Hobbit-Fest in the Alps

---

On Friday, September 3rd, the fifth day of the Venice Study Group Program, we all traveled two hours north of Venice to Aquilea with group director Rebecca Ammerman. There in Aquilea we visited a famous Christian Basilica that dated to late Roman times. After lunch we ran through an archaeological museum and hopped on a bus to the nearby resort town of Grado. At Grado, Professor Ammerman told us we could do what we pleased. There were beaches to visit and shops to see. The group split up, and a group of five of us, Me, Jeff, Colleen, Katie, and Claire, wandered down to the shore to find nothing but private beaches. We were frustrated by the lameness of the place, and after about an hour decided to return to Venice. We bought bus tickets and rode it about 30 minutes south to the nearest train station. The train was scheduled to leave for Venice at 6:11, and it didn’t seem strange when, at 6:07, we were already moving. In Italy, you see, time is but a trifle, and schedules are nothing if not flexible. We had a car to ourselves, and hurtled home laughing and talking as the clean air rushed in from the open windows. As we moved further from the seacoast, beautiful, massive mountains began appearing closer and closer on every side. “My God” I said. “I slept through this? Why didn’t anyone wake me up?” The general consensus was that we had all slept through the beautiful scenery in the early morning haze in which we had come to Aquilea. Glued to the windows, we soaked it up amazed by how different everything looked. “It’s just how I imagine Switzerland, or Austria. I had no idea the Alps were so close to Venice.” As the train started to slow, someone suggested we get off at the next stop. Excited by this whimsy, we poured out of the train, giggling. GEMONA read the sign. Welcome to Gemona, guys. The town was gorgeous, tucked close under the shadow of a towering peak. We walked around in this town- god knows where we were. Snapping pictures, we admired the mountains and white church spires erupting from the forest all around. We ate pizza, best I’ve ever had, and finally wandered back to the station. Tickets in hand, we waited for the 8:10 to Venice. “Questo treno va a Venezia, si?” we asked several strangers, “Si, si” was always the response. When it showed up, we were confused. “But, that’s the way we came from… maybe it changes directions?” Once the doors closed and we started moving we started to freak out. “This is the way we came from! This is the wrong train! Why did they all lie to us? Goddam Italians.” We got off at the next stop. ARTEGNA. “Ok, where are we?” No one was working in the station house, and there was nowhere to buy tickets. Alright, we’ll just hop on the next train going the right way and explain it to the conductor. Half an hour later we finally saw a train. “Finally” we said as we approached the edge, “now maybe we can-“ WHOOOOOSH the train thundered by at top speed, a few feet away. This is a very terrifying thing, because it feels like you are about to be sucked in and killed. Frozen by fear, we watched the behemoth speed away. With nervous laughs we wondered why it didn’t stop and tried to forget how scary that had just been. Ten minutes later another train came. WHOOSH. It was gone, like the first. We looked around. It was getting very dark and the realization that we had marooned ourselves was beginning to sink in. It was 9:00; no more trains were going to be stopping in Artegna that night. Let me tell you about Artegna. It is a tiny, middle-of-nowhere little hickville in the Alps. The only sound came from a distant highway, and the only light came from the four lights of the station and a few house windows on a nearby hill There was some talk of walking to another station, but it was a silly notion and quickly dispelled. . “Well,” I said with a crazy laugh, “looks like we’re spending the night here.” Our annoyance soon turned to giddiness, as there was nothing to be done but to pass the time until morning. Acting like children, we tossed rocks and ran across the tracks. Two headlights appeared at about 9:40, and two police officers came out of the dark. After being asked what we were doing, we explained the situation to the officers. I expected some help, maybe a ride to a hotel or a bus station. Instead the officers just laughed and said we had been stupid. “Are there any bathrooms?” we asked. “The bushes” they replied. After joking around for a bit, they suggested we go get drunk and then come back to sleep on the benches (winking to Jeff and I and motioning to the girls). Only in Italy. We said goodbye to the cops and started walking down dark, deserted streets. Twenty-five minutes later we hit the ‘center’ of Artegna. There was one open building