Soyen to Venice (updated)

18/05, Soyen
Today it is raining and has done so since some time in the night. We sit in the bus, Bre reading, splayed across the back seat, and me on my very own box seat, writing.
The lake is maybe half a mile long and a quarter mile across. We see the same woman everyday cycling to some steps leading into the water, jumping off her bike, ripping her clothes off and running into the lake to swim a few lengths. Maybe some local nutter, or a very short lunch break. The landlord is out on his boat every day trailing two lines to catch that elusive pike which had been prematurely advertised the night before, to the great disappointment of a very camp guy who is (apparently) secretly meeting a local business woman. He bores her (or so it seems, as she disappears one time to have a swim) with dreadful football stories - I'm simultaneously translating for B - and especially his once-in-a-lifetime meeting of Oliver Kahn (year-long German national goal keeper for those who didn't know), where he claims to have gained notoriety for asking the only football related question among gossip columnists who were there to grill Kahn on his recent split from his wife (I'm probably losing you already...). The goalkeeper, according to the camp guy, stood up and thanked him publicly.
In the far corner of the terrace sits a clearly disturbed woman with her equally psychotic poodle. We'd seen her the previous day mumbling to herself, or no one in particular, on a bench near the level crossing. She seems to be following us as we encounter her hound tied up in front of the supermarket later.
A massive Hanomag ex-army vehicle has just parket up opposite us. We're experiencing the same old apprehension towards newcomers. just this morning this very spot was cleared by three motorhomes, the contents of which a family celebrating their son's 30th. The army types seem to be a family from Fuerth, near Nuernberg, not far from where my mum lives. We watch them as they obscure our main view of the lake. The van has what looks like a hatch or a small turret on the cab roof - presumably to ward off invaders. A solar panel is propped up at an angle against the main hull, and a complimentary spade fixed to the side completes the impression of the independent traveller. They seem more the type of long suffering family following the whims of their car proud husband and father though. I fear he might think of me as a kindred spirit because of Vera and try to ignore their enquiring glances. At the moment the moron wife feeds the whole duck population of the lake, intonating their individual gender as she throws breadcrumbs at them. "Male! Female!". She obviously wants to be fair. After running out of bread she menacingly shushes them away. Stick and carrot, I suppose. The daughters follow their mother's example by telling the still hopeful ducks to eff off. Charming brood.
Now they sit outside gawping. I feel trapped in the van because if I go out and have a cigarette I'll have to say hello and I know he'll try to engage me in a conversation about cars. I could pretend to desparately have to go to the loo; waving apologetically and hopping off, hiding behind the tool shed for my fag. The little respect we might have had for them wanes rapidly as the bloke relieves himself into the lake.
The rain is incessant and dulls our spirits. At seven we squelch to the restaurant which is utterly void of customers and the landlady comes out of the kitchen to investigate the dripping noises. She seems amazed to see customers and reluctantly serves us some food - apparently she was about to shut up shop soon. By 7.30 we think it only polite to leave and hear the doors locked behind us as we stand in the downpour. The saving grace of the whole soggy affair is the neighbours' (caravan) wife coming round and offering some hand baked strawberry cake.
19/05
Next day we pack up and as dry as we can and drive down the 40 or so miles to the Chiemsee, a large expanse of water near Rosenheim. It has been flat up until now but we can see the Alps rising ahead not more than a few miles away.
We choose a site at the shore with plans to visit Schloss Herrenchiemsee, a never completed folly with more than 70 bedrooms and a massive hall of mirrors. Even the weather plays ball and we congratulate ourselves sitting right by the lake under our brand new and shiny sun awning, purchased in a massive sailing and camping shop just outside Prien for the spritely sum of 199 Euros. Half of the mounting brackets we chuck away as Vera's roof is too curved to fix the suction pads, and only Bre, who suggested to make use of parts of our other four stone monster pod, prevents me from throwing the thing into the See.
They even have wireless internet here, albeit not at the pitch, but we can use it on the terrace of the little Gasthaus cum kiosk cum shower block. People actually say hello and smile here, and a waiter is so intrigued by our little laptop that he strikes up a conversation. It could have been so nice. At 10.30 we discover that the shower block has closed for the night; not to open again until the morning, and as I brush my teeth at the only sink in the men's toilet the rain starts again with renewed vigour.
20/05
When I wake up the next day I shake Bre and shout over the rain: That's it. I've had it. Get up. We pack up and go. By now everthing is either damp or wet and we're almost constantly cold. The forecast is bad until Thursday here, and as the good weather is approaching from the North it seems utter madness to head South but we're past caring and just want to escape. Innsbruck beckons. The drive is much shorter than anticipated as you travel from Rosenheim along the river Inn, and no steep climbs slow us down.
Of course it rains but when we arrive at the right site in Innsbruck (the first was called Camping Pizzeria, and was indeed in the back garden of an Italian restaurant) we actually set up in the relative dry.
FINALLY - a working internet cafe! Back to Innsbruck:
