After our two and a half months of travelling, Greece had been our goal and we viewed it as a natural finishing line – our ‘Ithaca’ in a way.  The rest of the trip would be the return journey, in as straight a line as possible, first back to Brittany where we would be house and cat-sitting and then to London.

We entered Greece from the border with Albania in the north west and spent a night in Ionnina followed by two days by the sea at the foot of Mount Olympus and a night near Thessaloniki after picking up our daughter Catherine from the airport.  And finally by just over a week spent as grateful guests of our carissimi amici Rob and Rachel in the wonderful village of Milina in the glorious Pelion Peninsula.  Lying half-way between Thessaloniki and Athens on the eastern side of the Greek mainland, the peninsula curls into the Pagasitikos Gulf almost rejoining the mainland and trapping within it a calm and serene sea.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Describing Pelion – with its sleepy seaside and hill-top villages linked by donkey tracks, landscapes unchanged for millennia, translucent coves and forested peaks speckled with terra-cotta roofs – makes it sound like a myth.  But its remoteness, thanks to which it was a monastic retreat and a stronghold of resistance to Turkish occupation for 4 centuries, has ensured it has remained relatively untouched.  It’s been our favourite place in Greece for over 20 years and returning to it after a long adventurous journey felt reassuring and comforting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After the unbearable heatwave, the stormy weather had arrived.  Three nights in a row, no sooner had we arrived somewhere new in the early evening than the heavens had opened up – first in Montenegro, then in Tirana, then Ionnina.  As we arrived at the Poseidon campsite in Anatolikos Olympus on the fourth evening, we could see the dark clouds that seemed to be following us gathering over the Mount.  Sure enough, shortly after we’d got ourselves settled, Zeus unleashed the most almighty thunderstorm right over our heads which cut off the power supply and lasted most of the night.  We were confined to the van, a meagre meal of cold chick peas and tuna and a game of scrabble by candlelight (which Judith won).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our week in Milina was just the breather we needed after weeks of constant movement.  The sea of the Gulf was as calm and clear as we hoped it would be and we spent much time in it, with Flavio often having two or three longish swims a day – on one occasion meeting us in a restaurant in the next bay in Chorto in the early evening – while Catherine would disappear off kayaking for two or three hours. Mid-mornings would be spent contemplating the peaceful view from one of the cafes along the seafront, possibly indulging in a very sweet ‘galatobouriko’ or ‘loucoumades’ with our coffee, which it’s advisable to have without sugar to counteract the sweetness of the pastry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The entire time, we were fortunate not only to have a break from the close confinement of sleeping in Brenda (much as we missed her) but to have the luxury of comfortable and air-conditioned sleeping quarters in Rob and Rachel’s beautifully renovated ‘spitaki’ (house), for which we were very grateful indeed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Feeling energetic one evening, we climbed up to the top of the hill using the old donkey track which led to the lovely village of Lafkos where we had the best food available at a place run by a Stalin lookalike.  It was widely known that he had been whacked over the head with a frying pan by his wife upon her discovering his infidelities but that didn’t appear to have excessively dented his confidence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On a morning visit to Volos, the nearest city to Milina, to help Rob and Rachel pick up new furnishings we noticed that many shops were slashing their already fairly low prices.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It would be difficult to spend a few days in Greece these days following the events of earlier this summer without wondering what the effect of the horror stories we’ve heard is on ordinary people, or at least how people feel.  Barely touching the surface, and without presuming to say anything authoritative on the subject, it was interesting to note a few views picked up at random.

