Serendipity: At times, Another Word for "Whaaa…?"

The proximity of a country border in a border town apparently contributes to a sometimes amusing, often perplexing cultural schizophrenia. Signs are in not just one language, but usually two, and sometimes three, the third of which is a dialect of the second. It can be thoroughly entertaining and educational, or, if you’re in a hurry, downright frustrating. Yet, there are the things in life which one assumes to remain the same — symbols for bathrooms, exit lanes, and sweets, for instance. But what is that little adage about assuming making an “ass of u and me?”

Oy.

Picture it: Cavalese, Thursday afternoon. We wander past a candy store, seeing a gorgeous window display, and decide to go in. D. grabs a bag and selects two or three from every bin on his side of the store, while T. concentrates her energies on a half bag of a single kind which she thinks are especially pretty. Except for avoiding obviously gummy candies in favor of those not containing (hooves and bones) gelatin, neither of us make any attempt to read the names or descriptions of the varieties. After all, a visit to a candy store is supposed to be a little like opening a box of See’s Candies — you open, taste, enjoy, or …spit.

And boy howdy, did we spit.

We have discovered a great affection for “Erbe Alpin” in this region, or Alpine herbs. They are used in digestive liquors, apertifs, bitter colas, and apparently, candy. They’re meant to make the body… um, regular, but they are indeed a nasty surprise to discover in a hard candy. Think of ear wax, carmelized, and you’ve about got the taste sensation. T., realizing that at times D. finds joy in things she hates, simply tasted the candies, rewrapped them, and put them back in the bag… while D. spat one out of the window at 11o kilometers per hour, probably despoiling the pristine Alpine countryside to make sure he did not reach back into the bag and get that one again. Of the twelve or so varieties of candies which he selected, about seven of them were bitter. Fortunately, T.’s were great, which was complete luck on her part… Sadly, she was too disgusted to rub it in.

Another First on this vacation was the first time attempting to use GPS. The rental agency supplied a TomTom device which has an array of voices — UK or Irish men and women, in English, and a host of other characters for various other languages. We selected Jane from the UK for the first few days, but noticed that Jane seemed to have a rather heavy patience in her voice as we missed turns. We opted for Kathy from the Republic, after trying Tim, who sounded suspiciously like Robbie the Reindeer. No matter which voice we use, it seems that the stupid device insists on taking us the worst possible route. The first day, we had to find a pharmacy, as T. had discovered that she’d left behind a necessary medication. We keyed in our requirements, and hit the road, Jane’s dulcet tones encouraging us “after three hundred yards, bear left.” As we hovered on a 90° turn, on a two way, incredibly narrow road, we cursed the Italians who had decided that the road through their village should not widen and straighten with the advent of cars. It was a hair-raising, thoroughly awful introduction to driving in the village, and we feared we wouldn’t be able to leave the hotel again. And then we discovered the pharmacy, on our own the following day… at the end of a wide, well-traveled road, and we realized: the GPS is probably out to kill us. This was tested and proven time after time, as we were directed to only the most narrow, mountainous lanes, when there were other saner options available to us.

We’ve determined that once with Jane, Kathy, and Tim is enough — though it was helpful for us to find the place (despite the Incident With the Owl) and to get back to it after the first day out, we’ve found it safer to go without, and much, much quieter…

– D & T

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