Let's Vespa!

The tale - part 2 / last 2 days..

Dear reader,
after getting to Paris I actually stopped feeling the challenge, and in good company I let the day’s stage completely open till the end. With Emilie we headed to north, simply without knowing what we would have done later. It took a while to get out of Paris, and then we got into the french region of Picardie, with its huge fields. 

Eventually, we decided to stop in Amiens, but.. we found out that every single hostel or hotel was completely full (Amiens I thought, right in the middle of nowhere.. and there’s no room for us…).

I was already making myself comfortable with the idea of sleeping at a church’s door when, by asking, we found a room in a B&B some kilometers outside Amiens. Expensive? No! The cheapest one!

This B&B was actually a kind of weird place. Every single detail were like a Doll’s house. Not exactly the kind of place in which I fit very comfortable..

The day after we were having breakfast while news were telling the weather was about to be shit. Therefore we hurried up (but just a bit) and we headed north again.
Arrived in Abbeville Emilie realised it was better for her to take the train from there, and so, for the first time in this trip, I was alone.

It was about to rain, and I did the only possible thing: I started driving as fast as possible. I had to get to Boulogne (80km) or Calais (110km) as soon as possible, hoping to don’t meet storms on my way. After few miles I had to take a crucial choice. The route national going straight to Boulogne ( kind of 4-lanes road straight and monotone, but fast) or the road on the coast, nicer, 30 kilometers longer, and about two hours more needed to get to Calais.

You know me, reader, what shall I tell you for? I took the longer one.

After half hour driving it actually started to rain, and I also realised I was in emergency supply. I then stopped to the first town I found (Le Crotoy), where the rain got stronger, and all the petrol stations were shut. You gotta wait other two hours, they told me. But two hours waiting for the petrol, and then the rain, it would have meant to get to Calais only in the evening.

Too late, definitely.

Alone, under the storm in a small town on a melancholic coast, and with no petrol on the vespa, I had just a card to play. I believe in signs, reader, and the day before I received the only donation I’ve got, with a note: ”buy some oysters, as soon as you get to northern France”.
Well, I then stopped in a small brasserie, one in front of the seaside, and I asked for my oysters.

Inside there were only people from the town, talking a language I don’t understand, and making comments about me. I could tell it from their face, I could tell it by how they were addressing the vespa outside the restaurant. Suddenly the rain got into a storm, and I felt myself smaller and smaller. I felt all my mistakes. After the oysters, I asked for a hot mussels soup. It was delicious.

After finishing my meal, I asked for the bill and then I got out. Outside the restaurant an old man was smoking angrily. Sat down with a glass of red wine. He turned to me, telling me something like:

“The storm is already gonna be over”.

“Sorry?”

again, something like “The storm, is gonna be over”.

“ehm.. I can’t speak french..”

this time I just understood something like “bla bla bla bla, ncule’! (fuck off!) “

Well, I might have been wrong, but I trusted what I understood. I jumped on the Vespa, and I started to run. If the petrol had finished, I would have pushed the vespa till the next town, but I couldn’t wait not doing anything for a minute more. After 10 minutes the storm decreased to a light rain, and after 15 minutes I found an open petrol station.I found the smile, I started enjoying the sadness of that seaside.

From there the next 120 kilometers just ran one after the other one. Under a constant rain, along that swinging road. And, the more you went ahead, the more you just felt the need to accelerate. You can’t stand town centers, which slow you down, you just want open road in front of you. And strong wind, yes wind, which dries a bit your clothes while rain is falling down.

Finally I got to Calais, tired but excited. And when I approached the ferry, the guy that checked my ticket smiled at me and, talking on the walkie-talkie, announced me at the sailor inside the boat telling: “Hey man, you know what’s gonna arrive? A Vespa.. eh eh eh”.

I felt a shiver in that moment, and on the ramp to get into the ferry (it was pretty high: three floors), I liberatingly geared up to the 4th one.

Hear the engine’s sound, reader.. 1th gear: highly pushing in a short fast growing acute sound. 2th gear: a fast held breath, from the instant of that ‘clack’, heard to pass through the neutral gear. 3th gear: inviting and confidant, just telling you: go next. the 4th one: here we go..

In that moment I started hearing “Heat” in my mind. A reggae piece, soundtrack of the “Fifth Element” in the moment the Spaceship takes off.

I was in. Yes. I was in.

