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.

 

 

Entering Verona under the Roman gate Porta Borsari we were astonished at how beautiful Verona was, a city well deserving of its World Heritage status.  It has an amazing Roman Amphitheater Arena, second-largest after the Collosseum, which hosts regular musical events.  It has medieval buildings, Juliet’s house being a small medieval palace, (disappointingly, we discovered the balcony was added in the 1930’s), beautiful Renaissance buildings, a Venice without the canal.  That such a beautiful city could have a dark past was surprising.  Verona became a fascist centre during the Second World War, a key interrogation centre of resistance fighters and a transit point for Italian Jews sent to Nazi concentration camps.

Walking around unsurprisingly we found ourselves surrounded by throngs of tourists. It was after all the city in which Shakespeare set Romeo and Juliet.  We shuffled along with a large crowd to see Juliet’s home and all dutifully took photographs of the balcony and then shuffled out.  The portico you entered through had graffiti and post-it love messages to Juliet.  It was hot and airless, the temperature was around 43 C and we found ourselves, not exactly ‘star-crossed lovers’ but very definitely hot-cross lovers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Struggling with temperatures of 40C+ we headed in the direction of Lake Garda which we mistakenly thought would provide some respite from the heat and some fresher air.  How wrong we were!

On the way, we decided to take a quick look at Alessandria for the simple reason that Flavio felt sentimentally compelled to visit it as an Italian Alexandrian from Egypt. First, our route took us through Margarita, Moglia Nera (meaning ‘Black Wife’!), Pollenzo and Asti, where we stopped for a light lunch.  Asti was pleasant enough, though not remarkable, but by the time we got to Alessandria it was the hottest time of the afternoon and we could see from our weather App that Alessandria had clocked up some of the highest temperatures in the whole of Italy – and this during a heatwave.  We were physically only able to give it a cursory look but in any case, when we asked to be directed to the most interesting part of town, there really wasn’t anything of any note. Stopping at a pharmacist, we were told that (unlike the Egyptian Alexandria) Alessandria got its name from its founder, Pope Alexander II.  Parking the car at the open-air car park (essential for our Brenda being a ‘high-top’ and not always easy to find) we saw an old man standing in the sun next to the payment machines, hunched over and looking as though he was about to faint.  We went over to ask if he was alright and if we could ring someone to come and pick him up.  He said he was OK and that he was suffering from an ulcer.  He refused to move out of the sun and sit on a bench in the shade but accepted some water.  When we came back after our visit (must have been an hour or so) we were amazed to find him still hunched over in the same spot in the unbearable heat.  A man sitting across the way in the shade explained that he was there every day hoping people paying for the parking would spare some ‘spiccioli’.

Lake Garda was a popular destination for Romans as it is now for modern-day Italians as well as German and Dutch holiday-makers, especially Germans.  The campsite was lovely but large, quite pricey and very full.  The heat and humidity were oppressive, with no respite and not a whiff of air when you most needed it at the end of the day – it was as if the lake hit the doldrums at around 6pm and though the temperature eventually went down a few degrees by the small hours, it was very difficult to sleep.  Flavio even ended up lying down at the end of the pontoon over the lake at 3am to try and catch a hint of cool air. The only respite was our swims in the lake which mercifully was still cool, being quite deep – they became quite frequent out of sheer necessity.

On the second night walked to the local village, Manerba del Garda, for an ‘Italian experience’ only to find the village full of German and Dutch tourists and the market full of stalls run by Africans selling mostly goods from China and India.  Surprisingly, we were having trouble finding any place to eat so we stopped to ask a couple of sophisticated-looking elderly local women sitting and chatting outside their homes for advice.  In a manner which seemed vaguely familiar they answered in a lengthy, sceptical and grumbling but ultimately not terribly helpful sort of way and finally suggested a place that had changed management recently down the road but whether it was any good or indeed whether we’d find it open or not, they really couldn’t say – in fact everything pointed to them having serious doubts, both about this and very probably pretty much anything else we might have asked them about – it all felt so familiar!  (Never expect a short answer in Italy!)

