Italy trip part two Forums

torquayite

We went to big “Bricolage” stores, B.& Q. style merchants, and little ironmongers, but without success.
In one shop, a helpful fellow suggested trying the major Carrefour store on the way to Pisa, so we continued on our way, looking for signs to the store. Up came lots of signs informing us the big Carrefour had forty tills. But none saying in which direction it lay. When at last we came across a huge “Shop at Carrefour” hoarding, with a direction arrow, we were twenty miles past it.
At Viraggio, a coastal town with a long road running alongside the coast, there was a nearly continuous row of property between road and beach. Eventually, we found a little alley through to the beach for a walk in the sand.
Nearer the centre of town there were stalls along the prom., and a market of sorts in a car park, but the place was so congested we could not find anywhere to park.
The traffic is a headache as it is totally unpredictable.
Cars overtake on the wrong side just to gain a yard, dash out into the stream of traffic from parking places or side streets, frequently in reverse, and there are hold-ups every mile or so where people involved in accidents are waiting for the police to arrive.
A motor bicyclette in front of a lorry, one car with a badly damaged front end, one car stranded with its front wheels hanging over a fifteen foot drop where it had climbed part way over a wall, one of those dreadful pop-pop mini trucks and a car that had made over close acquaintance, and so on.
And all this within a short space of time.
Driving is an absolute nightmare. I can’t relax for a moment. The signs are poor, there are odd junctions with cars emerging from unexpected directions, the cyclists ignore both traffic lights and common sense, weaving in and out of moving traffic with total disregard for their own safety, and I am beginning to wish we had never decided to come to Italy at all.
Eventually we pulled up in the big coach park at Pisa. There is a large area reserved for camping cars in which one can stay and pay fifteen euros, or, immediately alongside, one can park for nothing but during busy times you will be surrounded by parked cars.
We walked to the town centre, quite a short distance but, because of the railway, you have to go under a tunnel alongside the main road, and the noise and fumes are dreadful, especially as the pedestrian walkway is very narrow.
But then you go through the arch and there is the Tower, busy with people, flash lights flickering in the early evening darkness as people were taking their snaps of the wonderful buildings and the crazy leaning tower, many still at the top of the tower.
As we approached we passed the African traders with their wares spread out on carpets along the pathways, and there was a sudden commotion. Shouting and rushing, the huge very black men were grabbing the corners of their sheets and blankets, gathering everything up in a rush, and trying to leg it before a tall gun-toting policeman with a sort of amused grin on his face got too near their illegal pitches.
He seemed quite content to watch them scoot round the corner, knowing they would assemble at a café for a coffee and be back again five minutes later.
Tourists of all nations everywhere. An amazing number from the Far East, all taking loads of pictures with their up to the minute digital cameras.
At seven o-clock, the guard shut the door to the tower and the Cathedral, and very quickly the place became quiet and almost empty, the traders melting away or sitting in black groups chatting about to-days business, the tourists returning to the coach station.
The huge car park was now almost empty, one German couple parking close by us for the night, leaving just enough room between us for one of the African guys in a fairly beaten up car to squeeze in and make himself as comfortable as possible to sleep for the night.
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Sunday.
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Quiet night and a sunny morning. We took our time over breakfast, surprised to see some coaches bringing their people in before nine a.m., all piling into a bus to be dropped off at the City centre gateway. The Japanese favoured walking in a long crocodile behind pole-toting leaders.
Around lunch time we ambled in and were surprised how quiet it was. Most of the stalls and shops were open, but with few customers in evidence. It steadily got busier, and we walked the other side of the main tourist area, through the Piazzo del St. Stephano where people wanted Curly to pose for their pictures of their partner’s petting him.
It was pleasantly warm, and we went back to the main squares to sit and people watch.
Back to the truck around five for a rest. Lots and lots of camper vans arrived by now, many with children on board and much younger drivers than is usual in the U.K.
Could we be at a half-term in Pisa ?
It’s a shame the nights draw in so early. By six-thirty, it is dark. There are quite a few vans pulled up and looking as though they are staying the night, and we walked back to the town centre, trying to find a phone that works to give Steve a ring. Chris is always engaged.
Warm enough for short sleeves even at 11p.m.
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Monday. October 23rd.,2005.
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Decided to stay another day, so we had a quiet morning before getting a plan of Pisa from the tourist centre by the coach loading bay in the car park. It looked as though there might be a safer way to cycle in to the town centre, so we decided to get the bikes out and assemble them.
With Curly in the basket, off we go, and find out that even the other cyclists have no concern at all for rules of the road or even common courtesy, so the squeal of brakes is not an uncommon sound. In the Miraclo area, the wide pedestrianised area around the Cathedral and tower, there were so many cyclists dashing through the heavy pedestrian traffic that we decided it was safer to get off and walk, but once having passed the actual tower area, it was less crowded and we were able to ride through the very narrow streets until we arrived at the river bank road. We crossed one of the bridges, over the wide expanse of shallow murky brown and slow moving water, going to look at a very old part of the town where sadly neglected original town walls were slowly falling into a state of total disrepair. Many years ago, they had a covered walkway along the top of the wall.