On the ferry I ran up to the top floor, I left all my luggage on a bench, and I just relaxed looking the French coast slowly disappearing at my sight. And, when it was possible to spot the Dover’s white cliffs.. 

Hey reader.. these are moments in which you really feel on the trip.
On the boat I met a french hitchhiker, and I decided to give him a ride, though he was traveling with a huge backpack.

By the time we got to Dover I had to admit it was too dark to continue to London (150 km), so I decided to find a place to sleep, together with Adrien (this is the hitchhiker’s name). But both of us were short of money and guesthouses were pretty expensive. So, after a small round we agreed to find a place to mount Adrien’s tent.
Following his odd suggestion, we headed up to the hill, to spot a beach on the coast (i know i know..) and,  on the way, we found a signal for a camping. At that point we just followed it, through fields and small towns.

Finally we found the place, we mounted the tent, we shared the food we had got (me just chocolate and amaro del capo, he bread from Belgium, an apple and water), and I made him telling me his story.

Adrien was studying advertisement, and last June he dropped it, 3 months before getting his degree (right now he would be graduated otherwise).

I realised it wasn’t my life, why should I have wasted even a minute more?

He then went to work in a vineyard. After that he started hitchhiking around France, and he met a group that was walking from London to Geneva, to promote some kind of peaceful action. From there he joined the Rainbowrail, people who, dressed as the rainbow colours,  were cycling around France, playing music and convincing in this way shopkeepers to give them for free some food they were about to through away.

A worm-eaten apple, is still good. But people won’t buy it. We were bringing fun in those shops, and shopkeepers were happy to give us some stuff like that.

With Rainbowrail he then joined the alter-tour. A tour in bycicle doing the opposite round as the Tour de France (anti-clockwise), to promote fighting against capitalism.

About all those fighting I don’t actually care too much, I mean.. I agree with them, but I’m not one of them. Though, I had great fun, and I really enjoyed.

After this he went on hitchhiking to find a hippy community on the Pyrenees, and then he went to do the vintage in the Bourgoundie, in a city I passed by with Erwann, where they do a great wine (and apparently for the vintage they pay quite a lot.. 8€/hour with accomodation, food and wine for free).

When I met him he had left some days before from there, hitchhiking he got to Belgium, and from there to Calais. With the dream of spotting a dawn (Aurora in italiano).

Somebody told me about dawns having place in the north, and I thought: why not? In choosing my way I always follow an old hippy suggestion: “When you see the road getting inflamed, follow it”. I don’t know how long I wanna do this kind of life, I just want it to be to most of it. I will work, yes, but right the time to gather enough money to travel again. I don’t wanna use my life to pay my rent. I wanna surf this life. I wanna surf it all.

The day after I bought him breakfast, I explained him that in UK we use Sterling, and that he had to shift one hour earlier the watch, and then I got him into the town, before to take my way home.

Yesterday he emailed me, telling he’s already in Scotland. He has been sheltered by a tracker in his track till Northern England, and then he managed to get till there. Maybe now he’s already on the top most rock of Scotland, sat down on his huge backpack, admiring a wonderful dawn.

Posted by Curi

this was the trip we deserved!!!

“Man, I’m going to bring my vespa in London from Pisa and I need someone between Lyon and Paris…” Aren’t those words amazing? Crazy? Fantastic?

Yes they are, and more because of the one that said them…

First of all I must say that I was a bit skeptical about the idea of riding a vespa with another guy during more than 500km. Finally, it was one of the most funny trip I’ve been making during my short life.

About the trip…

We woke up around 9AM and left Lyon around 10AM. Enzo began to drive it because I was quite a beginner in driving that kind of devil machine (it’s also a red one!!). After leaving this beautiful city and stopping in a gasoline station, I finally took the devil by the horns and drove quite a long time in order to make a distance between us and Lyon. After a short break and smoking a cigaret with style (part of lyrics, find which one) Enzo (Curi or even currrrissssssimo) took the place of the driver until Sens, a place where we were lucky to find in time an opened gasoline station…

At that time we were more or less a 100km from Paris. At that point I began to think about the way we would use to go into Paris, and I must say that I haven”t been that fast… Finally we went on a highway during 15km and on this part I must thank Enzo not to have made us killed!! Let’s say that it was a moment of crazyness

°_°

After going out of the highway enzo already told about it so there’s no use of explaining another time.

If you hear from Enzo that kind of crazy idea, don’t deny it, you will love it!!!

A crazy trip for a Crazy amazing mate!!!

Erwann

The tale / part 1 - The Tarots

So dear Reader..

