Pesaro

My first visit to Italy began in Bologne Airport. The Dash-8 landed and a bus brought us to the terminal. Our baggage was placed on carousel 9. Unlike carousels 6-8, this carousel led right to the exit. I thought it strange, not going through passport control. The first person I talked to in Italy was the lady at the tourist information desk. Unfortunately, she was more interested in what was on her computer screen than in making much eye contact with me. Bad first impression!

She did direct me to the shuttle bus that took me through Bologne to the stazione centrale, where I could catch a train from Bologne down to Pesaro (pronounced PEH-saro). The ticket agent girl at Bologne spoke some english but she had no map, and with the ticket being only 7 euro, I wasn't sure that I had the right Pesaro. I was even more unsure when I went to track 7 and the train was an ugly 2-car train covered in graffiti. There was no English anywhere at the station. I checked the departure screens againand it did say track 7. So I ran back to catch it when a young lady said something to me in Italian, and when I said Pesaro? she said, na na, more Italian, and pointed over to the building in front of the line of trains. Here was the problem: the tracks for intercity trains were right next door to the intracity trains, and the tracks had duplicate numbers!!!

The train was a bit dirty, and it was 6-to-a-booth like in Austria. I hate having to rush to find a seat, but I got one. Had lunch at Pesaro train station, found a map of hotels, and took a taxi to one I picked, only to find out that it and all other hotels on that strip of beach were closed for the off-season! The non-English 60-year-old taxi driver eventually figured out I had no reservation anywhere, so he found me this hotel. I learned my second italian word for the day: grazi (thank you). I had heard "prego" (like "bitte": please plus a few other uses) at the train station.

Saw the Mediterranean Sea for the first time. Actually this arm of it is called the Adriatic Sea. There was enough fog that I couldn't see across to Croatia. The hotel clerks speak English but the waitress at the hotel restaurant did not. I thought I would understand an Italian menu, but no, the limited options they were offering were all-new words except gnocchi. She said one was peche, so I said, "oh, fish!" and waved my hand like a fish swimming and she smiled. For another word, I guessed clam and tried to imitate a clam opening, but she laughed and shook her head no. Turns out that one of the side dishes I ordered was lasagna, but on the menu it began with an s.

My trip tomorrow to Tavullia might be complicated. The bus terminal has no map, and a complicated schedule for buses to all the little towns up in the hills. I think the complications are due to "in season" versus "off season," but there are other conditions as well. The hotel clerk found out that a taxi to Tavullia would be 25 Euro one way. I might do that.

My room is small, no carpet, no desk. European hotels must be rated on a different scale than American ones; this one is 3 stars somehow. The washroom has a narrow shower, no tub, and it has one of those funny bum-washing low sinks! (Commode? Bidet?) I actually tried it. It shot horizontal, though, so I wasn't sure how... well anyway, it was weird, and I still had to do a wipedown.