• There was Yoanna, from the bakery (serving those delicious ‘galatobourikos’!).  She works for Star Alliance in Germany and was in Milina on holiday but works every day to help her mother in her bakery.  She’s cross about what is happening and doesn’t think she will be able to continue working in Germany.
• Kean, a waiter in one of the restaurants, who doesn’t know why he was given an Irish name by his parents. He didn’t think there was any future for him in Greece.  Worked 4 years in Holland and a year in Bali.  Was also there on holiday but working flat out to make ends meet.
• Stathis, cafe and restaurant owner.  Claimed to make just one Euro out of every 20 after all the taxes had been deducted! The only way to survive is to under-declare earnings.  Business was slow, with fewer foreigners and Greeks had less money to spend.
• Kyriakos, 15 year old waiter at Stathis’s restaurant who looked a bit like a young Robert de Niro. He thought there was no point in worrying whose fault it was  – Europe or ‘our politicians’ – or wallowing in self-questioning, Greeks had to brace themselves for a difficult few years.  But Greece would come back on top eventually.  He believed in looking ahead and was thinking of going into computing.
• Sofia, Stathis’s wife, who would not be drawn on the subject and believed in simply carrying on, as she continued cleaning her large tray of anchovies.
• George the 55 year old distance swimmer, who swam 2kms 4 days a week all year and was not able to reveal his views as conversation was limited during the short pauses while swimming!

If there were a prize, it would have to go to the young Kyriakos, for his clarity, optimism and far-sightedness.  It must be hoped that there are many others like Kyriakos and that with them, Greece will emerge strong again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

5-18 August. –  Greece

 

 

We entered Albania with some trepidation after reading reports of appalling road conditions and dare-devil drivers but were pleasantly surprised by both the good roads (apparently built by the Italians) and the driving.  Whoever wrote such alarming reports had obviously never been to Cairo!

Until the demise of the communist system in 1991/2 there had only been c600 cars on the roads, all belonging to party officials.   The communist regime which came to power in 1947 banned religion, long hair, beards and Levi’s amongst other things.  They did however introduce many improvements.  Land reforms led to Albania becoming self-sufficient in food. Educational reforms meant that by 1955 adult literacy had been eliminated.  

And a universal healthcare service. (Apart from that, what did Communism do for us..? :))  Once the regime fell much of the country’s wealth was invested in pyramid banking schemes which collapsed during the late 90s leading to mass protests. Parliamentary democracy was established in 1998 but old habits die hard and the main political parties are reported to employ the system of patronage that existed before for party members, so every four years when the government changes so do the beneficiaries of the patronage.  This corrupt practice we were told was the main impediment to continuity and consistency in government policies.

Shortly after crossing the border we stopped for something to eat in a little place called ‘Zusi’ on the confluence of the Buna and Drina rivers. It was a charming little restaurant-cum-resthouse run by a lovely lady called Stella.  She had no English or Italian at all but we somehow managed to communicate and had a sort of Albanian lesson thrown in for free with our very tasty and inexpensive meal.  She was very keen that we try the fresh fish as well as what seemed to be a staple dish in Albania – Taz – a kind of tagine made of lamb, cottage cheese and egg.  After the meal,  Stella brought out all her pet tortoises to show Judith and with an endearing child-like innocence, insisted that she sit with her to play with them on the lawn and, like two little girls, they did just that.  All in all, we had a busy and fun time and Stella did her best to retain us as long as possible – she seemed reluctant to let us go!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nicely satiated and armed with the word ‘thank you’ (faliminderit) we set off for Tirane.  We had trouble with the signs though and taking a wrong turn on the outskirts of the key northern town of Shkodeir we drove along a very narrow road by the coast.  We asked an old woman if we were on the road to Tirane and she shook her head.  One thing we had read was that for yes Albanians shake their heads and for no they nod, so thinking she meant yes we continued until the road suddenly came to an abrupt end.  Later we discovered that some Albanians now follow the Western nods and shakes, very confusing.  The hour or so it took to get back wasn’t wasted however as the road took us along the banks of a remote and stunningly beautiful large lake.  Here and there, the odd locals could be seen taking a dip or enjoying sitting by the lake but it was mostly completely unspoilt and mesmerizingly primitive – on 3 or 4 occasions we were forced to brake to let a herd of sheep or cows decide which way they wanted to go as they nonchalantly crossed the road.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We eventually did get onto the right road and had an uneventful journey to the capital.  We marvelled at the number of petrol garages along the road along with the number of shrines, testament to those killed in road accidents.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

