Chianti, Maggiore

Bevano, Lago Maggiore

Chocks away, some tanks filled and others empty, we hit the road northward - back to where we picked this little truck up – Tuscany, specifically the Chianti area.

Rows of vines stretching up the hillsides, pencil cypresses and the occasional umbrella pine are standard issue in the Chianti area. We made for Greve, a place we had previously enjoyed. It is known for Chianti Classico, demarked on the bottle with a black chook. The dark red wine is made from the Sangiovese grape and is very velvety and plummy. 

That evening we ate outside a restaurant offering typical Tuscan fare. The evening air was warm and we spent a little time chatting with other diners – Aussies, but when they speak your lingo, conversation comes easily. A nice change from my stuttering ‘mi dispiace, non parlo Italiano’ hoping the poor person can understand what I want.

Chianti area

Two nights in one place already! It meant time to move; wallets opened as we clicked through various toll gates on the motorway (autostrada). Quibbles have to be put aside as traveling any long distance in Italy without using the autostrada is like being in your own never-ending story.

The speed limit is 120km/hr, and in some places trucks are assigned to the inside lane, so the passing view is a wall of trucks. The autostradas need full concentration as stuff is happening everywhere, bum clenching time (for me).  I have seen a truck driver weaving across lanes as he concentrates on his smartphone – one foot on the dash. Generally though, things are orderly.

Lake Maggiore in the far north of Italy was glinting when we finally caught sight of it. We stopped in the vain hope of finding a light-weight blanket. No blanket, but Stuart found a length of plumbing pipe in a diameter not available in NZ. It was sawn in half and stowed in the small ‘garage’ at the back of the truck. It will be used to repair an “oops” that happened to Chausson on the Molesworth Road in NZ.

The Maggiore lakeside road passed spectacularly grand hotels and elegant Italian villas, similar to what I imagine George Clooney lives in, on Lake Como. The lake has steep craggy mountains streaked with snow as a distant backdrop and in the foreground are inhabited islands that have beautiful gardens and buildings.

The camp we stayed at in Baveno backed onto the lake and was close to a ferry landing, it was very full. We didn’t realise we had arrived during a series of holidays, but Miss Campground showed us where we should park and where we should face. The spirit level that lives in Stuart’s head said we should face the amenity block (as it usually does) but Signorina Campground said we need to face the lake and back a few inches and over a few inches . . .  the floor in the truck was on a bit of a slope and the spirit level wasn’t happy …..

Even your old bike needs a good lock

Isola Bella is the most beautiful island on the lake and has a palace that is open for visits. We had a leisurely stroll through it admiring the rooms and sculptured gardens compete with strutting white peacocks.

I walked around an elegant room with a ceiling 3 stories high  It held a conference of high representatives of Italy, France and the United Kingdom in April 1935, resulting in the agreement known as the Stresa Front, which was an attempt to avoid WWII. The town of Stresa is just a short ferry ride away. Princess Diana and husband as well as Napoleon and Josephine had also been hosted at the same palace.

We finished our visit to Maggiore with a ferry trip up to Locarno in Switzerland and caught a couple of trains, including a narrow gauge panoramic train through part of Switzerland back to our campground. A spectacular firework display was launched from a barge on the lake to celebrate Republic Day.

There is no particular plan of where to go next but we do need to fill up with GPL (gas) and head in the direction of the French Alps.

The Italian Lakes are a film makers ideal of a honeymoon destination. 

Computer says 'no' again

Umbrian countryside

We left Matera with a mental image of the blue building we should be looking for in Bari to book a passage for Greece. We had seen the photo on two blogs – Bari likes to keep things subtle and there was no sign anywhere for a big shipping ferry at the port and we were thankful people had helpfully shared their experiences of what to look for.

Bari also likes to make a puzzle of its roading network and before we had even hit the main chaos of roadworks and closed roads, we were in a quarry surrounded by clouds of dust and large noisy trucks. We followed a big truck that looked to be leaving and arrived back on the correct road.

Eventually we arrived at the port and squeezed past trucks from Bulgaria and Romania to find the mystical blue building – it was just like the photo – no logo or signs.  We parked right in front, but our expectant expressions changed when ‘computer says NO’.  No passages available for days.

