D is for Domodossola

I went to Domodossola for a weekend last November, to meet up with Ondra, who was doing some experiments in Lausanne at the time. Domodossola is in the Italian Alps, close to the border with Switzerland. Before the trip, I tried to do a bit of research about this town. Mostly, Italians know it because the letter “D” is coded as “Domodossola”. Also, the city proclaimed itself as an independent republic during the second world war, in protest of the fascist regime, but the rebellion was crushed very quickly.

To get to Domodossola, I took a train from Milano Centrale. The train left from the furthest corner of the furthest platform. It’s a regional train, with Domodossola being the last stop. I left in the evening, when it was already dark, to arrive two hours later, close to midnight. The hotel where we were staying turned out to be a small “albergo”, where the rooms had names – honouring writers – instead of numbers. The next morning surprised us with an excellent breakfast buffet, including fresh bread, Italian coffee, local cheeses, and homemade honey.

The plan for the day was to go to Vogogna, and from there to take a hike in the mountains. Vogogna is the next stop by train, when heading back towards Milano. It is an old, small village with a castle. Following the signs to the tourist information centre lead us nowhere. Instead, we bought a map at a newspaper agent’s. We then followed a track, which lead us through another, even smaller village, and up the mountain.

The path was pleasant: every few steps, there was a sign with one of life’s many wisdoms. We were alone – we met only one person during the entire hike, a jogger. His arrival was announced by the rustling of dry leaves, which could be heard from a distance.

After a while, the signs with wise phrases ceased. Instead, we occasionally came across old shepherd’s huts, made of stone.

Keeping on the path, and occasionally checking the map, we were nevertheless struck with a realisation as it was approaching lunch time: we were lost. The track that we had been following stopped abruptly, and with the map, we could not find where we were. Reluctant to turn around, we climbed higher, up a small rock bank, Ondra advancing as a scout. With relief, we found a path again, which we continued to follow. It lead us to a wonderful lunch spot. We were surrounded by silence and, best of all, an astonishing view while we were munching our sandwiches made of Swiss bread and cheese, and prosciutto crudo.

The road back to Vogogna turned out to be more difficult than the road up. The biggest hindrance were the dry leaves on the ground: knee-high at times, it was impossible to see where we were putting our feet, which caused us to proceed with extreme caution. The path was steep. We were starting to think about the sunset: though it would be still light for another few hours, if we got lost, it may would become a problem. Though we did get lost, we managed to make it back to Vogogna in good time, and even to buy some chocolate and beer before our train back to Domodossola was due.

At the train station, we checked the departure times. Fifteen minutes to go. We checked the departure platform. Platform one. Looking around, we saw a peculiarity: there were two train stations, immediately next to each other, each of which had a Platform one. They were close to each other, but not so close that we could risk waiting in the middle and seeing at which one the train would arrive, out of fear of missing it. The next train would only come in two hours. There were also no ticket vending machines, nor a booth where we would be able to buy a ticket.

Both train stations were empty – except for a foreign looking man standing at one of the Platform Ones. When I approached him to ask what was happening, he did not seem to understand Italian. We checked again the other Platform One – and found a local elderly man waiting for the train. When I asked him for information, he threw a hostile glance at the bottle of beer I was holding – I realised it was perhaps not common for women to drink beer on the street – but confirmed that the train to Domodossola would be arriving soon.

Back in Domodossola, we got changed and went out for dinner. Despite being small, Domodossola has the feel of a small town, rather than a big village. From the hotel, we had several recommendations for restaurants. It even turned out to be difficult to get a table without a reservation. We succeeded at the fourth try, though even here we had to wait until a table became free. While we were waiting, we were offered a glass of prosecco each.

The last day left us with a little time to explore Domodossola during the day time, as our trains back to Milano and Lausanne, respectively, were departing in the early afternoon. The first destination was the Sacred Mountain, which overlooks Domodossola. From there, we enjoyed the clear view over the city.

 

Learning Czech

I went to the Czech Republic for the first time, as an adult, last year. I spent a weekend in Prague with a good friend. I had bought a phrase book, and was intent on using it. The problem was: at the restaurants it took me longer to look up a phrase than it took my friend to just order in English. When I had finally memorised a few simple phrases (“Platit prosím!”) the waiters seemed very happy to hear someone trying to speak Czech, especially when we also showed that we had knowledge of traditional Czech beverages (Becherovka).

Czech is a Slavic language. It is not mutually intelligible with Russian: it is barely mutually intelligible with Polish, which is barely mutually intelligible with Russian. Some Czech words are similar to German, such as the word “šnek” (“Schnecke”, snail) or “cukr” (“Zucker”, sugar). Having started to learn Czech more seriously, I found that using Russian words when I don’t know the Czech word sometimes helps: sometimes, I just get my pronunciation corrected. Most often, though, I get a blank stare. And sometimes, the word means something else entirely. Especially interesting are the examples where the Czech and the Russian words have opposite meanings. When I started learning Czech, Ondra sent me an email: “Xenia je užasná!”, where the word “užasná” means “awesome” in Czech and “awful” (ужасная) in Russian. Similar examples: the word “vůně”, which means (good) smell in Czech, and “stench” in Russian (вонь). Девка means “girl” in Russian, and "whore" in Czech (děvka). The Czech word for girl is “dívka”. A foreign friend of Ondra’s once found out the hard way that when you try to compliment a girl in Czech, you need to be very careful with your pronunciation.