First impressions on arriving in Tirane was of a modern, well organised city.  We headed straight to the tourist information and got maps and details of a hotel.  Whilst looking at the maps we were kindly helped by Claudi, a Swiss man who has lived in Albanian for 18 years, is married to an Albanian, worked first with an aid agency supporting street children but now as a tour guide and speaks fluent Albanian.  After checking in to our hotel, we went with Claudi for supper at a restaurant that specialised in traditional Albanian food, which was excellent and Albanian beer which was even better.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Claudi talked at length about Albania since the fall of communism which was fascinating and we learnt that :

– Albania is full of concrete bunkers that were built to defend Albania against foreign decadent invaders and which was really a ploy to keep the population insecure and dependent on the regime for protection.  Debate is still raging about the future of the bunkers – should they be kept, utilised and transformed into useful edifices or destroyed as ugly reminders of a despotic old regime;

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

– Most Albanians spoke some Italian as, during the communist regime, to access news from outside Albania they had to tune their radios into Italy, the nearest place to receive a signal. Many homes had illegal ariels which went up at night time;

– Waste disposal was a serious problem (Albania’s most serious problem according to Claudi), particularly the flow of raw sewage into the sea;

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

– The most revered historical figure was Skanderberg or Iskander or Gjergj Kastrioti, the former Ottoman ruler of Albania who fought the Turks and defeated them in 13 attempted invasions  to create an independent state;

– Albanians are distancing themselves from both their Islamic and Communist past, maintaining their secular state and looking toward Western Europe;

– There aren’t very many old places of interest in Tirana.  One of the oldest is the Et’hem Bey Mosque built in 1823 by Molla Bey, the grandson of Suleiman Pasha, closed under communist rule and re-opened as a house of worship in 1991 after 10,000 people dared to attend without permission from the authorities, an event which marked the rebirth of religious freedom in the country;

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

– The section of Tirane which housed Enver Hoxha and certain party officials has now been regenerated into a chic downtown area full of coffee shops and high-end shops;

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

– The ‘pyramid’, dedicated to the achievement of Enver Hoxha and designed by his daughter and son-in-law is now a graffitied ruin and what to do with it is still being hotly debated;

– Mother Teresa of Calcutta was an Albanian and her order has a convent in Tirane;

– Albania has a problem with street children, mainly Romany children, who are not to be confused with gypsies;

After a brief but fascinating visit to a country as yet untouched by tourism we set off again on our travels to Greece arriving in Ioannina in the early evening.

The main part of our odyssey ends in Greece staying in Milina, Greece with very dear friends of ours, Rachel and Rob.  A lovely relaxing end to a long and eventful journey.  Our daughter Catherine joined us and a blissful week was had.

Overnight ferry on a Croatian Jadrolinija ferry to Dubrovnik in Croatia.  Thinking we’d dine on the boat before we retired to our cabin we were disappointed with our dining experience. The waiter had to be the most surly waiter that ever served food on the seven seas. Not only did he lack any customer service skills, he got both our orders completely wrong despite repeating the order back to us and conspicuously jotting everything down in his order book.

First impressions on leaving the ferry was that Dubrovnik was a beautiful city, the hills sloping down to the port with white houses with terracotta roofs interspersed with cypress trees.  It was unfortunate that we wouldn’t have much time to spend here as the plan was to get to Greece to meet our daughter Catherine who was arriving in Thessaloniki on the 8th.  We did manage a brief visit to the medieval walled city which was truly amazing and was ‘King’s Landing’ in Game of Thrones – indeed tour operators were offering Game of Thrones tours around the city where the series was made.  They have even reconstructed an ‘Iron Throne’.  The walls, encircling the city for almost two kilometres, were at some points six metres wide. The place was very busy with tourists and we kept our visit quite short.

According to Wikipedia, Dubrovnik is one of the most prominent tourist attractions in the Mediterranean, which began with the construction of the Hotel Imperial in 1897.  Sadly, considerable damage was inflicted on Dubrovnik by the forces from Serbia and Montenegro during the breakup of Yugoslavia.