Truffi houses, Alberobello

We re-booted, decided not to go to Greece but spend some time in Puglia. Lonely Planet said “Alberobello”, so off we went, satnav said “go up narrow street with badly parked Range Rover”. Two heads hanging out the windows checking the clearance – only just enough room before having to reverse back down a restricted entry street.  My job was standing in the street stopping traffic as I was in loco reversing-camera (which is a piece of %#*&^, Stuart says).

I was already off Alberobello and that was before I saw the parades of tour coaches and vendors of tat. All the tat seemed to be the same, and surely of a nature that no one would want.  

To be fair, Alberobello is unique with lots of Truffi houses cascading down the hillside. The Truffi houses are round with roofs made of flat overlapping stones. To avoid a large tax the roofs must be dismantled every so often (don’t know time frame) and rebuilt. Their appearance is somewhat hobbit like. 

Alberobello

We were looking for a bit of time out from travelling so off we set for the Adriatic coast.

We stopped for lunch near a beach in one truly abysmal town that had every layby filled with rubbish. We heard a vehicle pull up behind us. Nec minit, there was a knock on our door and three expat Kiwis living in Aus were chatting with us.  Our truck has large lettering -  New Zealand, Australia and Great Britain on the back and that caught their eye. Goodness knows there were NO other tourists, Italian or otherwise, within a 50km radius of the hideous place.

We stopped for a re-stock at my favourite chain, Lidl, there was a savvy stray dog who followed shoppers to their cars. It was obviously a move that had paid off in the past. Full up with good priced wine and beer plus assorted cheeses, we hit the highway. I kept seeing prostitutes on the roadside, I can’t imagine the life they must be forced to live, made even more miserable when standing in rain.

Lucera

Lucera was marked on our maps and in the Camperstop book as a town worth visiting. It is an old town with a large 14C castle and regulation Duomo. We found a good spot in front of the castle, sidled up to a large German Carthago motorhome as their unchosen friend, and made ourselves at home for the night with some nice basil and ricotta ravioli served with asparagus for dinner.

Jane paddling in the Adriatic

Still searching for the slice of paradise, we gave the coast a couple more chances but unfortunately we didn’t find an undiscovered gem, or any gem, come to that. 

The sea was a lovely temperature, but I was dismayed to see the amount of plastic washed up on the shores of the un-groomed beaches.

It was a very long drive to Norcia, the distance wasn’t great but it took a long time as there were no major roads in the area. The truck rattled and shook on the potholed roads and when we finally saw the turn off it was blocked. We had to carry on for another hour to the next turn off, we passed the reason for the road block – earthquake damage. Houses had collapsed down the hillsides and shipping containers were protecting the road from slips. When we finally reach the esteemed Norcia we found it red-zoned, and there were props and scaffolding holding up the ancient churches and medieval walls. Norcia is famous for truffles and salami made from acorn-fed local pigs which were on offer in the remaining shops. Temporary houses and temporary shops had been erected to accommodate the people affected by the earthquake.

Spoleto

We ticked off a few more pretty Umbrian towns with their ancient stone walls, immaculately swept marble streets and restored churches, and diners enjoying dinner in the warm evenings.  Assisi was the last one.

It was hot as we climbed higher and higher to the Basilica. Sweat was trickling down my back as the temperature went past 30 degrees on my way to see St Francis’ tomb. We were not by ourselves that hot Sunday afternoon as tour buses disgorged masses of sightseers and pilgrims. But wait, there is more – more churches higher up and a fort or two as well. “I read that the view is really good from the top” himself said.

St Francis was born in Assisi in 1181 into a wealthy family before renouncing the pleasure seeking lifestyle to live a humble life in imitation of Christ. The glorious churches and robust souvenir industry we saw in Assisi are an ironic comment on Francis’ values.

Street scene

Chianti in Tuscany is calling and we have a little time up our sleeves given that Greece is off the agenda so we will head in that direction and see what it throws at us.