Cycling back from the Po we went to see the Roman baths which were not very impressive, a sort of oblong site somewhat below present street level with a pattern of old Roman walls the sign interpreted as a busy bath house.
In the shade of the cathedral, we people watched again, amused by the number of folk adopting strange positions and being photographed in a pose that they hoped would show them supporting the Leaning Tower.
Ladies wearing very fancy stockings with short skirts and high heeled boots, convoys of nuns gathering in little attentive groups as their mentor explained the significance of the carvings on the walls, one large group of French nuns listening for ages on the steps of the Duomi but not wishing to pay the entrance fee to look inside. Languages from Russian to American and all points in between. And quite a few younger student types just enjoying lying on the grass in the sunshine.
Jean just had to buy some of the shell based necklaces from the hawkers, staying in bargaining mode with one poor fellow for ages until she succeeded in haggling the price down to five necklaces for E 22.
When you realise the price starts at ten Euros for one necklace, that is some haggling.
After dinner back in the van, we cycled back again and tried to phone Chris.
His number brought unintelligible writing in Italian to the pay-phone screen and deducted 40 cents from our phone card, but did not connect. Tried two more phones but with the same annoying result.
Cycled through town again and found a fruit market in one tiny square, stalls all lit up and lots of strange fruit and odd vegetables on display. People all round the square were sitting on the pavement edge, chatting and eating.
In the long street of arches where the fairly posh fashion shops were mostly still open, there seemed to be a lot of noise. It was not traffic, which fortunately had virtually gone, but just the locals chattering to each other as they promenaded in groups, not a tourist in sight. Oh, and lots of bicycles whizzing along without any lights.
Jean bought a scarf from a girl from Japan who had a small stall in another market area.
This was a good day, and it was after nine when I packed the bikes away.
I regretted not having a video camera earlier, to shoot a sideways shot of Jeannie cycling along on her bike with Curly sitting up in the basket and the flood lit side of the cathedral gliding by as a backdrop. It would have been a stunning shot.
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Tuesday.
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Good night, sunny morning. Our resident black chap spent the night next to us again, strolls out on the grass for an early morning pee, and drives off looking remarkably smart in a neat suit after grabbing a bite to eat from the bus station café shop.
Got a street map of Florence from the girl in the tourist office and then ambled down to Pisa Marina which is at the mouth of the river Arno. Boat yards all along the river side before reaching the sea. No pedestrian access to be seen.
There was a camper park in a rather scruffy area that would have cost eight Euros a night, but the area did not look worth staying in and it was still early in the day, so we went along the coast, through Livorno, then pulled in to a car park area for a coffee break to be greeted by loud cries of “Bon Giorno!”.
It was the German couple who had stayed alongside us the first night in Pisa.
People were swimming off the fairly crummy beach, and we went on, joining a bit of dual carriageway “Auralia” which twisted along the coast, a little way in and up from the water. We pulled off towards Castiglioncello, stopping before descending from the hills down to the town, at a small car park opposite a building that turned out to be a gym or fitness centre.
All the time we brewed up and had coffee, the tireless lady in the gym was teaching a class of youths kick-boxing. It was impressive to witness her seemingly inexhaustible energy as she shouted the moves and leaped around, all in heat that had now persuaded Jean to change into her shorts.
Down to the town and amazement as I found myself in Musselburgh street. This little Italian village is twinned with my home town in Scotland.
Parked near the “turistico porto” and went for a paddle in the very warm water. It is really hot, and even I am in shorts and covered with sun cream.
We will stay in the car park to-night along with a couple of other camping cars owned by “Georgio” and “Victorio”, a nice bottle of Moscato Spumante with dinner, then a very pleasant quiet night after failing to find a phone booth even though we walked back to the town square by Musselburgh Street.
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Wednesday.
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Georgio said the forecast was good for the rest of the week. He’s staying put, probably until the week end. Lives between Lake Como and Switzerland.
Pleasant though it is, there is nothing to do and the beach is not exactly picturesque, so we meander down the coast, trying to stay close to the water.
Pulled in to look at Vada, and parked at the end of the village in a small dead end that led onto the sandy beach.
Walked up to where the boats were stored in a compound, passing the fishermen bringing in baskets of huge mackerel and smaller green coloured sprats that they were trying to sell to a man with a small refidgerated van.
I read my book, Jean did some stamps, had a few paddles, and went for a long walk along the beach.
In the evening we walked to the main square in front of the church. Very large, very smart, fountain, gardens, and an imposing pillared façade to the Vada church.