Our original plan included a drive through Bosnia and Macedonia (FYRM) so we left Croatia and drove into Bosnia.  The border guards were so unpleasant and the purchase of a green card so prohibitive that we decided to turn around and go via Montenegro and Albania instead.  However, we can claim to have at least crossed into Bosnia for all of 200 meters or so.

Following Montenegro’s beautiful coastline, we stopped at the picturesque seaside village of Tivat at a small hotel for lunch.  The Carruba Eco Hotel (www.septemberhotels.com) and restaurant overlooking the sea were lovely, the food excellent and the waiters kind and helpful and in marked contrast to our experience on the overnight ferry the night before!  Many Brits are buying second homes in Montenegro and we could see why – the north coast is quite stunning.

Moving further south we arrive at a town called ‘Bar’ which is of no specific interest and looks quite nondescript, until that is we spot a most magnificent church, newly-built and standing out like the crown jewels in a jumble sale.  We stop to take photos and find out what it’s called.  Everything is in Montenegran and the only other people there admiring it are Polish and unable to help.  We ask an attendant at the petrol station across the road and she has to go inside to ask what it’s called! “Sveti Yohan Vladimir” she comes back saying.  We assume ‘Sveti’ to mean ‘Saint’.

Heading further south after leaving Bar, the beaches become more crowded and ‘seaside-like’.   It seemed common for men to walk around bare chested, often in their speedos, walking with a strut which was slightly intimidating.  We spent a long time looking for a campsite without success and decided to find a hotel, also without success.  Lots of signs advertised rooms to let and this is what we did.  Our initial very positive impressions very quickly faded as we were shown to our room which was made even worse as, at that moment, the heavens opened and torrential rain poured down.

It was a ground floor room which contained two beds, an area that could loosely be described as a kitchenette and a bathroom.  It was dirty, neglected, had broken fittings and no curtains at the windows. When the people upstairs used their bathroom it resonated in ours!  It also cost €50s which was nothing short of robbery.  We got some things from Brenda, put a sheet up to cover the window, ate a supper of peanuts and drank half a bottle of grappa!

Next morning we left as quickly as possible.  The owner came to say goodbye and had the cheek to ask if we had liked the room!

Our next destination was Albania and we were excited and curious to see if much had changed since the demise of Enva Hocker (not that we’d seen it before!).

Leaving Bari, we were heading south towards Lecce.  Around Monopoli however, we started spotting small apparently derelict hobbit-like huts in the middle of fields and olive groves.  We’d heard of these and assumed they were around Lecce, but seeing signs to ‘Alberobello – citta dei trelli‘ pointing inland, we thought they’d be worth a quick look and took the turning.  The road took us up beautiful hilly countryside, with more recently-built trulli cottages springing up more and more frequently and rich red clay soil and olive groves all around.  We realized that trulli were not just interesting remnants of old disused dwellings but very much the standard style of cottage people built and lived in in this area.  That’s not to say all houses were trulli but many were and sometimes, cottages were a combination of conventional houses with trulli attached. The overall effect of trulli cottages, olive groves and red soil was very aesthetically pleasing.

