a bit of brimstone

Vesuvius might be a sleeping beast nowadays, but the area around the Bay of Naples is still volcanic, the west side in particular, which sits on a lava plateau. After spending the night in a campsite on the outskirts of Sorrento we decided we couldn't leave the area before getting a taste of some live volcano action.

Not far from the fishing town of Pozzuoli is the Solfatara volcano. Muttering "serenity, serenity..." to himself, Theo threaded Sheena through the Neapolitan vehicular nightmare and one wrong turning later, we were at the so-called Fields Of Fire.

It's not exactly a boiling caldera of molton lava, but Solfatara has some excellently bubbling mud flats, a few busy fumeroles and a pervading smell of sulphur. We were suitably fascinated by it all, although not as much as one lone Italian visitor for whom it was clearly more akin to a religious experience. She stood with closed eyes and a rapt expression, breathing in the swirling warm mists of malodorous vapours coming from the crater.

It's supposed to be therapeutic, but I'm not entirely convinced a chemical soup of arsenic, alum, sulphur and various hydrocarbons is really such a great thing to inhale. Still, there have been plenty of people in the past who've gone in for such a thing, as one of the sights at Solfatara is a now-derelict sauna building for people who wanted the full effect of all the thermal activity. The steam room at the Budapest public baths was about as much as Theo and I could endure, I don't think we'd have been first in the queue for the Solfatara sauna.

Pompeii

We didn't get as far as the Amalfi coast. But we made it to the Bay of Naples where we witnessed the inspired lunacy of Neapolitan driving, the warmth and volatility of southern Italians and explored the ruins of ancient Pompeii.

Vesuvius, the volcano which dealt out such overwhelming destruction on Pompeii and its neighbour, Herculaneum, still looms over the bay but dormant for many centuries, it now appears lost in its own memories rather than a source of any present menace. It's hard to imagine the mountain spewing out pumice, poison gasses and pyroclastic clouds in the warm October sunshine. Nowadays, its summit tends to be wreathed in clouds rather than smoke and fire.
Pompeii's preserved mosaics, frescoes and statues are all pretty impressive. But it's the city as a whole which exercises the greatest fascination. The streets with their cart tracks, the grid layout and the rows of dwellings, ranging from public buildings to shops, villas, cafes and whorehouses. More than two thousand years after its ancient inhabitants met their violent deaths, Pompeii teems with tourists rather than residents and if you close your eyes, the bustle and voices help conjure up an idea of the city as it once was. Without the fake shutter sounds of digital cameras and the SMS alerts of the mobile phones, though.

here comes the sun... again

It's hard to believe that only a matter of days ago we were bundling on jumpers and coats before going out and once the sun had gone in we were making mist with our exhaled breaths.

Now, here we are in Italy again and with every kilometre we go south, the air feels warmer and we are back in our short-sleeves and sandals.

We have just visited Mantua, granted its UNESCO World Heritage status within the last four months and buzzing with Sunday afternoon crowds visiting a regional produce market. It made for a lovely pit-stop on our journey down to the Amalfi coast.

Having a little more time at our disposal before we're expected back in France and Spain, we've decided to explore a bit more of Italy. Last time we were in this part of the boot, the heat was almost unbearable and the grapes were just forming in tiny nubs along the lines of vines.

Back here in October, we are warm and relaxed rather than fried and frazzled and the vines, stripped of their fruit, are turning into shades of bright russet around us.

It also helps that this time our rear windscreen is intact, which means we can open the back door for extra ventilation and thus avoid the sauna effect whenever we want to cook anything. The fact that Theo's window winder has also been fixed is another small but important element in our overall comfort. Shame neither of those

Becalmed at Lake Bled

How recent history repeats itself! Six months ago, the day after our wedding, Theo and I were both afflicted with various maladies, namely a stomach bug (in both our cases) and severe laryngitis in mine (which had robbed me of my voice for my wedding day). Today, half a year on, we have postponed our planned return to Italy because we've both been struck down by a chest infection. Well, struck down is maybe a little overdramatic. We don't feel too bad, but our lungs are rather tight and tickly and our voices have taken a husky dive into our boots. You would have thought with all this fresh mountain air and our reasonably healthy lifestyle would see us in the pink, but no. Still, you can't argue with Lake Bled as a stunning place to convalesce. The nights have a distinct autumnal nip in the air, but the sky is blue and it feels very warm in the Slovenian sunshine. Even the snowy caps on the alps overlooking the lake have quite melted away. We are now doing what invalids are supposed to - eating grapes, lazing around and reading books - while taking advantage of the pause in our journey to do a bit of laundry.

So I thought I would mention one of the other attractions of Slovenia aside from its stunning scenery. The Slovenians themselves.

