in fair Verona...

Having laid back sufficiently by Lake Garda we decided to check the scene at Verona, just a half hour away (except we decided to drive around Lake Garda first, stopping for s swim and a picnic lunch en route, naturally). The quirky little campsite had great views, was run by hippies - in fact I was mistaken for a campsite worker the next morning - and was just a short walk from the very pretty walled old town, nestled as it is in the bend of the river.

The city is unsurprisingly a World Heritage site, preserving side by side Roman relics, a medieval castle, Gothic churches, Renaissance palaces and Venetian piazzas. It was in one of the latter that we sipped the local wine and watched the world go by as we made the most of the Italian tradition of aperitivi. Basically if you go into a bar in Italy between 7 and 9pm and order a drink you will either be brought a selection of free snacks by the waiter or else invited to help yourself from a free buffet. In the cheaper establishments it's a case of paper plates and mini slices of pizza, but here - seeing as we were paying what we like to call "view tax" on our glasses of the local Bordelino wine - it was china bowls, marinated zucchini, spiced croutons and fried chicory. Delicious. We rather exploited the bar's range of snacks to the extent that neither of us needed any supper.

Afterwards we wandered the lively streets taking in beautiful courtyards and ancient walls, clocking the Roman Arena - which is now used for concerts rather than mass slaughter - and grabbing an ice-cream.

We stumbled upon the Casa Guilietta - supposedly the home of Shakespeare's Juliet and now quite clearly a shrine to love. Every inch of the walls by the entrance was covered in amorous graffiti. A discreet "TB loves KS" was added in black biro.

A stroll along the river took us back up to the campsite past many a hand-holding couple and the Roman Theatre, currently playing host to Hamlet. On the way we paused among yet more couples to admire again the view from Castle San Pedro. We could understand why so many had gathered there - Verona is a truly romantic and passionate city.

things I have learnt about my wife (part 2.)

She was a capable rollerskater and has a shady past in synchronised swimming.

Our honeymoon is a constant voyage of discovery!

On tourists

Tourists...we're a funny lot, aren't we? Like many a middle class Englisharian I am uncomfortable with the business of being a tourist - it so easily places you in a universe of tackiness and I take on board Jarvis Cocker's pronouncement that "everybody hates a tourist." Growing up in Cornwall has also given me a dread of being instantly identified with "the emmets" - the Cornish word for ants, so generously bestowed by the Duchy's natives on those who butter most of their turnips.

Yes, tourists are big business and places like Cornwall or Bath - both areas where I have lived and/or worked - would not prosper without them. At the same time, as Mr Cocker points out, tourists tend to be despised. Especially foreign tourists.

So here are a few observations on tourists I have made while sightseeing in France (main traps visited: Mont St Michel, Carcassonne, Pont du Gard); Spain (the Bilbao Guggenheim, Salamanca, Seville, Cordoba, the Costa del Sol); Portugal (Porto, Coimbra, Lisbon) and Italy (Rome, San Gimignano, Florence, San Marino...so far).
1. Most tourists are German, Dutch or North American. Apart from on the Costa del Sol, where they're almost one hundred per cent British.
2. A large proportion of tourists only see these incredible cultural hotspots through the lens of their digital cameras.
3. Tourists are seen as fair game to be ripped off by everyone, from third-class, overpriced restaurants, to retailers selling souvenirs of gob-smacking poor taste, the hawkers with their counterfeit handbags, the buskers with their dreadful backing tracks and the (usually Romany) beggars. And let's not forget the living statues, no self-respecting historical centre should be without one.
4. There is a tourist uniform consisting of knee-length shorts, short-sleeved shirts, bum-bags and sensible shoes (usually walking sandals). It is worn by both men and women, who are often hard to tell apart.
5. Even if the above symptoms haven't been noted, the regular unfolding and peering at free city plans should give any hitherto unnoticed tourists away.
6. Most tourists want to experience something "authentic". But ironically, their own presence invariably leads to them getting the exact opposite.
7. Locals are usually most welcoming to tourists in places which receive the least.
8. When it comes to "doing the culture", tourists tend to be incredibly keen to learn as much as possible about the place they're visiting. Consequently, they love multi-lingual, pedagogic guides (especially the sort with commanding voices that stride purposefully to the front of long queues waving an easy-to-spot umbrella); audio guides (so they can wander from exhibit to exhibit with something resembling a large phone clamped to their ear); open-top tour buses (with pre-recorded commentaries) and guide-books.