The orthography of Czech is shallow: almost every sound is consistently represented by the same letter. In contrast to Polish, there are hardly any multi-letter rules: when Polish uses sz or cz to represent the phonemes /ʃ/ and /tʃ/, respectively, the Czechs use the letters š and č. There is only one multi-letter grapheme: ch is pronounced as /x/. In dictionaries, ch is treated as a single letter. Double letters rarely occur: for example, the words for “address” and “professor” are spelled “adres” and “professor”, respectively. As in German and Russian, final consonants get devoiced. The hačeks on top of vowels (the little v) influence the pronunciation of the preceding consonant by palatalising it. Vowels are lengthened by čárka, the lines above the letters, or the circle in the case of ů. Pronunciation-wise, the most complex phoneme is the pronunciation of the letter ř, which is a rolled /r/ super-imposed onto a /ʒ/. Czech also has the property of having many consonants. An entire tongue twister contains no vowels: “strč prst skrz krk” (stick your finger down your throat).

I went to the Czech Republic with Ondra twice, to his hometown Liberec. After Prague and Brno, Liberec is the third-biggest city of the Czech Republic. It is surrounded by hills and nature; its landmark is the mountain Ještěd, with a 60s-style hotel, ski resort, and television tower on its top. Half-way down the mountain is a more local pub. Entering during the winter time, my glasses fogged up immediately: I had to take them off for a few minutes before I could see again. While Ondra was translating the menu, a local patron came up to as, to ask where we were from. We explained that I was from Australia, and Ondra was Czech.

“So you’re a Czech?” The local asked. “A real Czech? And your girlfriend is from Australia?? Congratulations!!” (I guess I will never know whether Ondra’s achievement was being a Czech, or dating an exotic girl.)

Visiting the local pubs gave me some more opportunity to practice my Czech. With great effort, I said to the girl at the bar: “Prosím… jedno velké pivo … a jedno malé pivo… a vodu…”

“You know I can speak English, right?” She replied, with no accent, and somewhat offended.

“Ale… chtěla by … učit česky!” I replied, which defused the situation. (Correct would have been “Chtela bych se učit česky”.)

While I’m still learning, I can use other languages to communicate when I’m in Liberec. Most younger people speak English. Older people speak sometimes German, and sometimes Russian. The Czech accent in German is very prominent. In Eastern Germany, many comedians were from (then) Czechoslovakia. Consequently, many East Germans can’t listen to a Czech accent in German without rolling on the floor with laughter. Ondra learnt German at school (more than English). Interestingly, he learnt standard German vocabulary, while his parents use words that are common in East Germany, such as “Sonnabend” for “Samstag” (Saturday). Ondra’s grandparents learnt German and Russian. Despite the historical conflicts between the Czech Republic and both Germany and Russia, they are very friendly and hospitable towards me – by now, they even gave me an affectionate nickname. They told me what they remembered of Russian: “Раз, два, три, четыре, пять, вышел зайчик погулять…” (a children’s poem), and of German: “Jeder Tscheche, der etwas leisten will, muss die deutsche Sprache erlernen.” – a phrase, which apparently they were drilled with during the second world war.

Travelling to the Czech Republic and meeting the local people has been a great experience so far. I’m looking forward to learning more of the Czech language, and gaining a deeper insight into everyday life and culture!

Cycling in the Colli Euganei

Colli Euganei is a collection of volcanic hills, a twenty minutes’ drive away from Padova. The hills are not connected to the Alps, which are around 50 km to the north – they stand out from the flat land around them. There is handful of picturesque churches, surrounded by small villages. The locals enjoy caffè and cigars in one of the numerous cafés of their main street. All in all, the region could not be any more different from Venice, only 90 km away, with its busy, crowded alleyways.

The villages are connected by a net of serpentine roads. These go past vineyards, olive plantations, forests, and the occasional fern-covered farmhouse or modern villa. Car parks signal the beginning of forest walking tracks. In some parts, the roads are busy: there are bikes, motorbikes, and cars; motorbikes overtaking bikes, cars overtaking bikes, cars overtaking cars, and motorbikes overtaking cars, sometimes motorbikes overtaking cars overtaking bikes. The thunder of the motorbikes can be heard from a distance. In pairs, in groups, by themselves, they drive up and down the hills in what I can only imagine as a pure adrenaline rush. To counteract the effects of sitting at a desk during the week, I choose the calmer but more strenuous option of cycling.

“Bravissima!” A guy yells to me, sailing downhill on his bike, as I pant, sweat-drenched, uphill. The hard work is rewarded by occasional breaks with amazing views. Most bike riders take the task seriously: they wear cycling clothes, and ride good, well-tended bikes.

For a more relaxing experience, the area provides walking routes and picnic areas. An excursion can be topped off with a visit to a café or trattoria. These serve local food – not the typical tourist menu, but local north-Italian food and beverages. With a bit of luck, one can find a place with outside tables and with a view.