The fact that they are multilingual, with just about everyone able to manage a bit of English, German and Italian as well as their own language, makes life much easier for the visitor. But time and time again we have also seen how friendly, helpful and kind they are - as well as having a sense of humour we can easily understand.

When we shopped at the large outdoor market in Ljubljana, one stallholder threw a few extra onions and small bulb of garlic into our bag after we had paid, another gave us each a generous slice of cake on the completion of our transaction. In Italy you get that sort of thing all the time if you happen to have a small child in tow, but this was just us.

You never get the impression that tourists are a necessary evil to be simultaneously endured and ripped off, as we have found in some other places. Here, the attitude is welcoming and patient. Letting visitors endlessly ring the bell in the church on the island in Lake Bled would surely drive most people crackers quite quickly, but here they encourage you to have a go. Mind you, it makes life confusing if you happen to be wondering what the time is.

Which leaves me wondering why my bank views Slovenia with suspicion and won't let me access my bank account online from here. Of all the Balkan countries, it's easily the most up-to-date and efficiently run.

Still, what do they know?

Buskers

Am I imagining it, or does Paris have a reputation for buskers? Whatever, if it doesn't, it should do. Buskers had been something of a rarity on our trip - we came across a few in Italy, including a 12 year old drummer in the Metro who was making such a huge noise on one drum we assumed it was a whole samba band, but it was only in Paris where they came out in such force and variety.

This old couple playing gypsy jazz numbers in Montmartre ranked among our favourites, but we also saw Michael Jackson impersonators, football jugglers, bad covers artists, bluesmen and those hideous Metro performers who jump on the trains armed with accordions and bad backing tracks. We hate backing tracks; we'd given some money to a pair of teenage girls in Verona solely on the strength that they weren't using a backing track and appeared to be playing their own material. There was one exception to this rule, though and it was also the most inventive bit of busking we'd seen: a Puppet Theatre on the Metro which did require backing music. It was the speed with which the stage was set up and the simplicity of the nonetheless amusing performance with very detailed home made puppets that won us over. Originally, engaging and funny. We had to applaud.

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.

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?

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?

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.

putting your foot in it....

This is me picking Sea Urchin spines out of my foot after putting my foot in one while swimming at Cecina. Sadly our idea for a mass game of Operation on my foot (who can remove a spine without making Theo scream in agony) were scotched by a nasty knee-jerk (literally) reaction we discovered when Kate had a go at digging one out with a needle.

I had 15, though I'm pretty sure some of them are still there. Well, I managed to drive to Siena and Florence as well as walk around them with no trouble, so they can just come out when they are good and ready.

Rome!!!

We spent 3 days and 3 nights in Rome. It was incredible. How lovely it is to go to a city where eating pizza and ice-cream (not usually together) counts as a cultural activity. Mmmm, delicious.

I'm talking about the food first as there seems to be no way to accurately express the wonderment of Rome the city. Ruins, columns, churches and piazzas that elsewhere would be at the centre piece of the town's tourist trail are here just tucked away, almost unremarked upon. It's not just the huge sense of living history that the Forum and Colosseum represent, but the way it's sucked the world to it; the Vactican Museum had a collection of ancient writings dating back to the 3rd millenia BC - 5,000 years have passed since those legal documents were written in cuniform on clay tablets. Then, wandering through the jaw-dropping private rooms of Pope's past, decorated with stunning frescos painted by Raphael, it hits you that after the Roman Empire came nearly 1700 years of direct rule by the Catholic Church, that the glory of modern Rome with its palaces, cathedrals, fountains, monuments, wide avenues, twisting alleys, shuttered town houses, parks and bridges is a religious construction, not one belonging to antiquity but instead to the Dark Ages, the Holy Roman Empire, the Renaissance, the Counter-Reformation and the Napoleonic era. Florence was a Capital of Italy before Rome ever was, and as we explored the streets there was the sense that Rome will always exist, perhaps long after the Church and State have faded. It is as if the city were alive, feeding on beliefs and ideologies, humans moving through it like blood in arteries, building monuments like muscles and either repelling or absorbing invaders.

We were both truly blown away. After the wonder of the Vatican Museum, we dared not face the majesty of St Peters so soon less its glory be lost or our brains half melted by the Sistine Chapel, the Borgia apartments, the Hall of Maps and countless other treasures. We went the next day instead and were almost blinded by its brilliance; unlike other Churches, often made of dark stone, that are filled with shadows, St Peters is a construction in marble and gold and glows in the sunlight streaming through the windows. That many of the popes behaved like the Roman emperors by commissioning huge artworks to mark their era as pontiff and also installed lavish commemorations to their predecessors was all to the good for the modern visitor. The place is stuffed full of beautifully executed statues, frescoes, carvings, busts and almost everywhere you look, there is something more to see. Plus, it is free to go in and thankfully, we got there early enough to avoid the queues at the entrance.