in the center. A bar. We walked in and were looked at as if insane by the two people inside; the grumpy woman behind the counter and the fat man watching soccer with a glass of white wine. Ordering a bottle of wine, we took turns using the bathroom and sat admiring the little country bar. An hour slipped away, and Jeff drew a little map of Italy of a napkin. He went up to the bar and asked the woman where we were. Taking the pen, she marked a little X about an inch above Venice. “What? How far?”, he asked. “About 180 kilometers. We are here, very near Austria.” Another X showed us Aquilea and confirmed the new suspicion; we had gone the wrong way. Instead of passing through the Alps on the way home (a route on which there were no mountains), we had been passing through the Alps on the way to central Europe. “Another 20 minutes”, she told us, “and you would have been in Austria.” We roared, and reaffirmed our claim that we were on an adventure.
Soon a man in his mid-twenties came down and introduced himself as Dario, the son of the owner. He was a creepy guy with a cast, but he spoke a little English (unlike the others) and said he wanted to help us. “Come,” he said “we look at trains for tomorrow.” Okkk. We followed him upstairs and he told us to be quiet and not disturb his father. We paraded through the living room in front of his father who sat in his underwear watching soccer. “How many?” he asked- not understanding what was going on. We went into a cramped computer room and waited for the slower-than-hell internet to start up which it never did. We returned to our wine. A few minutes later Dario came down and asked if we wanted to go to a ‘Sagra’. “Una festa?” we asked, “No, he answered, but it’s like a party.” As creepy as this sounded we agreed to go, all in the spirit of adventure, and waited as this 25-year-old asked permission from his father to use the family car. His dad said no, because there were more of us than seatbelts, so we waited for Dario’s buddy. By now the grumpy old woman had warmed up to us, and explained how Americans never came to Artegna. We talked for a while, until the friend showed up. Then, with a guy in each car, we flew down mountain roads towards the Sagra. In half an hour we were at an old, picturesque little town on a steep hill called San Daniele. San Daniele, Dario explained, is the prosciutto capital of the world. The best prosciutto comes from this famous little town. We stood out in the street there in San Daniele, meeting Dario’s friends. A random Canadian was there among the others and we chatted in English for a while. After a time they started to look at us, “Are you all seeing this?” “What?” “Look!” Around the square groups of girls in weird costumes were chatting and walking around. You know there is a festival here tonight, right? “At this point, we don’t know much of anything.” “Alright,” they said, “let’s go to the castle.” I looked at Jeff. Castle? A small path wound up on the outside of a fortified wall, and what we saw as we came around the bend was one of the strangest sights I’ve ever seen. A large tent housed a bar and a dozen long tables full of people. On either side of the tent, small stands were selling masks, swords, and garments. “It’s a Hobbit Festival.” They proclaimed. “You know, from Man of..Ring.” Lord of the rings? Yes! About five hundred people sat, drank, shopped, and chatted- all dressed up as hobbits and other characters from Middle Earth. At the top of the path a huge stage was set up. A large band was playing medieval music while behind them a huge screen played clips of Lord of the Rings on mute. We almost died laughing. The nest two hours we spent drinking beer, shopping for swords, listening to flute music, and meeting young Italians dressed up like hobbits. I did an Irish jig. This was all in the shadow, mind you, of a massive medieval castle. The party started winding down, and our new friends invited us to a pub. At the base of the hill we climbed down into a loud, dark little pub. We all got a huge table and spent a solid two hours eating sandwhiches, talking to our new friends, taking shots, and learning Italian drinking songs (“Chi e nato giorno di ----, si alzi, si alzi”). Finally, we found Dario and admitted we were finished. He drove us back to a nearby town, Gemona. Rememebr Gemona? And we caught an hour of sleep in front of the locked doors. We waited, feeling like hell, for the train. Saying goodbye to Dario, we got on this German sleeper train to find out there was nowhere to sit or lie down. Eventually we settled on the metal floor and stairs of the connecting area between two cars. Among the skriek of wheels on tracks, we slept for three terrible hours…..and woke up in Venice at nine in the morning. Awesome.

---