Eurotrip Part III: On the Road to Tarquinia, Italy

 Italian Truck Stop

Jon, studying at Virginia Tech’s Study Abroad program in Riva San Vitale, Switzerland, took the train to Bern and then drove to Italy with us. Once again, getting out of Bern was a mess, as the GPS continued to insist that we could drive through concrete construction barriers; it took an hour to maneuver the morass of highways, still bucking and stalling on occasion, before hitting the winding mountain highway south to Tarquinia.

By late morning, the Kennys (Jon and I) were hungry again, and Dave, having learned years ago that a hungry Kenny is not a happy Kenny, pulled off the road just over the Italian border to check out an Italian food truck. Parked on a pull-off with picnic tables overlooking the mountains, Mario’s Pannini truck offered several sandwiches and a variety of beverages, all of ample size and dirt cheap.  Mario and his wife were delightful, as we tried to communicate despite the language barrier, when we asked about rest rooms, Mario laughed and held his arms wide in the universal expression for “wherever you can find a bush.”  The friendly lunch ended with free espresso and desserts from Mario’s wife.

Check out the menu. 3 Euros for a sandwich. We ain't in Switzerland anymore!! Mangia!

Espresso and pasties courtesy of Mario and wife.

The Ancient Walled City of Tarquinia 

It took 9 hours to get to Tarquinia, an Etruscan walled city with cobblestone streets, ancient churches, and tombs dating from 500 BC.  There are families there who have been living in the same buildings for centuries. Every street has some type of treasure-- a tiny seafood market, a crowded espresso bar, a hidden church courtyard, a view through an arched walkway of the turquoise ocean just two miles away. We were staying in a living postcard.

This is the main street through Tarquinia. It's a hopping place.

Our host, Rosalind, was at the apartment; she would be in Tarquinia for 4 days, staying in a grotto studio below our flat. Rosalind, a retired British school teacher, has traveled the world, living in the US for 4 years and in Rome for 20. And, she speaks Italian. After showing us the neighborhood square and our new home for the week, she led us on one of several walking tours of Tarquinia.

We loved Tarquinia, with its welcoming shop owners,  friendly next door grandma sweeping pigeon mess every morning, and  gatherings in the community squares, a convergence of legal parking spaces and benches for visiting with neighbors.  True, there were some issues. It was warm (how did we get 80s and sunny for 2 weeks?) so all the windows were open and the buildings are only feet apart. Thus, you can hear literally everything happening in the apartments above, below, and two streets over. This takes some getting used to, and if we could understand Italian, we’d likely have enough material for several novels and a soap opera. One night Jon went sleepless because the newborn baby in the next building was having a rough night. Another night, at 3:40 am I awoke to the sound of water coming from just outside our bedroom window. At first I thought it was some guy relieving himself on the street, but after 5 minutes of stop-and-start tinkling, I realized even an Irishman couldn’t go that long. My imagination grew as the continuing splats gave me visions of someone pouring gasoline around the building to torch the place, wondering what the insurance payoff would be for an apartment building built in the 1200s. I got out of bed, opened the heavy shutters and peered into the darkness. A movement caught my eye from above and I spied the silhouette of a woman hanging out the window of the fourth floor apartment across from me. I realized that she was hand washing rags, squeezing the excess water onto the street before hanging her clothes on the balcony to dry.

The gathering place for our neighborhood. Jon heads to the apartment to the left. You have to go to Facebook for better photos since this blog does not take verticals.

Tarquinia also has a long, lovely beach with black sand and palm trees. Sand volleyball is a favorite of the young and fit, and rows of gellaterias beckon. (Gelato, the better version of ice cream, was a recurring theme during our week in Italy as Jon sought to find the best in central Italy. Good parents, Dave and I supported him on this mission and contributed to the research data. I must report that the sour cherry gelato on the beach in Tarquinia tops my list.)  

Jon doing gelato research.

The locals generally do not speak much English, but they work with you in good humor. Jon was able to negotiate a great deal on some sunglasses, again using a universal language: original price neatly written on paper, then carefully crossed out, and a lower number written below. Then smiles all around as another universal symbol, VISA, emerges from the pocket.

Tarquinia, apparently like most of Italy, does move at its own pace. The Internet café we needed to buy Vatican tickets was closed. Just for a week... but it was that week.  Many of the ATMs were apparently also on vacation or simply out of money. When one ATM simply ate my debit card, we had to work closely with the bank employees who were “too busy” in the morning, and then opened in the afternoon for exactly one hour, 2:30 to 3:30. (All the shops open from early morning until about 2, then again from 530 to 8.) But if you were in search of an excellent pastry shop or a wine bar, chances were good that they were open when you needed them. 

Another view of the neighborhood square showing old church under renovation on right.

This square, in front of a church, offered fresh olives for a local.

Tarquinia's Etruscan history includes being the site of  acres of old tombs in the necropolis just outside the city walls.

Each hut covers the entry to a tomb, most dating from 500 BC

  We made several side trips from our home base:  2 days to Rome, about an hour train ride from Tarquinia, and another 2 days to the verdant hills of Tuscany.

More to come....