We then got to the end of this adventure. Before to say you goodbye, I want to run through all this trip since the beginning, telling all the things I couldn’t so far because of the shortage of time.

Mates that had part in it will have their say (hopefully), and you, reader, you are welcome to write me something to post, or to add it in the comments. At the end of the day, we experienced this trip together.

I kick it off introducing to you this trip’s tarots. Characters that had a kind of shamanist part in this tale.

First of all, the Insurer, Mr. Virgilio Virgili (it’s not a joke)

He said: you are always in time to change your mind.

Second, Elia the Mechanic.

He said: by riding this Vespa, you can go the end of the world.

The third one is Marco, the Barman of La tazza d’oro in Pisa. Literally translating from Italian, I would call that bar a Soul’s place for me. In the picture is the one on white shirt.

He said: these are things giving taste to this life!

About the fourth one I don’t have a picture, but I want to mention her as well. She is the elder Shopkeeper round the corner of my former place, in the beloved Piazza Guerrazzi in Pisa. She was the one that, with her Tuscan recipes, started the Soups season in my home. For months we went on preparing strange soups, brewing hours and then lasting ages in this kind of huge pans. When I told her about my trip, she didn’t lack to suggest me some warm drinks to have along the way.

She said: Bear in your mind! Wool t-shirt and hot milk with honey!

Finally, Ciccio e Bresci, the Antagonists. If you are Italian you already understood they are good friends of mine who two years ago had a trip in Vespa too. More ambitious than me (they headed to Lisbon from Pisa), they hadn’t been as lucky, forced to stop at the foot of Pyrenees, on the way to Roncesvalles. They pioneered what we did and, even if we like to tease each other, our trips are strictly related.

Bresci said: Best trips are always in offseason. You really chose a good period to travel!

Ciccio said: Curi, you’d better wait for the next summer

and the Vespa is in… London! (km 1645)

Lettere a 2 tempi - Paris

Caro Sandro..

Scusa il ritardo ma, come un viaggiatore come te potrà immaginare, il tempo per sedersi davanti ad un pc é davvero poco, e anche quando lo fai, senti la pungente sensazione di star perdendo tempo.

Ho una cattiva notizia per te, che per anni ti sei fatto chiamare il Parigino. Questa città non ti assomiglia, ma proprio per niente.

Questa è una città con un dinamismo inaspettato, e una voglia di viverla ad ogni angolo della strada. Questa é una città che ti ispira romanticismo, con scene che hanno messo in crisi il mio ferreo convincimento da single. La coppia che cenava sul balcone al chiaro di luna, l’altro ieri intorno Avenue Gambetta. La ragazza che mi é passata davanti in bici, elegante e sinuosa con la baguette sotto braccio, e un sorriso -un sorriso- che lei forse non mi ha fatto, ma che io le ho deciso. E poi gli interni delle case, che mi rimandano ai film di Bertolucci, e che, proprio come quei film, sanno suggerirti solo una cosa. Quella.

Questa é gente che a casa ha lo zucchero solo in zollette, e usa mangiare il pompelmo con l’apposito cucchiaino.

Questa, é gente che non ti dirà mai non lo so e, usando locuzioni come normalmente, o deve essere cosi’, riuscirebbe ad indicarti la strada per Calais, facendoti passare per Marsiglia.

Ma non é tutto rose e fiori, e di giorno in giorno bisogna lottare contro l’espandersi dei Bourgeois-bohème. I giovani benpensanti parigini che, con i loro soldi (magari ricchi di famiglia) e i loro lavori da artistoidi, invadono i quartieri che iniziano far tendenza, rendendoli in breve costosi e inarrivabili a tutti gli altri giovani. Daltronde questa é una città dove una birra costa 7 euro, e una cena economica 20. Per strada i ragazzi sembrano usciti da una sfilata, e sembrano recitare un ruolo, prima ancora di star vivendo la propria vita.

Londra non é cosi’. E’ vero, ha meno personalità. Ma é li’ per tutti, non importa chi sei o cosa ti piace, li’ lo puoi trovare. Il concetto stesso di Pub avvicina le persone portandole a socializzare, qualsiasi sia la loro estrazione sociale. E una persona diversa é sempre una persona che puo’ dire qualcosa di nuovo. Una pinta costa 3 euro, e una cena meno di 10. Ci sono diveri posti per ascoltare musica dal vivo gratis, e spesso sono anche i piu’ belli.