Under The Tuscan Clouds

Roma – bright and sunny. The breakfast lady at the hotel made a rose from a serviette for Stuart to give me for mothers’ day. When he handed it to me she cried ‘allora – you need to give baci (kiss).  The hotel was a short walking distance to the storico centro (historic centre). In no time we were at the Colesseum fending off the sellers of selfie sticks and scarves.

The Pope catching a few rays

We struggled with our cases, that are over burdened with electronic gear and devices, to the train. Our home for the next 9 weeks was waiting near San Gimignano in Tuscany and small panic started to set in as our GPS didn’t let us know how far we were from our stop – that plus the malfunctioning exit door made for a nervous trip. All was restored however that evening when we found a nice restaurant and a bottle of Chianti Classico. I had pasta purses containing pear and gorgonzola in a poppy seed, pinenut cream sauce while Stuart had gnocchi made from little purple potatoes in a saffron sauce.

A taxi delivered us to collect our white wagon with purple logos from the Rollerteam factory. It is a similar layout to Chausson but without the garage, so makes for less ass to swing around. We weren’t allowed to take it away however until I spent a penny. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised when our account showed we owed one penny and ‘computer says no’. I had to use my credit card to pay the penny before harmony was restored.

The camper is new and belongs to a British based company, it comes equipped with the basics that we need for a trip.  We were directed 4km up the road to a supermarket to buy the rest.  Twenty kilometres later we were back where we started without finding a supermarket. Should have used the devices!

Cortona is a hilltop town, the setting for the movie “Under the Tuscan Sun”. Absolutely gorgeous and immaculate. Art exhibitions, restored churches, little shops , nice cafes – just what ticks my checklists. We navigated there very successfully using 2 x GPS apps and 2.5 kilos of reference maps. (The other 2.5 kilos of books are waiting their turn.) The countryside has pencil cypress and those ‘mop top’ pines that are typical of Italy artfully placed across vistas coloured with poppies and fluffy barley.

Our old GPS has a penchant for narrow unpaved roads but we aren’t quite confident enough to cut the apron strings so we have both devices glued to the windscreen until we let the new guy take over and give ‘Karen’ the backseat.

Tuscany in May is very green, a different scene from late summer when everything is a dusty gold colour to match the houses. It seems like a different place to us altogether, no Tuscan sun though – little patches of blue but a lot of grey cloud.

Orvieto was hiding in the cloud when we arrived, we parked in the sosta (camp spot) at the base of the town, which is perched on a volcanic outcrop, and took the funicular into the stunning historic centre . Has to be one of THE best towns in Umbria and Italy.

It was in Orvieto that we chanced across “The most beautiful race in the world” – the Mille Miglia. Stuart was blown away. The opening act was a parade of new maxi-specced Ferraris and racing Mercedes rolling through the old streets.  The drivers obliged the crowds by letting rip some ear-splitting revs which reverberated off the ancient stone walls. Participation in the race is for cars built pre 1957 which had attended the original race on the Brescia-Rome round trip race.

80s Ferrari Testarossa - an older 'modern'

We waited in drizzle for the oldies to come through – vintage Alfa Romeos, Bughattis, gull wing Mercedes and other vintage racing cars passed us with inches to spare and it looked as if some drivers had tenuous control so I moved position.

 

Gull wings waiting their turn

The next morning was clear and bright as we unplugged our power, emptied the waste, took on fresh water and took to the pay-road (yes – Euros were spent) to get to Pompeii. We rattled and squeezed through the streets clogged with tour buses and their passengers. Pompeii was probably best seen as we managed it – in the very late afternoon. The site was vast – much bigger than I imagined and I started to glaze over after a while.  The sun was lowering as we made our way back to one of the grottier camps we have stayed at, and no love lost from madam in reception as I argued for possession of our passports.  I won that one but failed to get a receipt for payment.

Pompeiied out – we rattled our way (did I say the streets are in appalling condition) to a hypermarket to ponder the question of buying bikes.  We settled for a couple of deck chairs instead.

