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Posts Tagged ‘Sandwiches’


For all the people, the noise and the heat,
And some might claim, the smell,
La Serenissima never fails to enchant
In all her fading, crumbling majesty.

At dawn’s emerging light, vaporetti and traghetti
Compete for space on crowded Canal Grande,
Past the bustling barges of bass and bream
Destined for slabs on Mercato di Rialto.

After a lukewarm doppio espresso
And fistful of olive e uovo tramezzini,
Most fragile and delicate of sandwiches,
I resolve to lose myself and escape the
Oppressive throng slouching towards me.

Narrow, dark calli and sotoportegi
Open into vast, vivacious campi
Where scruffy children chase footballs,
Dreaming they are Messi or Ronaldo,
Or if their fathers coached them well,
Paolo Rossi or Roberto Baggio.

Intervals of sweet, intense silence,
Splintered only by hurried footsteps,
Or the plash of a gondolieri’s oar,
Pervade the squares and alleyways
Of Castello and Canareggio.

Down a deserted, soundless rio,
Far from the countless, careless hordes
Spewed from colossal cruise ships
Docked at Baciano Della Stazione Marritima,
A charming pizzeria calls to me from
Beneath a washing line of “smalls” hung high.

At midnight the bands at Florian and Quadri
Are muffled by the mighty, mournful toll
Of the Campanile di San Marco;
And English tourists recluctantly drink up
Their gin and tonics and squint
Incredulously at the final bill.

Mia cara Venezia, tu sei troppo bella
Ti amero sempre.

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Firstly, regular readers will be delighted to learn that this account will be considerably shorter than the majority of posts on the road trip. It was the longest ‘road” day, 309 miles from Music City USA (Nashville) to the Gateway to the West (St Louis). And, despite driving in four different states, a largely uneventful one.

I kept my promise to finish the sandwich we had had “boxed” in Ole Red’s on Broadway the night before, though, even heated in the microwave, it was much less palatable than it had been twelve hours before.

After a confusing episode over the correct recycling bin in which to place glass, paper, plastic and trash, we left the bungalow at 10am.

 

At first, on the outskirts of Nashville and towards Clarksville, the traffic was heavy, which is a relative term given the emptiness of roads on much of the trip.

We made an early “elevenses” stop at a drive-thru Starbucks near Trenton.

Trucks were our constant companions as we crossed the stateline into Kentucky. Fedex was particularly prominent, at one point four appeared to be travelling in convoy.

Squashed critters and burnt out tyres, unsurprisingly in the light of the poor road surface in places, dotted the hard shoulder.

The temperature gauge approached the mid eighties, despite the scudding clouds. There was a hint of autumn in the changing of the leaves on the trees that stood sentry on either side of the highway.

The bridge over the Red River injected some welcome variety into the endlessly bland scenery.

As we drove deeper into Kentucky, the roads became emptier, and we were back to enjoying them by ourselves for miles on end.

The road signs, always a fascination for me, became the only distractions for dozens of miles.


We had broken the back of the journey by the time we reached Mount Vernon, and our thoughts turned to lunch.

Cracker Barrel had been a regular stop on the two coach trips we had taken in the late nineties, but we had not patronised much in recent years.

Cracker Barrel Old Country Store is a chain of combined restaurant and gift stores with a Southern country theme. It operates 645 stores in 44 states. Its menu is based on traditional Southern cuisine with appearance and decor designed to resemble an old-fashioned general store, with reasonable prices. We both plumped for an American fried breakfast.

It was clear that the store was already heavily geared up for both Halloween and Christmas.

Kentucky begat Illinois begat Missouri as we entered the environs of St Louis. After three hours of empty roads it came as a shock to encounter the early rush hour hubbub of a major city.

Nevertheless, our trusty Google sat nav delivered us effortlessly to our home for the next three nights in an attractive suburb. In keeping with the diversity of accommodation we had booked on this trip, we were now staying in a bed and breakfast.

I was immediately impressed that the owners, Magretta and Chuck, were politically motivated, as indicated by the placards in the front garden. Chuck, along with amiable dogs, Spike and Haley, gave us a thorough guided tour of the property before we settled into our rooms.

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Although the features in the property were generally old, we were graced with the presence of a whirlpool bath. Most of the time we had been on the road, we had become accustomed to either a short, shallow bath or a shower. This proved quite a challenge, at least for me as I could not help myself sliding around in it once I had negotiated climbing into it in the first place. Application of the jets proved well beyond my capability.

As it had been a relatively long day on the road, we decided to eat in the neighbourhood on our first evening. A ten minute walk found us at the Shaved Duck, where we had a lovely meal, served by a delightful young woman, and with a guitarist playing a gentle blend of folk tunes as accompaniment.

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A slightly longer stroll brought us to the Tick Tock Tavern, a quirky but friendly pub where gin and tonics were only $5 (we had paid as much as $12 in earlier locations).

We had two full days in St Louis with a generally benign weather forecast ahead of us.

 

 

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