Decisamente, Bresi, te con questa città non hai niente a che spartire. Qui la gente, più che parlare, ama farsi ascoltare. E allora non importa se i soldi non bastano, che si facciano sacrifici, ma al birrino seduto sul bordo della strada non ci rinuncia nessuno. Quasi quasi sembra si debba passare un esame per vivere questa città. E perfino i vecchietti che giocano a bocce al Parco de les Tuileries sembrano finti, li’ consapevoli di essere sotto l’occhio dei turisti che escono dal Louvre, pronti a sorridere per una foto, ammiccando all’obiettivo la supremazia del french lifestyle.

Bresi, grazie al cielo te non sei cosi’. Non sarai romantico, non sarai seduttore, non avrai quelle raffinatezze. Ma sei genuino al 100%. Tieniti la tua Lisbona, sporca ma aperta a tutti, li’ per essere scoperta. Il Parigino puo’ benissimo aspettare..

Paris

Dear Reader,

I know you, only now you started to take me seriously, believing I will actually get to London. Let’s be honest, it’s not so challenging what I’m doing. There’s people that got all around the world by Vespa , and some that does something like that cycling. So.. why be surprised?

The difference is that you know me, I know barely how an engine looks like (Michael, the guy that hosted me and Antonio in Avignon, just explained me what a 2-strokes engine is), I’m not able to do anything really special but enjoying my life. I’m basically a guy like everyone. Furthermore, there are other reasons why people didn’t believe in me at the beginning.

I’m driving a 27 years old Vespa  (two months older than me) with drum brakes and no fuel signal. A Vespa I didn’t know before this trip and nobody (but Elia the mechanic) could guess his actual status. Moreover, I never drove so much before this, neither by car, and October is not exactly the perfect choice to approach such a travel. We also didn’t go for hotels, but we always asked for sheltering, even to people I didn’t know at all (and it was maybe the best choice). This meant that so far I slept on couches, armchairs, airbeds and yes, sometimes on a proper bed, but always between 3 and 7 hours. As I told at the beginning Paris was the border between Victory and Defeat. And getting here by il Tappone (big stage), made this much more significant. How it was? Well, after Antonio’s leaving let’s introduce the new fellow-traveller first..

Erwann, unlike most of his compatriotes, is a French that doesn’t translate Vespa as scooter to show off outside some some cinema d’essay. Instead, he drives it as well as he would approach a Ducati. Bending down at each curve till hearing it clattering, pulling the gear till make the engine screaming, and considering the gearing down equally as a shame. After taking confidence with the foot brake and the rotating grip served gear shift, he managed to straighten the Bourgogne wavy roads into a pleasant swinging rigmarole. Under that amazing sun, it was so good that I could rest a bit on the rear seat, recovering from the few hours slept during the previous days and getting even into drowsiness up to the point to find myself dreaming. After 200 km we swapped again and the approaching of Paris (and of the sunset as well) pushed us to speed up till 80 km/h. Adrenalin started pumping in after Auxerre, when the arrival began to be clear, and more and more when the kilometers countdown got under the 100. At 7.30 we got to the doors of Paris, and then Erwann, so keen as copilot in considering the Vespa a moto, made me get into the highway. The light was already over, and given the poor Vespa illumination, I experienced the most dangerous moments if this trip. For each blinking and hooting I sweared at him like hell. After three exits I got out of there, even if he was telling he didn’t know where we were about to go (as you might not know me, Antonio, and now Erwann, we agreed to travel without any map..)

Finally we found the way, and he got me into the city, parading past the Champs Elysée, the Arc de Triomphe and then under the tour Eiffel, where we took that picture. To be honest, in that moment, as well as when we were getting into Marseille with Antonio, I kept singing la Marseillaise for ages.

We then got to Erwann’s place where his mother was waiting for us with the dinner already prepared, and I could taste again the lovely Epoisses, a wonderful french cheese. It was funny because Erwann’s parents don’t speak english and, as you know, I don’t speak french but, after having some of the Amaro del Capo I’m bringing with me, we managed to have a small conversation. Yves (Erwann’sfather), made me know about the Argot, the french slang born in Paris around the 17th century, used at that time only by criminals to don’t be understood. Victor Hugo defined it the “Language of Misery”. Given my only possible criminal intentions, I’m just bearing in my mind the verb “draguer”, that in Argot means “flirting”.

One of these days, it could turn to be useful..

Posted by Curi at km 1057

and the Vespa is in… Paris! (km 1049)