A Note From Don, Leslie's Dad

Leslie you must check your geography. You mentioned that Cinque Terre was located on the Adriatic coast. It is not- it’s on the Mediterranean side, to be more specific, Mar Ligure! Needless to say I was rather humiliated by your statement since the error is definitely a reflection on your parents and your upbringing.

Love,
Dad

(Note from Leslie: I stand corrected!)

Confused in Nice...snail mail or blog?

The Top of a Col Before the Descent

Dear Mother (and others?),

I don’t write personal letters or post cards any more as Leslie says I have to contribute to the blog. Initially, I wasn’t quite sure what a blog is. Blog is a rather awkward word with some close relatives which don’t really help clarify its meaning ie. blob, gob, snog, glob. I am not quite sure why anyone would want to read my rubbish; in fact I’m not convinced anyone is reading this other than you. The trouble with blobbing Mum, is that anyone can read this. Therefore, I will not be discussing any private matters. I will also not be my usual silly self as this would tarnish my stellar reputation in a public forum.

Just to address your previous concerns, I am eating all my vegetables and Leslie is treating me fairly well. I would also like to clear up any issues raised by the reference to my leg shaving made by my lovely wife in her recent blog entry which I might add was not OK’d by me. I can assure you that my interest in feminine grooming starts and stops with leg depilatory actions.

I have long resisted the cycling tradition of leg shaving. Number one, my legs are roughly the same diameter all the way up, two, I am not a fast cyclist and I thought by shaving my legs I would be obliged to ride faster than I am able, three, I quite like the way my leg hairs stick through my nylons.

In Bologna, there was a small bike shop called Ciclo Clinica run by a man called Scarponi. I asked him his second name and he just repeated the name, Scarponi. I wanted to ask him if he was related to Madonna, Pele or Prince but this would not translate well and I wanted to escape with my life. He informed me that I should shave my legs and I was not about to argue. He was a great guy and very helpful. I bought some very comfortable Italian cycling shorts from him for my upcoming cycle across the Alps. He started the shop after a bet with his father. He also sells Canadian Cervelo bicycles, a great testimony to a Canadian company that so many people ride them here in Italy. He rode a Cervelo but he was in the process of getting a bike handmade by a craftsman his father knows in a small Italian town which is quite an honour.

The alleged advantages of male leg shaving are to make it easier for a masseuse to massage your legs after a ride. I have never had a post ride massage. Supposedly, road rash heals faster if you are unlucky enough to fall off your bike. This will not happen to me as I put those children’s training wheels back on as you instructed.

I basically shaved my legs to fit in, as virtually every male cyclist seems to do it over here even if they have a pot belly. Of course I was also following Scarponi’s directive. I can also pretend I am a racer as Scarponi allowed me to wear his team jersey. However, I didn’t fool anybody into thinking I am a real cyclist by removing the old growth forest on my legs. I also had a great deal of difficulty deciding where to stop shaving. Due to privacy concerns,I will not elaborate on where I stopped shaving.

Leslie also included a picture on the blog of our new vehicle, a Renault Kangoo. I am not kidding about the name. It is not Kan-go , Kangaroo or Kan-of-goo. I promptly renamed it The Particle Accelerator due to its very high tech appearance, Leslie and I being the particles that require accelerating around Europe. We drove to the Cinque Terre after picking it up in the fashion centre of Milan. Through the marvels of physics and diesel internal combustion, its 0-100kph time is about 3.25 minutes. This made for some interesting on-ramps to the Autostrada until I learned how to vigorously stir the gearbox. We also had trouble at first deciding which was the front end due to its square shape. We did a couple of experimental high speed trial runs and Leslie was right that the slightly pointy end is the front. Typically, it did not faze the Italians at all seeing us hurtle down the road backwards even though we were in a spot of bother.

It is a very practical vehicle with excellent fuel economy and it is a great relief able to throw all our luggage in the Kangoo after hauling it around on trains. We are looking forward to driving through the Alps to visit friends in Switzerland.

I have been through the Alps once already bicycling with a British tour group from Geneva to Nice. A man named Lance (from Victoria) mentioned he was signed up and I decided to join him. The route would be approximately 700 km with 15,000 meters of mountain climbs or cols.


