Italy

D Vautier
11/2006

I went to Italy several times while stationed in Germany.  We were near Nurnburg, and Italy was just over the hill.  The hill I refer to was the Alps and the way to get there was Brenner Pass.

During WW II, the Allies landed at Solarno and struggled all the way up the boot of Italy, fighting the crafty Kesselring and his dogged Germans every single step of the way, and the Allies paid for every foot of ground with their blood.  But the Allies were most afraid of having to fight through Brenner Pass, that winding, narrow and treacherous way to the heart of the German Fatherland.  Fortunately the war ended before that had to happen.

So with a quick 50 Ks to Munich (Munchen) and a rapid drive over the pass, we came down into Verona, a forgotten sleepy town that did at one time have a coliseum to rival Rome itself.

From there we drove straight to Venice, a wonderful charming sinking damp city with a serious past, the perfect place to take a lover or sweetheart.  Unfortunately I went there the first time with three GIs, so no romance was in the offing.  But I did stand on the different bridges; I fed the pigeons in St. Marks Square.  The pigeons attacked me with such vigor that I abandoned my supply of bread crumbs and ran for my life.

Driving down the Adriatic coast we headed first to the fishing towns of Ancona, and Pescara (I think the word Pescara has something to do with fishing).  From Pescara we drove over the Apennines to Naples.  Every so often we suddenly came upon an aqueduct standing out against the sky, complete with gentle rolling grass pastures and contented cows grazing and mooing in shear bucolic peace.  It was a contrast not easily described or forgotten.

After a few fun-packed days in Naples we headed north to Rome.  Here was always my secret and cherished desire to sit in a small café on the Via Veneto watching the pretty Girls walk by and gently sipping Vino Bianco (I would eventually get my wish but I had a little too much of that good old Vino Bianco).

We quickly got lost in Rome.  Rome is a city designed to get lost in.  We finally emerged on a large plaza and all I could see everywhere were red flags.  Signs in Italian vehemently proclaimed, “Do not Bomb Hanoi and Hyphong Harbor”, “American Aggressors”  “No More War”.  We had stumbled right into the middle of an anti-war rally in full swing.  We were driving a rented German Volkswagen with German Tags, but our haircuts were too short and distinctly American Army.  Our car was immediately surrounded by a crowd of rather plump red-faced Italian youths.  I whispered to my friends. “Look very German.”  Now I’m not quite sure how in Hell you can look very German.  Two or three Italian youths approached the car on my side and I said loudly “Was ist Los, Meinen Froinden? Weir commen von Deutschland”.

That was one of the high points of our trip.