Another thing that was also quite pleasing was that the air at this higher altitude became cooler and less humid. After the last few days of relentless heat and debilitating humidity, it was heaven to be able to breathe some fresher air and there was actually a breeze up here – we’d forgotten what that felt like! It was early evening by the time we reached the outskirts of Alberobello (literally meaning ‘the beautiful tree’) and spotting the ‘Camping dei Trulli’ a few kilometers before reaching the town we had no trouble in deciding that this was where we would spend the night or maybe even the next two nights.  We cycled into Alberobello that evening and drove to Lecce the next day and back to the campsite though that was a longer drive than we’d anticipated and Lecce itself left us, its rather grandiose ostentatious and baroque architecture notwithstanding, somewhat indifferent. To be fair though, it was probably more to do with us reaching saturation point as regards historical city tours.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Alberobello is a World Heritage site.  Its famous trulli are dry stone huts with conical roofs which can be seen all around this part of Puglia, where they litter the landscape and look quite distinctive.  The walls are very thick and they were usually built in groups of up to (and never more than) five , with interconnecting doors.  Originally designed for agricultural workers, storage and animal stock they’ve now been incorporated into larger dwellings. Some trulli have signs inscribed on their roofs which denote the stonemason who built them.  It was a little disappointing to find that Alberobello itself had been turned into a little theme-park for tourists with everything in it designed to cater for tourists and little sign of an authentic living, breathing village.  Many houses had signs inviting people to come inside to see what an authentic old trullo looks like indoors, only to find that it was yet another gift and souvenir shop.  It’s of course hypocrisy of the highest order to say this, but one thing we found a bit depressing on this journey was the extent to which anything or place which is of interest being repackaged and served up to the visitor by the tourist industry before you have a chance to discover it for yourself, as would have been the case perhaps not so long ago.

The Camping dei Trulli, catering mainly for Italian campers was lovely if a touch noisy though this seems to be a common feature of Italian campsites at this time of year and from as early as 10am a large loudspeaker at the swimming pool would blare out Italian rap (!).  The pool was a decent size though and a separate lane had been cordoned off for lap-swimmers, a very unusual and highly-appreciated feature – though children clearly neither understand nor respect the concept and swimming laps can easily turn into giving demos of different strokes or having pretend races with assorted kids who wander into the lane!

It was expertly managed by Connie who was not only friendly, helpful and charming the whole time but also very knowledgeable about the history of Puglia.  At one point Flavio found her in animated conversation with another local figure about Frederick II and they were both agreed he was right to be considered the most gifted and extraordinary of the medieval Roman Emperors.  He spoke many languages and was a great diplomatist. Through his early years in Sicily, he knew Arabic and all the Arab rulers.  He was the only one to manage to bring back from Jerusalem the keys to the Holy Sepulcher without spilling a drop of blood – when he went to Rome to present them to the Pope, he was duly ex-communicated for his trouble, they said laughing!

We became friends with Guillaume and Fabienne, a French couple who kindly invited us to visit them in Paris on our way back.  It started when Guillaume reversed their car into a tree soon after they arrived and the back window shattered.  We went to their aid with a dustpan and brush saying we admired their their calm and equanimity, to which they joked that they had ‘found their arberobello’.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We drove in the late afternoon on the Sunday back to Bari to catch the ferry to Dubrovnik.  We were both sad to be leaving Italy but will be taking the ferry back to Ancona from Greece on 18th August so it is a brief parting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After leaving Trani, we spent an uncomfortable night in the sweltering heat at a campsite in Giovinazzo just south of Bari, poorly mitigated by a difficult swim off the rocky beach nearby.  Later, a Reggae concert on the beach continued well into the night.

Bari is the capital city of the of the Puglia region on the Adriatic Sea. It’s the second largest city in southern Italy after Naples and a major port and this is where the Centofanti saga continued.  First we went to the Commune di Bari, Demographic Records Office to try to get Galileo’s passport details in the hope his application contained information about his parents only to be told that all passport applications are all held in the Questura for Puglia, (the Police archives in Bari).   So off we go to the Police Station to be told the archive office is closed and that anyway an application should be made in writing before we can proceed with any search.

Undaunted we went to the State Archives Office where old registers from Puglia are being filmed and stored online.  Despite attempts at the entrance to put us off, first saying the office was closed and then that everyone was out at lunch and wouldn’t be back as it was the weekend, once inside the people were friendly and welcoming. Two in particular – Rosella Perna and Mariolina Pansini – were absolute gems.  They warmed to our cause, put off their lunch and proceeded to search the Trani registers and bingo! –  there was a Centofanti in the Trani register.  The documents bore the mark (curiously, in English, not Italian) “water damaged” and the writing was very difficult to decipher.  The name “Centofanti”, written in the typical italic calligraphy of the time was however unmistakable but the first name very difficult to make out.  Ms Perna and Ms Pansini complained about how badly people wrote in those days but it was clearly the damage to the documents that was the problem. They thought the name started with an ‘R’ and could have been ‘Renato’ or ‘Rocco’. They gave us details on how to access and search the archives on the portal (‘Il Portale Archivistico degli Antenati‘) and suggested we look at marriage entries as they would give us family details – we should look under the registro ‘Napoleonico’ for 1809-15, ‘Restaurazione’ for 1816-61 and ‘Italiano’ for 1861-1900.  Our search for Flavio’s grandfather would come under ‘Restaurazione’.