Pompeii street

After a very long trip trip to Venosa (again appalling roads with Stuart dodging the worst of the potholes and earthquake subsidence, we ended up in a sosta with 20 Dutch mohomes. They made us welcome (we are always glad to see the Dutch as they are mines of information and speak excellent English). In front of us was a view of the historic centre of Venosa, behind us was a carwash that the Italians must regard as a novelty as they washed well after dark. Dinner with squishing squirting noises.

Matera is about 70km from the eastern coast of Italy (near Bari) and I had wanted to see it after seeing a programme on the telly. It is one of the oldest towns in the world (people have lived here for over 7000 years). The town sits on a series of caves that used to house animals and fodder until the population outgrew available housing and people moved into the caves to live a peasant lifestyle. Conditions were poor and infant mortality was over 50%. In 1952 half the population of Matera (15,000) were forced to move out of the caves and into new government housing.

Matera

We walked the slippery marble streets of Matera viewing it from many angles along with a fair few other tourists as the caves are now the major drawcard for the town -  a bit of a turnaround in the fortunes of Matera.

Next stage - onto Greece.

Mountain passes, marmots, more of France

The mountains beckoned again and the Gran Paradiso National Parc in Italy rates well so we headed up one of its valleys for a couple of nights. The driving was on snakey narrow roads with rock overhangs jutting over our path. On the way Stuart had a ‘what if we don’t have enough diesel moment’. He had put a dribble in at the motorway service area. “Not paying those prices”, the gauge continued to drop the further we got from civilisation. Finding a local self serve pump saved sweat and worry. The aire was lovely with snowy mountains in the distance and a glacier-fed river running in front of us.

Camping spot 

Contestants in a 330km endurance race passed by us. None of them looked happy, leaning heavily on their walking poles. We followed some of their footsteps in a circuit walk that ascended 1000m and took about 5.5 hours across alpine meadows. On a scale of 10 it must have been a 9 for loveliness. I have done a few mountain walks and that one had all the criteria for a good one. There were lakes, waterfalls, small stone dwellings, clear pools of emerald water, house sized boulders, fat marmots, small marmots loping around calling to each other in a high pitched warning. The pleasantness evaporated a little on the descent through a coniferous forest which seemed longer than the ascent. The leki pole Stuart made me from a pine branch was a perfect for a cripple. 

In France, photo stop, spot the photographer

Gluttons for punishment, we packed up the truck after the hike and pressed on toward the French border, stopping just short of the Mont Blanc tunnel in our quest for a LPG refill. There was an aire near the Mont Blanc cableway so we stopped for the night. An almight icy blue and grey glacier hung from the side of this massive mountain and I craned my neck trying to take it all in. It loomed above the motorway thick with traffic. We had pizza at a nearby restaurant and emerged to find Chausson dwarfed by huge articulated trucks. The aire obviously doubled as a truck stop.

Never mind, everyone was sleeping, the drivers were up early though – warming up their diesel engines for an unseemly long time before setting off at 7.00am.

Top of the Petit St Bernard Pass

Perfect clear weather and roads graced us the next morning as we travelled over the petit St Bernard Pass to Bourg St Maurice in France. It was a real mountain pass with wide open windy spaces and ski lifts at the top. Mad people cycling and doing that Nordic roller blading thing. Lots of zig zags going down before we set off for a recommended camping spot near a little hamlet overlooked by Mont Blanc. It was perfect – no fees, beside a river, mountains all around, and a few others to share the spot with. We spent some time with a Dutch couple, a retired fireman and teacher Chris and Carla. Chris shared a file of the map of France he had created, something we will use for route planning.

Wooden marmot, border between Italy and France

Annecy

Others had told us Lake Annecy was worth visiting so we set off, again over another mountain pass. I can’t feel smug about New Zealand having great scenery after driving past the lakes and mountains of the French Alps, too perfect and unpopulated. Annecy is a very old town, the pre-Roman bits have been built over, as have some of the Roman bits, however there is a lot of sixteenth century architecture of covered passages and arcaded houses divided by the Canal du Thiou. Its clear waters move quietly past the petunias and begonias hanging from bridge railings. We had taken Howard and Hilda from the campsite to the town centre as the traffic and parking is OTT.

