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noHe had never been to Paris before, but he was still waiting for her name. I arrived a few minutes ago and parked myself in a posh 1920s-style cafe across the street from the Gare du Nord where the Eurostar train, like my Channel-hoppers, stops.
I’m here to start a grand three-week tour of the continent: from Paris to Naples via Nice, Florence and Rome. I’ve never been to mainland Europe before. I couldn’t afford it, and even if I had the money, my anxiety would keep me at home while suffering from a mild travel phobia. Therefore, as well as a holiday, this trip will also be a form of anti-aging treatment.
At the smart Cafe du Nord, a waiter in a black waistcoat, bow tie and beret brings my cafe au lait and croque monsieur on a small round tray, nods and walks away, saying, “enjoy your mealHe said. It’s all very beautiful. I eat, I drink, I point, I wave. bye And drop off to my hotel in a budget case near the Bastille.
I only have three days in Paris, and I intend to make the most of it. Some Parisians say that it is the best thing in the city Gary And wander aimlessly. But that general concept might define my life so far, so I decided to take a look at the sights.
I reluctantly boarded an open top bus tour. When I lived in London, I used to scoff at the day-tourists who saw the city in tiny rectangles one at a time. But it’s a great way to see an unfamiliar city and get a recorded history with complimentary headphone commentary.
I also visit the Eiffel Tower, it’s just as big as Blackpool Tower and it’s in France. Then I go to see the Mona Lisa in the Louvre – it’s okay, but I don’t really see what all the fuss is about. I’m going to Nice tomorrow.
The first part of the train journey to Nice is through scorched farmland, but after leaving Marseille it takes in stunning views of the French Riviera. To my left, misty mountains fill the horizon, lush vineyards sit along the tracks, and sand-walled villas with sun-kissed copper roofs pepper the green hills. On the right, there are exotic trees – clusters of palms, pines and olives. Beyond them is the Mediterranean, glistening in the sun. I have to pinch myself: all this distance and beauty for less than £50.
That’s fine, but that’s as far as it goes. Again, the bus trip is worth it, but the old town is a must-see: a collection of beautiful buildings where you can spend money in a cute cafe on a pretty street and look at statues set between marble fountains. Then I headed to the Promenade des Anglais where there is ice cream, surfing and other beach fun.
If you’re fair-skinned like me, the biggest downside to visiting the continent in August is baking hot. The more olive-skinned beauties in shorts and umbrellas came out, the more demoralizing it made me look like a rotten woolly tomato.
I’m going to Italy, but I left my phone in the taxi to the train station. Losing your phone is like losing a limb these days, so I’m panicking and thinking of visiting the British consulate and calling this whole thing.
On the Find Me app on my laptop, I watch my phone do the Monte Carlo circles nearby. I decide to get another cab and instruct the driver to follow my phone icon. Unfortunately the app is unreliable so I go back to the site and somehow find an Uber and the driver returns my phone hours later. That’s five hours of my life and I won’t get 200 pounds back, but I finally get on a train to Genoa, and then change to another one south to the Tuscan hills.
“Ahh, Florence,” I hear myself say more than once as I gaze upon the ornate architecture, romantic streets, and Renaissance art. Looking out over the Piazza del Duomo and Florence’s 14th century cathedral makes me really emotional.
The excitement is somewhat dampened by the frenzied tourist groups. I am indeed a hypocrite because I am one of them. Central Florence, at least when I visited, felt like an estate agent had set it up. It’s flawless, and boy are you selling something. It’s something of an Italian version seen through the lens of Dolmio advertising. The restaurants play the Godfather soundtrack on loop and serve pizza, pasta, gelato and more pizza. In a restaurant, a small man wanders in, sets the amp to Pavarotti, wild gesticulations and all mime.
My next stop is Rome. It’s an ethereal place. I feel as if I’ve been bombarded with history – ancient fountains, the Colosseum and the Spanish Steps – with dwarf pines, broad-umbrella pines and lush palm trees popping up without warning around every corner.
The best way to see Rome is on an electric scooter in the morning. I wander around the empty cobbled streets, and the city’s landmarks glow even more brilliantly.
One must see in Rome is the Sistine Chapel. To see Michelangelo’s ceiling, I had to buy a ticket to the Vatican Museums, and like all the other museums and tourist attractions on this trip, that had to be arranged through an unnecessary broker. This involved visiting a tobacconist a few meters away from the museum, where a guide would pick me up, lead me to the entrance of the museum, hand over the tickets and leave. (I later found out I could book a slot online.)
I pass through several galleries on the way to Michelangelo’s masterpiece, but they are overpriced. The gallery of the maps is impressive – with its ornate ceiling and beautiful frames. Topographical maps inspired by Ignazio Dante’s paintings adorn the walls, and huge windows offer breathtaking views of the city.
I finally get to the main event. It’s hard here. No photos, no shorts or skirts, and the Vatican demands silence, which of course everyone ignores. The ceiling is amazing, but I find the pictures disturbing. Many frescoes depict suffering and injury; The entire wall shows demons dragging their nakedness to hell on one side and angels carrying people to heaven. Also, it’s not possible to experience the chapel as Michelangelo intended – in silence and silence – because the place is getting heavy, and security can’t wait to get you out again.
I planned to end my trip in Naples for a few days – for pizza and ice cream. But after I got to Italy, that’s all I ate, so I decided not to go south. If you will, the best pizza I had was at Mr. Pizza near Florence Cathedral. And the best ice cream was on Via del Boschetto, a trendy street near Rome’s Colosseum.
This was a stressful journey for me, but I’m glad I did it. In fact, I wish I had the courage to do this years ago.
The way to go
Getting there
Crossing the Channel on Eurostar from £69 one way, Paris to Nice from €55, Nice to Genoa from €19, Genoa to Florence from €19 and Florence to Rome from €15.
Stay
Casa Regina Santo Rosario in Florence (single room from €50 B&B) is a convent guest house where the rooms are small and facilities are shared, but it has a beautiful garden, very clean and quiet, and the monks are friendly.
Rome II Covo B&B (90 doubles and doubles) is located near the Colosseum and has high ceilings, ornate decor and a rooftop garden.
eat
I enjoyed some of the best Greek food I’ve ever had at Lamaison de Gyros near the river in the Latin Quarter of Paris. The souvlaki (€6 with chips) was delicious and the interior is all higgledy-piggledy chairs and tables, barmy artwork, books and other decorations.
I like Mr. Pizza and ravioli (€12) at Florence Pizza (from €8.50) and the lager at Le Bottega di Donatello, both near the cathedral.
If you think you’re eating every slice of pizza, check out the daily-changing takeaway menu at Bonchi Pizzeria near the Vatican in Rome. Cod and potato pizza, or pumpkin puree and octopus, all from €4 a slice.
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