After a short stroll in the city to look for a replacement tent (which we eventually found and bought from the puzzlingly-named “Mercoledi Santo” (Ash Wednesday) camping shop, as well as another unproductive search for a slightly bigger electric fan, which the whole country seems to have run out of thanks to the heatwave, we had 2 days until our ferry out of Bari and decided to spend them venturing a little further south near Lecce.

First though, we stopped at the Mozart Caffeteria/Gelateria at the Via Melo for a caffe and gelato, watched over by a rather grumpy-looking San Nicola di Bari.  It seemed to cater for interesting ‘intellectual’ members of Bari society – academics perhaps and professional types.

We press on down the Adriatic coast past San Benedetto, Roseto degli Abruzzi, Montesilvano and Pescara which we decide to take a quick look at but finding nothing of especial interest, drive straight out again.  Then further south still past Ortona, Vasto and Termoli and we finally reach Apricena where, stopping at a service station and seeing the array of ‘suppli’ and other Pugliese food on offer we realise we’ve reached Puglia. ‘Suppli’ are mozzarella and ham or meat-filled rice balls or cones often eaten as antipasti. They used to be served at the Italian Club restaurant at the back of the Italian consulate in Boulaq in Cairo – sadly, it’s very doubtful this will still be open after the attack on the consulate not long ago. These suppli were giant-sized and easily make a meal in themselves.

The spur that is the promontory just above the heel of Italy is called the ‘Gargano National Park’.  It is an area of outstanding natural beauty.  Having driven inland on the main autostrada which circumvents it we decided it would be a shame to miss it so we turned eastward at San Severo to rejoin the coastal road. We got onto a very narrow and long natural corridor between the Adriatic to our left and the vast Varano Lake to our  right before negotiating the impossibly windy and mountainous road tracing the outline of the spur.  It was gone 8pm and we had been on the road since lunchtime so were getting quite desperate to find a suitable campsite.  A couple of places we stopped at on the ‘corridor’ turned out to be large holiday camp places that couldn’t be further removed from our idea of relaxation so we pressed on round vertiginous bends as the sun was setting. At one point we had to brake suddenly when an apparently  stray horse appeared on the road.  It had obviously somehow got out of its enclosure and another horse, within the enclosure was looking out with concern. We stopped a car coming out of a country lane further down the road and raised the alarm.  Luckily, they knew who it belonged to saying it had happened before and that they’d deal with it. That was a relief.

The place we found in the end – the Molinella Camping Village just south of the beautiful little town of Vieste – turned out to be our best campsite in Italy to date!  Situated at the very tip of the ankle bone in the heel of Italy and looking out to Podgorica or Tirana across the Adriatic. Molinella was a lovely place on the beach and with lots of shade, good loos and very friendly staff and other (mainly Italian) campers, what more could you want.  Fewer and less noisy daytime and evening activities perhaps but that would be going a tad too far! The sea was warm and crystal clear and cried out to be swum in.