The Lads Posing


I thought I trained hard in Bologna heat and hills but struggled over the first four days and then proceeded to struggle even more over the next two. I had pictured myself tired yet resolute as I sailed over the cols knowing I was representing my country and Oak Bay. Instead, my trip became “Mr. Bean Cycles the South of France”. I got lost twice, which you don’t want to do because it means more kilometres. I lost my wallet and then the only day when I knew where I was going and arrived before the group (nobody followed me as they didn’t trust me), I couldn’t remember the code to my cell phone and missed the group in Antibes.. Sorry Mum for tarnishing the family name. I really found it a great challenge and camaraderie among the riders was strong. I hope to do another with a wee bit more style

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

When I was riding, Leslie stayed in our apartment in Nice and signed up for French lessons. She also explored the museums and restaurants every day as I “Mr. Beaned” my way toward Nice.

Mum, I have to go now as I have more “research“ to do comparing Italy and France before reporting back. It is great responsibility and one that I don’t take lightly.

Au revoir
David

Red, White and Blue in Nice, France

Bonjour from sunny, warm Nice! We’re in the Cote d’Azure for five weeks, trying to figure out how to drive, dress and eat like the French. Eating has been no problem. Oh la la!

The internet has been a problem though so we have not been able to add to the blog very easily. Fingers crossed that now all is well.

Before leaving Italy, we travelled to Milan to pick up our new Renault Kangoo. Yes, I know it looks like we should have 11 kids travelling with us but with our two bikes, we wanted something with enough space to store them. Renault has a great program for long term visitors to Europe. You “buy” the car and then return it to the company so they can sell it second hand. You only pay for the days you use; it includes unlimited mileage, both drivers and insurance. Much cheaper than renting.

After Milan, we explored Cinque Terre (“five lands”) for a few days. Wow! What a beautiful part of Italy. These five, ancient villages cling to the cliffs along the Adriatic Sea. We walked between the villages on trails that varied from a flat, wide, autobahn to a steep, narrow, goat trail. Our studio was a teeny tiny place but had a huge terrace for relaxing and enjoying the view over Manarola to the sea.

Upon arriving in Nice, we were stunned to see paparazzi lurking about our street. Photographers, tv cameras, buzzing helicopters, hoards of gawking people. Had our reputations preceded us? What was going on? Was the Tour de France recruiting David? After glancing at the local paper’s headlines, we realized that we had famous neighbours. The Brangelina twins were born the day after we arrived at the hospital in the next block.

We had mixed feelings about leaving Bologna. We were looking forward to exploring a new city but Bologna had provided us with the language and cultural challenges that we had been looking for. During our last month in Bologna, we stayed in a great flat with all the comforts of home. I took a Bolognese cooking course at a school run by a mother and her daughter, http://www.lavecchiascuola.com/ It was delicious and I LOVE being able to eat my homework! We made tortellini (pork and mortadella stuffed pasta, shaped like the navel of Venus...who knew?), tortelloni (spinach and ricotta stuffed pasta), tagliattelle, long, thin, strands of yellow pasta, first made to honour the marriage of the golden locked daughter of a wealthy Bolognese merchant. The width of proper Bolognese tagliatelle is somehow related to the height of Torre Garisenda, the city’s tallest tower. The food obsessed Italians have strict controls and annual competitions for cutting the pasta. My offering was cut nowhere near this consistently thin. My favourite pasta story was about the “priest stranglers”, the plain flour and water pasta made in lean times without using the expensive eggs. The priests, being used to eating the very best of foods as contributed by their congregations, were reported to have choked on this poor version of pasta while eating!

David has continued to train for his 700 km bike ride from Geneva to Nice through the Alps. As all serious cyclists do (so he tells me), he decided to shave his legs. I warned him that once he started shaving them, it would be an ongoing job. (Mom, do you remember telling me this years ago?) David was surprised to feel his leggy stubble two days later. I was also surprised, but not in a good way. We now share leg shaving tips. Good grief.

Being of British and Scottish ancestry, it has really hit home here in Nice that my skin does NOT like to tan. Freckles? No problem. Sunburn? Even easier. Despite thinking that I had put sun cream on everywhere, the tiny bit that I missed is now a shocking red. But tanning? Nope. I slather on 50 SPF, trying to stave off the burning rays in hopes of becoming an even golden brown. However, I think it has finally hit home that it’s just not going to happen. In this land of sun kissed goddesses (and there are many, David keeps telling me!) I have renounced my tanning attempts. I vow to stay covered with sun cream, crowned in a big brim hat and stay under my beach umbrella. I realize that my white skin will glow on the beach, but I will glow proudly.

Except, unfortunately, when I glow blue. Embarrassingly, my last foray to the beach with a new navy and white striped beach mat had the blue come off all over me. My legs looked like they were horribly bruised. David was getting nasty looks as we walked home afterwards. My big hat and sunglasses didn’t help matters either!

Well, I’m off to buy more sun cream.

Au revoir!
Leslie