The weather is starting to turn in Europe, the season is coming to a close. We have seen notices of camps closing and the tourists are starting to tail off in the moutain areas and Stuart is hankering for some warmer weather. One campsite we arrived at had closed the day before, but it was up a long curved drive overhung with trees and a little stream. The large turn around spot outside it proved to be the ideal wild camping spot – ‘wild’ but close enough to walk into town, access to the dump was a bonus as well.

Appenine Hills, Lucca, Pisa, Tuscany

The lowland plains around Venice are hot in the summer and we retreated again to the mountains – this time the Appenines on the border of Tuscany and Reggio Emilia. A campsite was at 1000m elevation and consisted of a series of terraces on a hillside, mainly funny little permanent chalets but a nice site was waiting for us looking out over the surrounding countryside. The land is very brown houses all shuttered up, the hills in the distance shrouded in a pale blue haze.

The camp man told us about a walk to a lake and Stuart bought some horrible polystyrene bread rolls from the camp shop to take with us on the hike. Two hours there and two back on a steep stoney path, we passed no one. Half way was a refugio with a solid steel door and concrete doorframe. All the windows tightly shuttered, no one was going to get into that hut uninvited.

The lake was showing signs of the hot weather, and the tide was low in places, there were some large fish in the lake with big mouths open to catch bread thrown by visitors. Yes, there were people who had actually driven up and strolled across to the cafe. We took advantage and had capuccinos, this being our closest substitute for a flat white.

After our walk we decided to treat ourselves to dinner at the restaurant in the camp, it is a large camp and had its own bar and restaurant. Scrubbed up, tidy as best we could only to find – “chiuso” (closed). Monday the restaurant is closed. Deflated, Stu bought some more polystyrene buns and we made hamburgers instead. We had a bun left over - I used it to stop some bottles rattling in the locker under a bench seat.

Tuesday, looking forward to pizza for a change, we presented ourselves again at the restaurant. “It is Tuesday, pizza is on Wednesday”. Oh – we chose a dish each and a shared starter from the menu. Something was lost in translation and I am still trying to erase the memory of the tough little pork schnitzel that I thought was beef ragu from my mind. There was only one other other table of diners, a Dutch couple; after we decided not to tempt fate with any dolci (dessert) we stood at the door as the first rain in 3 weeks hammered down. The Dutch couple thought they would wait it out and could they have coffee please. “Coffee is served at the bar next door, not the restaurant.” It is Tuesday, the bar is closed!

While staying in the camp we heard the sad news that our friend Mike had passed away in the weekend, we had been thinking of him and Morag while we were away.

Lucca, lovely Lucca was next on the agenda. An uneventful drive took us to an aire within easy walking distance to this gem. It is a walled town, even a double set of walls, that managed to get through the wars unscathed by bombs. Extremely elegant, it has enjoyed a prosperous past and had some lovely boutique shops and hotels. We did the 4km circuit on top of the walls that would have held 3 lanes of traffic if allowed. There were shade trees, a feeling of tranquility and being up high gave you a good view of the gardens below.

Lucca

Time to go. Pisa is only half an hour away. After an early morning cycle in Lucca around the walls and then through the town, we dumped the toilet, retrieved our parking ticket from our rubbish bin and inserted it into the payment machine. I feel uneasy when inserting actual folding money into machines but this one seemed to make the right noises and spat out a crisp E10 as change.

The barrier machine (something else I have a dread and mistrust of) sucked the ticket in and the barrier refused to raise. The machine flashed red. I tried talking into the machine and couldn’t understand the reply. An Italian man also bent over double, speaking to the disembodied voice in the machine on my behalf told me “a man is coming soon”. By this time we were the big white box just behind the barrier arm with 3 other big white boxes nose to tail behind us. Eventually the parking man arrived and let us all out. I suspect it might have had something to do with the grease from the rubbish on the parking ticket plus the scribbling on the back – still - ‘who can tell?”

Pisa, the leaning tower and all. Peeved off with Pisa – too many tourists, too far to walk, too much driving around trying to leave the place, too much that looked like Penrose/Mt Wellington. The only highlight was the little guided tour a law student provided when we got lost.

