, which only gave us a little over an hour, or we could leave around 6:00 PM. We chose the later train. We knew the chances of meeting the group here was minimal. We were also scheduled to have a group dinner at the hotel at 7:30PM and we were not sure we would be able to make it. We purchased our tickets and walked out of the station into the beautiful city of Bergamo.

The cloudless blue sky greeted us as we stepped onto the busy sidewalk leading up to the downtown area. This city was by far the biggest city we had been in since we arrived. There were no narrow streets, but wide boulevards and sidewalks. We could see the old city, miles ahead of us on the hill tops. That was where our group was, touring the castle and vineyard. Down here all we could see were modern shops, large banks, insurance companies and restaurants. The buses, cabs, cars, scooters and bicycles made this town very similar to our largest big cities. It was Sunday and this town was busy. It didn't take long to find out why. Five long blocks from the station, we were treated to a street fest. Streets were blocked off and countless tents were set up selling candy, meats, cheeses, crafts, leather and everything imaginable. The tents were identified as being from Holland, Germany, Italy, Switzerland and a host of other countries. It was an international bazaar of some kind. People were elbow to elbow. We had just finished our pizza, so we weren't hungry. It was so crowded that it became uncomfortable so we walked out and headed away from the bazzar. The architecture here is indescribable, mostly gothic. We walked through an indoor mall that looked like an official building and walked righ into an art exhibit. We were handed a manual describing the exhibits and allowed to walk around and view them. I expected to be charged an admission fee, but no one ever approached us. The exhibits were displayed around the courtyard, which was in the middle of this mall. A grassy area in the center gave this courtyard a warm, serene atmoshpere. The stone walls offered us imbedded paintings that had to date back hundreds of years. This had to have been a monsastery or church at some point in time. We marveled at the art and building.

We left that building and walked back into the downtown streets, away from the main bazaar area. There were tents on this side, but nothing like the area we had left. We wanted to sit at one of the many outdoor restaurants, have a glass of wine, enjoy the weather and watch all the people walking by. Every place we stopped at was so busy we could not get any one to wait on us. We had now burned up a lot of our time, so we had to start making our way back to the station. A mistake here could cause us a real problem if we couldn't get back to Stresa tonight. A few blocks from the station we found a place to have a glass of wine. The outdoor seating area was full, so we took a seat by the open door facing the sidewalk. I went up to the bar and got our wine. We watched as people would walk in, belly up to the bar and quickly down an espresso in one swallow and then leave. One small glass of wine was all we had time for before we had to go back to the station to catch our train. As always the train was on time and we boarded immediately, not leaving anything to chance.

The train we were on now was a regional train going to Milano Centrale. In Milan we would board the intercountry train to Geneva, which stopped in Stresa. It took us approximately half an hour to get to Milan from Bergamo, which made me feel even worse about missing the train earlier. As we pulled into the station, the familiarity of the station set in. It is huge. The trains arrive and depart from a cavernous facility covered with a large half-moon metal canopy. The covered canopy area is hundreds of yards long and it is as wide as it is long. There are hundred of birds flying in and around the thousands of passengers reading schedules, watching the overhead electronic train/track schedules and just waiting for trains. Inside the main concourse there are a number of stores, shops, banks and information stations. Ticket counters are downstairs where the numerous subways drop off and pick up passengers. There are more shops and offices. You could probably hear every language in the world as you walk through this station. The inside walls are all composed of yellowish blocks, which remind me of the old high schools gyms, before drywall became the standard. There is a constant whistle of a train and the chime of the bell as announcements come quickly and repeatedly. Eight years ago, we stood in this station and I was always nervous. This evening we stand here and I am thrilled. The bustle, noise, smells and the ambience are energizing and exciting. This is travel at its best.