We walked to the edge of town until we found the restaurant.  Mercifully, it had air conditioning, which is surprisingly difficult to find. The homemade pasta was superb and Matteo the chef came out to greet us and explain that he was trying to keep alive the local cuisine of the region.  The wine too was a new experience – a white Lugana from the village of Desenzano (the next village along) which was was very pleasant indeed and matched our pasta dishes of ‘ravioloni with a chicken and rabbit filling’ and ‘tagliatelle al pomodoro’ perfectly.

Booked ferry to Dubrovnik as we decided we would drive to Greece via Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia and Macedonia (cautiously bypassing Albania although we were tempted).

Leaving Guillestre, we climbed higher and higher still, through the ski resorts of Saint-Marcellin-de Vars and Les Claux until we reached the summit of the Col de Vars at Saint-Paul-sur-Ubaye, 2109 metres above sea level.   The views were staggering.  The temperature was dropping rapidly as the altitude increased, from 38 C to just 19 C at the top, which came as a great momentary relief, and we even had some rainfall.

On our way up, as well as when we reached the summit and on the descent, we came across athletic and determined-looking lycra-clad cyclists taking on the mountain.  Some were teenagers (one boy we asked was 12!) and others much older, and some were no doubt taking on the ‘Brevet des 7 cols Uboyens’ cyclotourism challenge – conquering the 7 peaks in the area and getting a certificate!

Approaching the border with Italy our journey was delayed by a landslide – that is, there had been a landslide because of heavy rain the night before and the road was temporarily closed.  Speaking to some of the other French and Italian motorists, it was better to wait until the road opened again rather than take the alternative, much longer and more tortuous route. So this is what we did. The rain had resulted in tons of greyish mud running down the mountains over the roads.

On entering Italy we were surprised to see the Cathar cross displayed on flags and posters. Looking this up, we realized that part of the Piemonte region on the Italian side of the Alps is referred to as Occitan where Oc is spoken and has been recognised and is protected by the Italian government as a minority language!

We drove on through Argentera, Pietraporzio, Sambuco and Vinadio (which looked very old an intriguing).  But it was late so we headed for one of the nearest campsites we could find – the ‘Il Melo Camping’ in Cuneo.  After an introductory chat with the owner in Italian, it didn’t take long for us to realise there was something very familiar about him, in terms of his general appearance and manner that is.  ‘Abdu’ turned out to be a ‘Saeedi’ Egyptian from Luxor who met his Italian wife while he was working and she was holidaying in Safaga on the red sea!  He had come to Italy and bought the campsite 5 years ago, and again, as for Mahmoud in Guillestre, managed to turn it around through sheer hard work and meeting the customer’s needs.  We chatted in Arabic as though we were old friends and it felt reassuring, though slightly incongruous!  It seems we’re destined to come across reminders of the Middle East wherever we go.  Abdu also bore an uncanny resemblance to Ayman, Flavio’s hairdresser in Cairo!

The Lac de Serre-Poncon at Rousset was amazing but the campsite was one of these large holiday-camp types which we’re not enamoured with (we may already have mentioned this!). We wanted to spend a couple more days in France before crossing into Italy in more tranquil surroundings. Driving higher up still and more north east towards Briancon, past Chorges, Clamensane, Embrun, Chateauroux-les-Alpes and Risoul, we chanced upon the Camping Villard, 2kms from the picturesque Alpine village of Guillestre.  It’s amazing how even in summer Alpine villages make you think of Christmas – something about all those Christmas trees.

