irons in one’s stomach.
But today something is different. Today we have Innsbruck behind us. Innsbruck, with its fine old frescoed houses and its magnificent Court Chapel, built at the height of the Italian Renaissance. Inside the chapel, the amazing cenotaph of Maximilian who ruled as the Count of Tirol from 1490 onward. The huge marble sarcophagus contains no less than 28 bronze statues of his ancestors and favourite heroes, along with 24 marble reliefs depicting scenes from his life. Astounding, is the only word I can think of, and that does little to do the Court Chapel justice. It really has to be seen to be believed, and this is merely my futile attempt to pay it some homage.
But it also serves to drive home another point. You never know what spectacles you’ll see, throughout a given day, when you get up in the morning.
from Kelly’s diary
Oct. 16
An Ital. truck driver with halitosis & 2 missing fingers drove us all through the night to Venice, & asked us for our addresses when he dropped us off 3 blocks away from the campground. (He didn’t want to have to turn his rig around.) C told him we were going to a monastery where there was no post office & the altitude was too high for carrier pigeons. We beat the bus. Snoozed some this morning, then washed clothes & chatted up the campground cat. C.’s still sleeping. Air feels heavy & the campground’s quiet. City’s still in mourning for the pope.
Mick
I was practically puking up mountain range by the time Pete got on the blower and said, “Okay, people, we’re a few clicks from Venice, and I’ve got some good news for you and I’ve got some bad news for you. The good news is that you won’t have to put up any tents tonight, you’ll be staying in army barracks.”
Suzie let out a little cheer. She must’ve been a cheerleader in high school. A hippy-dippy little cheerleader who had an intimate relationship with everyone on the Moonie Ponds’s high school football team. And I’m not far wrong, according to Dave.
“The bad news,” said Pete, “is that there aren’t any cold showers here, which might mean trouble, knowing you people as well as I do already.”
That got another cheer out of Suzie.
After her cheers died down, Pete said, “Another thing. I hear from HQ that we have a couple of new people joining up with us here. I want you people to make them feel real welcome, hear?”
Patrick was sitting across from me at the tables, reading The Honourable Schoolboy. He looked at me and said, “I wonder if these people might happen to be of the feminine persuasion, Mr. McPherson.”
I did a little reconnoitering with Dave and said, “Eight to one they’re female,” and I plunked down a ragged and dirty thousand-lire note.
Patrick laughed and said, “You’re on, Mr. McPherson.”
I had my eyes peeled for the girls as soon as we pulled into camp, and I did see a few girls walking around, but Dave said that those weren’t the ones.
After I stashed my suitcase in the men’s barracks and had a shower, I wandered over to this little cantina, where Patrick was sitting at a table with a bottle of Italian rough red in front of him.
“By all means, join me, Mr. McPherson,” he said, and I
did.
“Any sign of the new girls yet?” I said.
“Not that I know of,” he said.
I helped him knock back his bottle of wine, and then a dinner bell clanged and we went into this long mess hall and had us some broiled chicken and salad, and some more of that rough red, and I was chewing on a wishbone when Patrick nudged my knee with his and said, “Two birds at ten o’clock, Mr. McPherson.”
I took a look, and I didn’t have to have Dave tell me it was her. Standing there in the doorway, gawking around, looking uncertain and nervous.
Back in Kits I asked Dave what he thought about me going on this trip. He told me well, if you take the Taurus Tours bus, your heart will definitely be at risk.
For a while I thought he was maybe talking
But today something is different. Today we have Innsbruck behind us. Innsbruck, with its fine old frescoed houses and its magnificent Court Chapel, built at the height of the Italian Renaissance. Inside the chapel, the amazing cenotaph of Maximilian who ruled as the Count of Tirol from 1490 onward. The huge marble sarcophagus contains no less than 28 bronze statues of his ancestors and favourite heroes, along with 24 marble reliefs depicting scenes from his life. Astounding, is the only word I can think of, and that does little to do the Court Chapel justice. It really has to be seen to be believed, and this is merely my futile attempt to pay it some homage.
But it also serves to drive home another point. You never know what spectacles you’ll see, throughout a given day, when you get up in the morning.
from Kelly’s diary
Oct. 16
An Ital. truck driver with halitosis & 2 missing fingers drove us all through the night to Venice, & asked us for our addresses when he dropped us off 3 blocks away from the campground. (He didn’t want to have to turn his rig around.) C told him we were going to a monastery where there was no post office & the altitude was too high for carrier pigeons. We beat the bus. Snoozed some this morning, then washed clothes & chatted up the campground cat. C.’s still sleeping. Air feels heavy & the campground’s quiet. City’s still in mourning for the pope.
Mick
I was practically puking up mountain range by the time Pete got on the blower and said, “Okay, people, we’re a few clicks from Venice, and I’ve got some good news for you and I’ve got some bad news for you. The good news is that you won’t have to put up any tents tonight, you’ll be staying in army barracks.”
Suzie let out a little cheer. She must’ve been a cheerleader in high school. A hippy-dippy little cheerleader who had an intimate relationship with everyone on the Moonie Ponds’s high school football team. And I’m not far wrong, according to Dave.
“The bad news,” said Pete, “is that there aren’t any cold showers here, which might mean trouble, knowing you people as well as I do already.”
That got another cheer out of Suzie.
After her cheers died down, Pete said, “Another thing. I hear from HQ that we have a couple of new people joining up with us here. I want you people to make them feel real welcome, hear?”
Patrick was sitting across from me at the tables, reading The Honourable Schoolboy. He looked at me and said, “I wonder if these people might happen to be of the feminine persuasion, Mr. McPherson.”
I did a little reconnoitering with Dave and said, “Eight to one they’re female,” and I plunked down a ragged and dirty thousand-lire note.
Patrick laughed and said, “You’re on, Mr. McPherson.”
I had my eyes peeled for the girls as soon as we pulled into camp, and I did see a few girls walking around, but Dave said that those weren’t the ones.
After I stashed my suitcase in the men’s barracks and had a shower, I wandered over to this little cantina, where Patrick was sitting at a table with a bottle of Italian rough red in front of him.
“By all means, join me, Mr. McPherson,” he said, and I
did.
“Any sign of the new girls yet?” I said.
“Not that I know of,” he said.
I helped him knock back his bottle of wine, and then a dinner bell clanged and we went into this long mess hall and had us some broiled chicken and salad, and some more of that rough red, and I was chewing on a wishbone when Patrick nudged my knee with his and said, “Two birds at ten o’clock, Mr. McPherson.”
I took a look, and I didn’t have to have Dave tell me it was her. Standing there in the doorway, gawking around, looking uncertain and nervous.
Back in Kits I asked Dave what he thought about me going on this trip. He told me well, if you take the Taurus Tours bus, your heart will definitely be at risk.
For a while I thought he was maybe talking
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