A quick look at the schedules showed us that we had almost an hour to wait. We found the track and then went to the convenience store located in the platform area. It took us a while, but we purchased a large loaf of bread, they have the best bread over here, and Luann found small containers of wine in boxes. They were identical to the fruit juice boxes that our grandson Brenton drinks back home. We purchased four wine boxes and a small sleeve of plastic glasses at the check out counter and made our way back to the track area. We were curious how the wine would taste, but not overly optimistic that it would be the best we had ever had. We patiently waited for the train, which arrived a short time later and boarded. The best travel experience I ever had was when we were here eight years ago and we would take a bottle of wine, some cheese and bread and travel by train. Looking out the window at the passing scenery, sipping on wine and eating was as relaxing as it could get. We both loved it. As was the case tonight, our train pulled out of Milano Centrale around 7:15 PM. We had already decided that dinner with the group was out, as it would be in full throttle by the time we arrived. The train pulled out on schedule and we opened up one of our wine boxes and the bread. We ate bread and sipped on wine as other passengers read their newspapers, slept or just sat there. Not a soul looked in our direction. Within forty five minutes we arrived back in Stresa under a cover of darkness. The restaurant/bar that had been closed ten hours earlier was now open and busy. The main area was congested with people and Luann and I walled off the train carrying our unopened small boxes of wine, bread we didn't eat and the last of the plastic cups. The evening was warm and we walked down the small hill, hand in hand, to the lakefront for the short ten minute walk to the hotel. The lake front was all lit up and it was a pretty spectacle to look at all the way back.

It was now a little past 8:00 PM as we entered the hotel. We knew the group was in the dining room eating so we went upstairs to put away our things and go out and enjoy our last evening in Stresa. We walked out of the hotel and headed up the street to the plaza, where all the restaurants were. Since their season was winding down, many of the places were closed. We decided on the place called Amiches (friends), which had been our choice last night with the group, but was too busy to seat us last night. Luann and I sat outside, under the radiant heaters and enjoyed a wonderful seafood dinner, with wine bread and great service. We did not see any of our fellow travelers, but knew that everyone would be wondering what had happened to us. We finished our meal and took the long way back to the hotel, getting our last glimpse of the small shops (now closed), the cobblestone streets and the beauty of the lake at night. It is always sad having to leave beauty.

We arrived back at the hotel and saw that dinner was just getting over. We walked into the dining room and were greeted by Pat, Sharon, Doyle, Cindy, Bob and Bonnie, sitting at a round table with two empty wine bottles. Dinner, we were told, had been excellent. Amid the confusion with the waiter about the wine purchases, we started to recant each other's adventures on the last day in Stresa. We decided to head to the bar and continue our discussion because the dining room was closing up. In the hotel bar, we were informed that tomorrow we would leave at 7:30 AM for Cinque Terra , a beautiful resort area. We would spend the day there, then arrive at our final tour city of Cremona late afternoon. Melissa had told everyone on the bus that it would be cold there, so dress warmly. I questioned that because the forecast had been for warm weather in that particular area. The comment dropped as the conversation turned to Luann and I. We had to deftly explain how we had overslept and why. It turned out that when Luann received the wake up call she had not hung up the receiver correctly and all other calls responded with a busy signal to the caller. They feared something had happened, so the knock on the door. We explained to the group there that we did not wear watches so we didn't have any idea what time it was. That comment got some teasing from the group. I kept bringing up the fact that we didn't drink that bottle of wine we bought before bed, but I don't know if they believed me. The conversation turned to the tour. Apparently, it had been an interesting day. The tour was very good. The castle was interesting and learning about the production of balasamic vinegrette was worth the day. Sharon bought a bottle of the high priced commodity. The tour was not without some drama, however. It turned out that we weren't the only ones late. One of the Michigan people, the guy chastised by his wife on the first night, was still in the shower when the bus was getting ready to leave. Also, at one of the restroom stops, one of the Michigan people had somehow ended up on the other side of the interstate after taking care of business. A frantic search found him standing on the other side of the rest stop after the bus had loaded. The driver had to figure out how to go get him. The funniest tour horror of them all was when one of the Michigan ladies tried to eat a sandwich on the bus and got caught. She was forced to eat the sandwich outside the bus, while the bus full of tourists waited. I guess that will teach her to break rule #1. It turned out to be Nancy, Bruces wife and one of the group leaders. I couldn't quit laughing. After a couple of rounds, it was time to go up to our rooms and pack. Our luggage had to be outside our room by 5:30 AM. Doyle and Cindy purchased a bottle of wine from the bar to take to their room. This move was totally encouraged by Luann and I. We made it back to the room where it took a few short minutes to throw our clothes in the bags and set them outside our door. Our bottle of wine still sat on the night stand with its small companion glasses alongside. It had been quite an adventerous day. We had shared very little of our experience with the group. I was glad we had missed the tour today, not because of the company, but because I don't think I could have sat quiet during the tour horror. We even heard that the bus driver had not filled up while the group was on tour while he had an empty bus. He decided to fill up on the way back, shortly after reboarding. They all had to stand outside the bus and wait. Our lights finally went out at 10:30 PM, by our calculations, and we went to sleep with visions of day five dancing in our heads.