Volterra made up for Pisa – we toured the hilltop town after leaving Chausson with his white box mates at the bottom of the hill. The views across the countryside were very Tuscan but shrouded with a smokey haze – I think the summer has gone on too long and they need some good downpours to clear the air. Volterra can be put on the ‘big tick’ list.

Monteriggioni, less said the better. Was a nice little town once but little is the operative word and greedy is the second.

The route to Montepulciano in Tuscany was a bit rough, the roads were in poor shape but we made it to the aire unscathed physically. The aire was on the side of a hill with fabulous views of the surrounding countryside. Tuscan pines and pencil cedars, large square golden-stone farmhouses and rows of purpely/grey olive trees interspersed between vineyards. The vines had been pruned and we could see bunches of dark black grapes discarded on the ground so the remaining fruit would be larger and juicier.

Montepulciano, Tuscany

Montepulciano rates up there as one of my top Italian towns, not quite like Lucca but good in its own right. There were a couple of shops that had unexpected basements open to the public showing the remains of settlements dating back to Etruscan times. These underground chambers were many metres and levels below ground level - a wool scouring room, olive press, burial chamber, carpenter shop had been excavated and were open for the public to roam through.

Stuart found an excellent bottle of 2012 Tuscan chardonnay, of the type we used to get in NZ, too bad we only bought one. He has also found the ease of travelling on the motorways. The price to pay is tolls, Sunday on the motorway however is a special treat – no trucks.

We drove towards the Aosta valley and Nazionale del Gran Paradiso Parc, near the Swiss and French borders. It was hot and dusty in Tuscany so the mountains would be nice again. As a stopover I chose an aire close to the motorway in a ‘town worth visiting’ - even so I was shocked and amazed to find this concrete carpark stuffed to the gunwales with 115 Italian motorhomes – with one GB (us), two Germans and one Austrian. The town was pretty with a castle surrounded by a moat in the centre but it didn’t explain its popularity. Such are the mysteries of life. 

Venetian ventures, Comacchio capers, ravishing Ravenna, Ferraris

A campsite was going to be the best way for us to see Venice, I eschewed the one with the swimming pool and shorter trip to Venice for one on the Brenta Riviera which Lonely Planet said was good for cycling around the renaissance villas. Lonely Planet let me down, the cycle paths were actually roads and the area was neglected and rundown. We cycled past villas that were very faded but obviously were top shelf real estate in their day.

We only visited one - Villa Widman, was not too far from the camp and probably a lesser example of the villas.The garden would have been lovely in its time and the reception rooms had some impressive Venetian glass chandeliers and frescos. When the villas were in their heyday Venetian society members would sail on barges up the river to stay in their villas for the summer.

A bus just outside the camp shuttled us into Venice, where we caught a vaporetto (little ferry) to San Marco square, lining up for a long time to enter the Basilica. I had forgotten my shoulder-covering scarf and had to wear a 1 euro tyvek brown square. I saved it for a makeshift groundsheet. The floor in the basilica was a series of lumps and dips – an obvious sign that the building is sinking.

Venice

Stuart’s patience was stretched to the max in my quest for a leather shoulder bag, as if I don’t have some at home! I finally chose a Smurf-blue bag that would fit my camera, waterbottle and sunglasses. We had bought a two day ticket each for the public transport in Venice and apart from the bus trips we used if on the water ferries to get about the islands that make up Venice.

We hadn’t made it to Murano previously, which is famous for its glassware, so our second day was to visit Murano and Burano. The day was very hot and sunny and at first the glass displays in the shops were exciting – lots of interesting designs and some shops made you feel dizzy with the colours and displays but after a while it got all a bit much. I would have loved to take a selection home but the transport would be a problem plus it was all fairly pricey.

Doges Palace

Ambulance, Venice

Murano didn’t offer a lot of restaurants for lunch but we chose one by the canal and I had a Campari and soda, served in a colourful local glass, as an aperitif before a nice ravioli dish of spinach and walnuts. Stu had a salad, this is a first and he thought it had made him thinner immediately. The sun tired us out but there was still Burano to explore, it was quite a long ride standing on the vaporetto from Murano to Burano.