We cycled into Vieste, once a busy fishing port but now dependent almost entirely on the holiday season.  Many of its young people, we were told, leave to look for work in the cities, a tale repeated in many parts of Italy. It had a small fort built by Frederic II who we came to realise is a great hero for the Pugliese, who refer to him variously as ‘Puer Apulia’ (son of Apulia), Frederick of Swabia and ‘stupor mundi’ (wonder of the world).  In medieval times, Vieste was frequently attacked by pirates and Saracens and the enemies of the Kingdom of Naples. According to Wikipedia, in 1554 around 5,000 inhabitants were executed by the Turks on the grounds that they were too elderly or infirm to merit transportation into slavery. As we climbed up to the fort we asked an elderly man if that was true. “Hanno ucciso 2,000” he said, so locals still remember it even if the figures differ.  For lunch we picked the least fussy little restaurant with barely room for a few tables on the pavement but which  served revived old Pugliese recipes.  Flavio got on particularly well with Nicola the owner who, when he found out they were exactly the same age (61) rushed in and came out again with two shots of Limoncello. Explaining that Nicola (pronounced with the stress on the ‘o’) is the most popular name in Bari – after its patron saint – he launched into a song by Nicola di Bari Flavio likes very much called “Il cuore e uno zingaro” (the heart is a gypsy).

“Che colpa ne ho s’el cuore e uno zingaro e va, Catene non ha, il cuore e uno zingaro e va, Finche trovera il prato piu verde che c’e, Raccogliera le stelle su di se, E si fermera chissa e si fermera.”  (What can I do, if the heart wanders like a gypsy, Chains it has not, the heart wanders like a gypsy, Till it finds the greenest of prairies, It can but continue gathering stars for itself, And one day, who knows, it will stop..it will stop..)

Back at Molinella, it was siesta time.  The sign said quiet must be maintained between 2-5pm.

Taking advantage of the quiet time to catch up on the blog at the cafe, pretty soon surrounded by a group of kids noisily setting about doing their holiday ‘compiti’ (homework). Non-stop chatter of course. Hard to concentrate. A brother and sister start squabbling and one simple question about what the problem is and they’re off.  Nicole, Alessandro, Martina, Julia and Georgia are all asking and answering questions at the same time.  “What? no holiday homework in England?  What? Only 6 weeks summer holidays?” “Are you two sisters?”  No, she’s my sister, says Alessandro – I wish she wasn’t, I’d be much happier if she wasn’t”.  “When do you start learning English at school?” ” Prima elementare for a first language and prima secondaria for a second.” What do you choose?” Either French, Spanish or German.”  French seemed to be the favourite.  “We come here every year.  We haven’t met anyone from England who speaks Italian like you.” “I’m an Italian from Egypt” “Ooh, Egitto?” “What do you know about Egypt?”  Everyone gets up and starts striking pharaonic poses and dances.  “There’s more to Egypt than that.” “Do I speak with an accent?” “Maybe a little bit”. “It’s been lovely to meet you all.  Good luck with your compiti”.

Leaving Molinella we have to pass through Vieste again.  A market seems to be in full swing.  It’s so refreshing to see a market bursting with colorful and irresistible local produce – endless varieties of olives, peppers, herbs, olive oil, salamis and cheeses.  Though we mustn’t as nothing keeps for long in Brenda, we feel obliged to purchase something so pick up some fresh oregano and cacciacavallo cheese (which, four countries later in Greece, we still haven’t quite finished).  Cacciacavallo by the way is where the popular Egyptian ‘cashcaval’ comes from.

Leaving Pesaro, we continued down the Adriatic coast past Fano, Senigallia and Marina di Montemarciano and generally the popular resort area known as ‘Le Marche’.   As evening fell, we stopped at what was to be our very first and possibly last stop at a ‘Camper stop’ at Porto Recanati just past Ancona.  These are free or relatively cheap places to park overnight for camper vans and there are many throughout Europe.  This one was called ‘Disco-Kart’ as it doubled as a Go-Karting as well as a disco place! Facilities were basic to say the least and extras, such as a shower were an additional cost.  Two euros bought approximately 30 seconds in the shower and as we ran out of change we were forced to share a shower.  Our fellow campers were however very friendly and the beach next to the camper stop was exceptional.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning, conscious of our deadline of 2nd August to catch our ferry from Bari to Dubrovnik we pressed on headed for Gargano in Puglia. On the way we passed Loreto, Porto Potenza, Porto San Giorgio, Pedaso, Colonnella, Tortorello, Montesilvano, Pescara, Fossacesia, Vasto and Camporino.  It was a long drive. With temperatures rising all the time (it was official – Italy was in the grip of a ‘scirocco’ from Africa), we stopped in Pedaso for a cool drink,  ice cream and coffee to perk us up.  Cliches apart, the quantity of ‘gelato’ eaten in Italy in summer must be phenomenal with ‘gelaterie’ at every corner and every few steps you take. Often, the cafes are ‘cafeterie’, ‘pasticerie’,  ‘gelaterie’, ‘rosticerie’ and bar all at the same time.  Lingering at such a place in Pedaso, we found it hard to get going again due to the sheer heat and humidity which induces intense lethargy and listlessness but move on we had to.  While sitting in the cafe, a sudden collective blowing of horns reminiscent of a wedding in the Middle East turned out to be a procession of vintage and colourful cinquecenti.