Next, we took a milk-float style city bus over to the Colisseum, which we'd marvelled at from the outside on our first evening in Rome, but now wanted to see inside. Well, it's pretty impressive, but actually it seemed to lose some of its magic when elbowing through the crowds to see where they used to pen the wild animals and where Caesar and his family would sit to watch the games.

A stroll through the Jewish Ghetto (largely closed as it was Saturday) and the charming Testevere district completed our tour of Rome. Our various walks over the previous couple of days had also taken in (to summarise) the Forum (left us both speechless, no mean feat) the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain and the Pantheon, plus a host of other monuments in varying states of splendidness.

After all that history and culture, it seemed fitting to end our Roman Holiday by hooking up with three other Brits, (three Sunderland lads on a two-week holiday - Chris, Paul & Lee), to watch the football (Greece v Russia - not a particularly inspiring game), have a chat and drink lager in time-honoured English fashion. Next stop, a villa in Tuscany.

Rear Window

The saga continues.

We had been encouraged by our insurers to switch from attempting to find a replacement rear windscreen in Spain and move to France instead. It wouldn't take as long, we were assured. Indeed one lady from the french agency I spoke to thought it would only be 5 days or so to get the glass. She wanted to know where we were were - I said Nice, reasoning that it didn't matter if the glass got there ahead of us. We gave them all the details and hoped they'd get on with it.

A phone call this morning asked us to go to a garage in Cannes, as they had no branch in Nice, to pay the excess. "Then we will order the glass - only a few days." Grrrr. Our frustration mounted when, on arriving at the garage, the mechanic had none of our details and didn't know where he would get the glass from.

The saga is fast becoming a farce. Our rather slowly becoming one - it's been nearly a month since I broke the rear windscreen reversing into an olive tree in a Granada campsite.

* * *

Yesterday we went to Pont Du Garde outside Avignon. This impressive aqueduct was built to take spring water to Nimes, some 50km away, and has stood straddling the Gardon river for nearly 2,000 years. Amazing architects them Roman's.

Speaking of Roman's, that's where we're headed next - ROME.

We're currently on a quite little campsite somewhere between Nice and Antibes having spent the afternoon hanging out by the Turquoise waters of the Med; tomorrow we aim to make it to Pisa and then Rome the following day.

Ciao for now.

goddq, french keyboqrds

Apologies for not blogging much recently. After the fun and frolics in Barcelona we have popped back to Cathy (Kate's mum) and Jean's house in the Lot region of France for a few days to clean up and chill out.

The excellent food, convivial atmosphere, swarming bees (quite a spectacle) and even-tempered games of cards are some of the reason's we haven't been blogging much. The other reason is the blooy french keyboard on Cathy's computer!!! Oh for qwerty! It's particularly hard for Kate who is a touch typist (I'm a two finger stabber) though the sticky 'd' and the mouse's random habit of jumping the cursor halfway back up the page affects us all!

We've had a lovely time, as usual, and are now heading towards Italy. Our rear windscreen is still unfixed - we're hoping a replacement will meet us at Nice, but I wouldn't be surprised if we turn up at Cherbourg in 5 weeks time with the hole still taped up with gaffa.

Ciao!

where we've been and where we're going

An update then, for regular readers, and for others a quick summary to avoid trawling through the past 19 odd posts.

We caught the ferry at Poole at the beginning of April, and drove down the West Coast of France - Cherbourg, Mont Saint Michel, Dinan, Carnac, Nantes, La Rochelle, Ile de Re, Rochefort - to Montcuq in the Lot region. We've been here for two weeks now drinking and eating far too much at Cathy & Jean's - Kate's mother and her French-of-Italian-extraction boyfriend. We've been relaxing, washing clothes, shrugging off colds, taking day trips to Carcassonne, Toulouse & Cahors, learning Spanish, doing odd bits and bobs to Sheena, and playing lots and lots of card games. This Sunday there's a big party for us that is basically a second wedding reception for those French friends who couldn't make it to Bristol.

Where to next?

We're both looking forward to getting off - it's been great chilling out here and being spoiled, but we're itching for the road. Bilbao, probably via Biarritz, is our first stop - we've met some people through Global Freeloaders there who are going to let us park up and use their kitchen and bathroom, while we find out whether we've learnt any Spanish at all. Then Madrid, Salamanca, Porto, Lisbon and Seville are the next stops on our rough itinery, before we rock up at the Rocket Festival outside Grenada on May 16th. Afterwards we plan to check out Granada itself then head up towards Barcelona for the Primavera Sound Festival, both of us having secured press passes, which starts on the 25th - SJ Esau, Portishead and Fuck Buttons on our 'to see' list. Then back to France - probably via Andorra - and on, via the French Riviera, to Italy, where we plan to spend most of June, before heading back to Cherbourg via Slovenia, Switzerland and Paris to catch a ferry back to take our turn as wedding guests.