We opt for 2 nights here because we want to see Innsbruck itself the next day. The site restaurant serves the usual stodge but we're too tired and wet to care much. By now it is all a bit much for me and I hit rock bottom depression. I hate Germans, Austrians, their respective countries; and I just want to be home on the sofa watching The Apprentice. B is great though, and talks the black dog away.
Because we have a relatively short power lead (here in Europe several pitches share a few centrally located powerpoints, so you'll easily have to stretch to 50 feet) we'd parked up right in front of an available powerpoint. Coming back from the restaurant we discover that a powerful 500 watt light shines right through our back window. The next night I cover it with a dense cloth bag which works a treat. In general I think we both become more inventive when it comes to problems - Bre is mending the cheap folding chairs that started to come apart after a few weeks, and I find more and more ingenious ways to keep the water out of the van. Anyway.
21/05, Innsbruck
Bre has developed a bladder infection so first stop is the local hospital, which is clean, nice, calm, inviting and friendly. We wait while watching fish in a nice, calm and friendly tank. B gets a prescription for antibiotics and painkillers without fuss. The doctor (sic!) apparently stands up and shakes her hand as she leaves. Nice. Innsbruck, though, is what we really needed. At last civilisation, at least in the form of proper shops with proper people. We stroll through the mainly pedestrianised old city, see the Golden Dachl (an alcove with a 24 karat gold roof), drink real coffee and eat some real food; an interesting mix of Austrian-Hungarian traditional stodge and light and fresh Italian cookery. Chinese groups, laden with purchase, mix with troups of baseball-capped Americans; and some heavily wrapped Indian tourists. We buy tickets for a succession of cable cars riding up to the Nordkette, a chain of mountains towering over the town to a height of about 2,300 metres. We hit the clouds at 1,500 mtrs and can't see a thing but as we arrive at the top we enjoy being completely on our own (bar the ticket clerk) above the clouds.
The first of the Bahns is the driverless Hungerburgbahn, a kind of DLR on stereoids, which is a marvel of modern technology. For those who had the term 'DLR on steroids' on their respective postcards: I coined that ;)
Back in town by the Goldenes Dachl a high and long jump show is in full swing; interspersed by Dirndl fashion shows and a performance by a local looking dancetroup dressed in traditional costume. A tight-rope artist traverses the road at a height of 70 feet. Except for the traditional dance everything is underlined by this heavy mix of Tina Turner and other 80's pulp of which they are so fond of in these parts.
For dinner we sample one of the blandest Thai curries we've ever eaten and at 11pm we catch the bus back to the campsite.
22/05, Brenner Pass to Lake Garda
Today is the big day. Italy beckons. First of all we have to master the Brenner Pass, and I have no idea how steep it's going to be. Right out of Innsbruck sees us crawling up the mountains at a steady 25mph. Vera always draws admiring glances except for when we are trying to get up a hill. We pay our dues (tolls) at a service station near the pass and as we set off for the final climb Vera passes the 84,000 mile mark. The arrival at the border is somewhat of an unexpected affair - we're almost past it before we realise we're now in Italia. After it the road is all downhill to Lake Garda; the weather perks up and we reach dizzying speeds of 70mph! Wheyhey!
The heating in the old dubs is controlled by a cable that runs to the heat exchangers at both sides of the engine. Warm air is channelled through pipes into the fromt cabin. The cables should be attached to levers that in turn shut or open flaps to control the flow of air. In Vera these levers are non-existent, and in their default state the flaps seem to be open all the time. In short, we're slowly boiling our legs. No chance of finding the missing parts soon I think, so for the moment we have to live with it. At the north side of Lake Garda we turn off the autostrada onto the eastern shore road that runs all along the lake, and will lead us to Malcesine, our destination (courtesy of Christine's many a tale). Camping Claudia is directly by the lake about 3km north of the town.
Malcesine lies at the foot of Monte Baldo and is a maze of little cobbled streets and alleyways flanked by pretty 3 and 4 storey houses. Every nook and cranny has been filled with tourist traps, bars and restaurants. We're trying desperately to order in Italian, scraping together the little we remember, but are immediately cut short in German. My teutonic looks I presume. Our first triumph comes on our third night out when we manage a whole sitting of three pints entirely in Italian, and are waved off with a convivial 'Ciao, ragazzi'.
I'll wrap up our stay here bullet list style:

• Boat trip to Limone, a soulless place. If Dante had stayed here, his Inferno would have been unbearable to read.
• Cable car ride up Monte Baldo. The usual clouds, so nothing to see. Bland lunch of cheese, mushrooms and, I can't remember what it's called - a kind of porridge made from corn meal. You can buy it in pre cooked yellowish slabs in Sainsburys. Tastes good griddled with butter and chilli.
• More trips into town where we sit in cafes, smoke a lot and try hard to look Italian. Sunglasses mandatory.

26/05, I think, Lake Garda to Venice
B will correct the dates in her next post. After an overall very enjoyable stay in Malcesine we're off to see what you just have to see in Italy: Venezia. B will tell you all about it; just to say as we drive the last few kilometres to our campeggio of choice, which lies in a postnuclear war industrial area but is only 20 mins to Venice by boat, we somewhat are reminded of home - the bleak plains of the Greenwich Peninsula.