Taking a quick look at the sea-front, in the middle of a peaceful and shaded little park, we see a monument and tribute to ‘Ai caduti del mare’ (to the victims of tragedies at sea) which we find quite moving.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Back into Brenda and in air-conditioned glory we drove on to Bologna.  We were planning on a quick visit and then onto a nearby campsite but we were so enchanted by Bologna that we decided to book into a lastminute.com hotel. In the evening we strolled through the old part of the city marvelling at the arched colonnades for which Bologna is famed, built high enough to enter on horseback, as well as the medieval and Renaissance structures and the leaning medieval towers, one of which, the Asinelli Tower, you can actually climb up – 497 steps!  On the first anniversary of the Bologna Train Station bombing, on 31st August 1981 100,000 people crammed into Via Rizzoli to hear Carmelo Bene recite Dante’s Divine Comedy  from the base of the Asinelli Tower. It will have sounded something like this: “Qual pare a riguardar la Carisenda.  Sotto il chinato quando un nuovol vada. Sovr’essa si, ch’ella in contrario penda: Tal parve Anteo a me che stava a bada Di vederlo chiamare….”  We’d almost forgotten about the train station bombings. What was that about? Who claimed responsibility and why? What was happening at the time – 20 years before 9/11?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the evening, we ate in the Trattoria Oberdan round the corner from our hotel and the wonderfully named Via dei Malcontenti, which could have been part of a film set for a 1930s gangster film.  The food was just what you’d expect from the gastronomic capital of Italy, the service attentive and reassuring as only the Italians know how, and once he got going, Antonino the Sicilian head waiter, was a veritable encyclopedia of information about both local cuisine and that of other regions in Italy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here is a quick summary of Nino’s thoughts about Italian cuisine:

Bologna and Emilia Romagna: “La grassa” cuisine; pasta fresca; gnocchi; bollito misto; arrosti con puree and salsa verde, “l’abruzzo” – agnello castrato; salcicie.

Roma: L’agnello piccolo; Coda di Vitello; trippa; carcioffi alla Romana; carbonara; matriciana.

Toscana: Firorentine di carne chianina (in Chianti or Siena area). He didn’t think Tuscan cuisine was very noteworthy.

Puglia: Cuccina a base di verdure; pasta con pomodori; basilico; orecchiette con verdura; pesce.

Sicilia: Cuccina povera; pasta alla Norma (made with melenzane fritte, pomodoro, olio and basilica with grated hard-baked ricotta) – sounds great; pesce con verdure; pesce azzurro (small fish like sardines); paste alle sarde.

Next morning, after an early breakfast (after getting the puncture on Flavio’s bike repaired by Gianfranco the friendly and helpful owner of the ‘Sensa Benzo’ cycle shop off the Via Zamboni, we cycled round the city and through the lengthy porticoes, visited the Basilica di Santo Stefano, which started out as a Roman Temple but became a medieval religious complex which once had seven churches.  Bologna also boasts the world’s very first university which was founded in 1088.  Bologna is very similar to Verona but without the hoards of tourists.  A wonderful city and certainly worth a second visit.  After a pasta lunch at our favourite restaurant we set off again, heading south.