Yes, I don't like being seen as one of the faceless visiting hordes - but I don't regret joining the throngs to see The Colisseum, The Sistine Chapel, Michaelangelo's David, Seville Cathedral, The Mezquita, Carcassonne citadel or any of the other places we've been to. In fact, I feel privileged, they're all amazing things to have seen. But I really could have done without the crowds, the queues and the con-artists.

If you can't stand the heat....

... change your plans and go swimming.

Theo and I have become the last word in flexibility and seamless last-minute plan-changing. Our initial itinerary involving a visit to the Reggio cheese market on the way to Lake Como was abandoned on the autostrada and instead we turned off just after Modena to go north to Verona and Lake Garda.

After skirting Verona in search of that necessary evil, a supermarket, we arrived at Lake Garda, which was initially hidden behind a line of hotels, campsites and beach shops. But once the view began to open up we realised both how huge the lake is (more than 55km long, 16km wide in places) and how beautiful, especially towards the northern shores, as pine-studded mountains rear up to cast their reflections in the water.

We found a campsite that was thankfully relatively cool in the punishing 33 degree heat where Sheena could be parked under the shade of olive and alder trees and where a gentle breeze could be felt coming from the lake. Basically, our main motivation for going to the lake (rather than heading for Venice as we'd originally intended) was simply to have some respite from the soaring temperatures.

So we've been making the most of it. Three dips in Lake Garda itself and another three in the excellent campsite swimming pool. Last night in Bologna, Theo and I were still feeling uncomfortably hot at midnight. Tonight at dusk, the air feels pleasant, the scent of barbeque is in the air and we may take another swim before we turn in. This is the life.

One final thought: here at the Lake Garda campsite, apart from us, almost everyone is either German (probably 70 per cent) or Dutch. At the campsite on the Adriatic, where we were two nights ago, it was almost entirely full of Italians. Is it related to the salinity of the water, I wonder?

don't believe the hype

If you believed the hype you'd think that San Gimignano, the so called Manhattan of Tuscany, had a monopoly on medieval towers, while Pisa had the only leaning one. Neither fact is true as we have been finding out. Apparrently building towers was de rigeur for rich families during the middle ages which wasn't such a bad plan given all the internicene warfare going on. Florence had a few, as did Siena, though none particularly prominent. Here in Bologna however the remaining towers do stand out, particular the Due Torre which symbolise this seat of the world's oldest University. Both lean quite dramatically, one an impressive 10 feet off the vertical, and are so close to each other that they form a kind of scissor shape in the sky.
It's still hot, so after chancing upon a campsite we didn't know existing just outside the Bologna ringroad, we spent the day lounging by their beautiful swimming pool. It felt a bit decadent writing blogs in trunks and bikini, but we coped. Early evening we caught the bus into town, hoping to sample some of the world famous local cusine. Naturally most specialities - tortellini, sausages and the ragu that the rest of the world calls Bolognese - involve meat, but we did find a very reasonable and friendly vegetarian restaurant. Not mind-blowing cusine but very tasty and filling. This was after gelatos and aperitivis, naturally! They don't call Bologna "the fat" for nothing!

San Marino - seeing is believing

Some things, and some places, you just have to see for yourself - no description, photograph or anecdote can properly illustrate them for you.