We were aiming for another campsite along the same road but something about Camping Villard attracted us.  An extremely energetic and affable man welcomed us and made us feel immediately at home and when we said we’d stay two nights he said he hoped we’d like it so much we’d stay two weeks (I almost heard the phrase ‘inshallah’ sotto voce!) He introduced himself as ‘Mam’ and when we looked puzzled he said it was actually short for ‘Mahmoud’ in a way which suggested he hadn’t had to explain this for a while. Mam and his wife Domininique had bought the failing site 5 years ago and had turned it around.  Running a campsite involves a great deal of hard work, staff is expensive and for people like Mam and Dominique who are prepared to put in a major part of the work themselves it can be a rewarding and profitable enterprise. Mahmoud had travelled to Paris 30 years ago at his father’s insistence to join his older brother for studies but had soon started working as a mechanical engineer and it was his wife Dominique who had come up with the idea of buying a campsite.  They and their lovely staff have worked very hard to turn the site into a charming, relaxing and very welcoming place and one we would highly recommend.

Talking of issues of the day, a quick look Saturday the 18th’s issue of Le Monde featured the following:

– Donald Tusk, President of the Council of Europe saying that the political and economic conditions we’re currently going through are very similar to Europe in 1968.

– A leader on the real implications of the ‘Greek tragedy’ and Donald Tusk again saying ‘there’s nothing humiliating about an 86 bn Euro loan.

– Hissene Habre on trial in Senegal 30 years after he was held responsible for the death of 40,000 people.

– An article on Ramadan not necessarily meaning the end of fasting.

– An leader on the Vienna Accord with Iran representing a real chance for peace in the ME.

– Something on indignant locals in Vallauris campaigning against the Saudi Royals and 500 people retinue persuading the authorities to close a local beach for them.

– Something on the ‘secret radicalisation’ of the extremist who killed 4 soldiers in Tenessee.

– A double-page spread on the art of efficient packing your holiday bags!

It was here we decided to get rid of surplus items/assorted clutter we thought we couldn’t live without!  This meant going uphill to Guillestre centre and catch the post office before it closed at midday.  We’d strapped the two boxes on the back of Judith’s bike (which has a rack) but Dominique saw us struggle and promptly rescued us by dropping what she was doing to kindly give us a lift.  We then spent a an hour or so taking a look at Guillestre.  Someone we got talking to told us she had been made redundant from the hotel she’d been working in because times were hard and the trend was now moving towards camping (or ‘glamping’ as the new expression goes) as people were feeling the pinch.

Guillestre advertises itself as a very ‘sporty’ place.  That was clear from the procession of keen cyclists we saw heading for the hills while we were sipping our ‘allonge.

After leaving Marseille we were faced with two choices – continue down the Cote d’Azur and into Italy via the Alpes-Maritimes or head north east for the Hautes-Alpes entering Italy through Piemonte. It was hot and humid, Christian had warned us the coast would be heaving and we felt mountain air was what was needed. So off we set for a place called Rousset near the town of Gap in the Alps only to find it was still hot but at least there was a large lake without the crowds one would find on the coast.  On the way, we passed Peyrolles-en-Provence, Oraison, the striking town of Sisteron, Upaix and Tallard.  Evidence of the ‘secheresse’ (drought) was everywhere.

We camped by Lac De Serre-Poncon, a huge artificial and quite spectacular lake which is fed by the rivers Durance and Ubaye. Waters from the lake also drive the largest hydro-electric dam in Europe. Swimming in the lake was bliss but also available if one was so inclined were wind-surfing, water-skiing, diving and boating.

Thinking Brenda needed an infusion of brake fluid we set off with mild alarm for Gap, the nearest large town which had a VW garage. After a quick inspection however it was a bit embarrassing to be told that we were looking at the wrong side of the chamber – i.e. the front where the thickness of the plastic doesn’t show the real level – and the actual fluid level was perfectly normal.  And by the way, we should remember that lights and alarms come on at the first sign of anything untoward so we shouldn’t question VW efficiency. So off we set again, this time to a campsite higher up near the Alpine village of Guillestre next to the fast-flowing Durance river where we spotted white-water rafting whilst extreme cyclists could be seen tackling the endurance climb to the nearby 2100m Col de Vars.