Burano

Burano

Burano was an explosion of colours set against a deep blue sky. All the little terraced houses had been given paint jobs from the vivid section of the paint chart – any colour but bland. There were stalls selling lace which was the traditional craft of the area, I found a mask in the shape of a cat face to complement the two other masks I bought in Venice a few years ago. Another item to try and stuff into the Smurf handbag/satchel.

The vaporettos (or should it be vaporetti) work to a strict schedule, tying up, directing tourists and shoving off in a minute or two – all conducted with a lot of wharf bumping and gear graunching (Stu says they can’t graunch as they have hydraulic gearboxes – sounds like gear graunching and cavitation to me.) The canal water was churned up with private water taxis, delivery boats, tradesmens’ boats and even police and ambulance jostling for space. A very busy city both on the waterways and in the little lanes and backstreets that were linked by canals. Time to head off.

Burano

The road to Comacchio was very straight, it must have been Roman – it looked like someone got a ruler out and marked it on the map. Comacchio is a beautiful town on the Po Delta, on the eastern coast just south of Venice . It developed across a number of islands and is now joined by bridges, making canals the feature of the town. For some reason they had plastic decoy ducks in the canals along with a few imitation boats. The town featured brick as the preferred building material, for houses, canals bridges and churches which is a contrast to all the plaster towns we have been through. Incredibly hot, devoid of trees the town looked like it should have been in North Africa somehow.

Comacchio

I had my first experience of a huge Italian holiday park after leaving Comacchio, we went to the coast and had no idea what the campsite was like until I had gone through the lengthy registration process and they lifted the barrier arm. We were so far away from reception it justified a bike ride. There were campers that had filled their sites with more stuff than you could shake a stick at. Some covered their whole site with a canvas roof that had a large overhead fan suspensed in the middle circulating the air. We were placed opposite the family swimming pool with music pumping, that stopped at 6.30 but at 9.00pm a camp entertainment and karaoke started which was still going at middnight despite a clearly stated camp rule that said quiet was to prevail between 1 and 3 pm and after 11 pm.

The next morning we walked to the beach which was mainly covered in umbrellas and beach loungers for rent, I had forgotten that beaches in Europe are not free. It looked like a couple of oil platforms were offshore, perhaps they unloaded boats? A local chatty man who had the same amount of English as I had Italian, took a photo of Stuart and me. It was a little odd as Stuart was standing behind a wall, a couple of feet lower than me. While duly admiring the photograph, Stuart said he looked like a little person and the chap said – ah in Italy that is normal – the women are the bosses and the man does what he is told.

Ravenna had rave reviews so we were keen to visit. There was a spot for us in a carpark – Stuart did a bit of pruning climbing our little ladder to sort an overhead tree but all ok. We bought a ticket for 5 UNESCO sites that held murals in churches or former churches, some dated back to the 4^th century. Incredible mosaics on the ceilings depicted religious scenes, I am immune to zealous religious art but these mosaics were in a different league. Tiny little tiles in deep jewel like colours and using a lot of gold, made up the murals. We had visited the basilica in San Marco in Venice and admired murals in the same style but these were a much better experience. The light that filtered through the upper windows cast a soft golden glow inside the churches. Some window panes looked like they were made of slices of agate. 

Ravenna market

The centre of Ravenna was gorgeous with lots of lovely shops and attractive squares that hosted market stalls selling upmarket garden and household items, and lots of al fresco cafes.

After sharing a 3 flavour gelato we walked back to the truck and drove to Imola and found the aire in front of the motor racing track where there was a motorbike race going on. Luckily it stopped after an hour. Stuart craned his neck to see the action and sniff the petrol but was out of luck. 

As we were so close to the Ferrari museum we hopped on the autostrada and crawled for hours in a Saturday traffic jam to the museum near Modena (think balsamic vinegar). The visit to the museum was all over quite quickly, there were more Ferraris per square foot in the street than we had ever seen before.

It is all rather hot and dry and a spell in the hills is called for – how about the Appennine Mountains that border Tuscany?