We nearly didn't make it to San Marino. Even before we left the campsite we almost abandoned going there - it was out of our way, a complicated route and, with the temperature at 30 degrees already (it was only 8.30am) neither of us fancied a long drive. Then, as we stopped for the second on the steep, winding B road over the Appenines to let Sheena cool down, we again nearly abandoned our plan. But we persevered, crawling up the forested slopes to stop our van from over heating, before finally emerging the other side. Peak top fortresses after cliff-top castle hoved into view, each one making us think that we were near our goal, before we finally saw it. Approach from the mountains it wasn't so clear to us how high up San Marino was; later, looking back at it from the coast you could see its cliffs and castles towering over the Romagna plain. Up we crawled to the old quarter, high up on this isolated mountain, the views getting ever more spectacular. From the courtyard below the castle the views all around - over the flat plains and the sea to the east, back across undulating hillsides to the east - were amazing; I'd imagine they would be even better from the castle turrets, but we didn't venture in. (Somebody had forgotten to buy a parking ticket - doh!)

The old town had a quaint charm to it, with orange-shirted policemen and green-uniformed guards, but the tacky tourist shops and gunsmiths prevented it being picturesque. Instead they made me wonder about San Marino's past - if, to survive in today's world, this tiny and ancient Republic of 26,000 people most prostitute its views and uniqueness to over 3 million tourists, what kind of Devil's bargains must this Christian refuge have made in the past to ensure 1600 years of independence as the world's smallest republic?

Florence: Golf, Football and Skeletons

We'd like to consider ourselves relatively well informed about the places we have been visiting - their historical importance and so on. Florence took us a bit by surprise though; despite both of us having studied history I don't think either of us quite realised just how great a role Florence played, not just in Italian affairs, but in shaping the world, for it truly was the birthplace of the Renaissance. The amount of art gathered here is truly staggering - we didn't even attempt to see it all, though we did go and marvel at the original David which even after clocking both the replicas was still astounding. (The 10 euro entry price made us appreciate the free entry to London museums like never before.) The Duomo's facade and dome are remarkably beautiful, though after the marvels of the interior of Siena's Duomo, the interior here struck us as slightly austere and understated, though there were beautiful frescos and paintings to be found there and in other neighbourhood churches we ventured into.

The sheer wealth that must have once resided here must have been exceptional at one time and beyond even the conception of most Florentine contemporaries. This home of Dante, Giotto, Petrarch and Michelangelo is filled with beautiful townhouses, their eaves overhanging the narrow streets to give some respite from the baking sun, which was cooking at 9am and 6pm, and pretty well unbearable at midday. The Ponte Vecchio, still lined with jewelers had a charm that survived the hordes of hawkers and crowds of tourists that rivaled Rome.There were surprises and treats everywhere; a museum of musical instruments, including one of the earliest pianos; a missed bus stop which resulted in us watching the sun set over the city from the heights of Piazzale Michelangelo; discovering quite by chance that on the second evening we were there a large street party, Bianco Notti, would be taking place in the old town around Palazzo Pitti to celebrate (we presumed) the summer solstice; once there stumbling upon a University Museum still open at 11pm on a Saturday and filled with animal skeletons of all shapes and sizes. Florence is a truly magical and surprising city.

If only the campsite had had a swimming pool!! It was baking - by 8am the sun was already high in the sky with the tarmac radiating heat, and at night we were sleeping on top of the covers. The campsite did however have amazing views over the city, which led to the rather incongruous juxtaposition of the illuminated dome of the Cathedral with the bar's big screen showing a rather dull football match between Turkey and Croatia. Loosing interest (in the match not the view) we made friends with Damon and Hannah, two Mancunians spending a month riding the rails around Europe. They taught us a new card game - Golf - which I managed to loose quite spectacularly just in time for the equally spectacular end to an otherwise dull match - two goals in the final two minutes of injury time followed by a penalty shoot out, which Turkey won. Another surprising turn of events.

king of the road?

Whatever might be claimed about Portuguese driving (none of it complementary), the Italians are definitely leading the field in the psychotic driving stakes.
Inventing third lanes, tailgating, overtaking on blind bends, jumping lights, driving on the hard shoulder - child's play to an Italian. The bikers and moped riders are easily the worst - you see them watching the pedestrian crossing lights and speeding off when the red man shines, not when the lights go green. I'm amazed anyone can get insurance in Italy.

For the record the Spanish are the kings of double parking, while the French excel at stopping at junctions and roundabouts - to let out a passenger, make a delivery or just chat to a friend.

This is what happens when you let people drive on the wrong side of the road.