At last got through when we rang Chris, only to be told by Hadda that he was in Luton. Seems their phones had been out of order for a few days because those damned cats had peed all over them. So I apologize to the phones of Pisa. It was not their fault after all.
There are a couple of bars and a restaurant open, but it is very quiet with hardly anyone around.
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Thursday.
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Hot and sunny.
Too nice to drive, so we paddle, sit in the sun, I read a book, Jean sorts some stamps, and enjoy a quiet morning. After lunch we get the bikes out and have a ride along the main road out of town, turning off into a small lane and along a track to a much quieter road. All too soon it rejoins a main road with fast traffic, so we wend our way back into Varda and cycle round the town.
By the marina we watch a grand dad and toddler playing, have a paddle, go back and fix the satellite dish to get Astra TV.
I put the generator on, but no electricity seemed to be getting to the van.
Checked all the fuses I knew about and they were fine, then I remembered that hidden away at the back of our under-sink food cupboard is an RDC switch, and, sure enough, it had switched itself off…probably since the crash, as it is just inboard of the impact area.
Watched some CN News, MTV, and Eurosport, then tidied away in readiness for moving on tomorrow.
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Friday 27th.
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Lovely sunny morning. Before I was even up, Jeannie had gone for a walk along the beach, paddling in the flat calm sea.
We said “goodbye” to a pleasant spot and moved down the coast to Cecina where we bought some stamps and had to avoid a low railway bridge in town before pulling in to top up with fuel.
52.49 litres at 1.143 per litre, total 60 euros, mileage 48874.
Via Aurelia round to San Vincenzo, down the coast road which unfortunately had a hundred yard wide strip of pine trees between us and the beach, or was built in with cafes. We stopped at Plombino to view Elba from a road that went up quite high so we could look out over the sea, stopping there for lunch before doing a bit of shopping.
We regretted that, as just a few miles further on at Amendola on the way to Follonica there was a big Lidls store selling the same things but for less cash…
Turned right to Casteglione della Pescala and when we got there we saw the castle high up on the left and a marina in the town bisected by a river. Also saw a sign saying Camper Parking, back the way we had come.
I had seen the sign on the way in, but it was a few miles out of town by a sports centre, so I had ignored it. However, it had the usual services and there were half a dozen Italian vans there for the night, so we stayed.
We think there may be a market in the town to-morrow. The car park had a sign which suggested it was required for one on a Saturday, so we will go in early to see.
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Saturday 28th.
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Sun and fog. The hills around us are in thick white mist, and there are little clouds of it you can walk into floating around the car park.
It lasted for a mile or so as we drove in to town, then suddenly we were in bright sunshine.
Managed to park quite close to the large market in the car park beside the river-cum-marina and wandered around but thought the prices were much higher than in Spanish markets.
A few stalls were selling very high class goods, merino wool and cashmere tops, real gemstone fancy necklaces, and so on. But at a fair price. We did not find any bargains.
In the main part of town we strolled along by the river and watched a duck shepherding a huge brood of tiny ducklings, then drove up to the castle and were able to park in the castle car park just outside the walls. We could have a walk round in the sunshine, looking in the small very plain church and walking along the narrow streets.
It is still occupied, private houses from the large one that once belonged to the towns chief down to tiny cottages, roads just wide enough for a car to negotiate with care, and some lovely views out over the surrounding countryside.
As we were about to leave, lots of cars drove in to the car park as a wedding was taking place in the little church.
We took a minor road over the bridge and through the pine trees to Marina di Grosseto where there was a big car park by the beach. Lots of Italian camper vans, but all with young families enjoying Saturday at the sea side.
Drove on, bearing right at Grosseto down the Auralia E80, feeling a bit like a slot racing car driver in places with barriers to our left, concrete dividers in the middle, and a narrower dual carriageway. We were relieved that there were few lorries as it was a Saturday, but even so it was not a comfortable road, although flat enough to stay in top gear most of the time.
The port at Civitavecchia had three large cruise ships in the docks and we stopped by a “free” beach at Santa Marinella for a break. Followed the coast road and suddenly turned right when I spotted a sign for a castle at Santa Severa.
Glad we did. It turned out to be very interesting.
Around 300 BC. It was a walled port town used by the Romans.
Surrounded at that time by wet and marshy ground, malaria and other nice diseases ensured there was very little happening outside the enclosure.
Various Popes used it as a summer hideaway and it survived despite being knocked about and rebuilt a few times until, in 1930, Il Duce ( Mussolini) visited the place and decided that the surrounding area would be good for agriculture if he could get rid of the malaria by waging war on the mosquitoes.
Thus the surrounding villages were born, and Il Duce is revered as a hero in the area.
There were about ten other camper vans in the car park and I asked one driver if they were staying the night. He said “ Civita Veschia !” as if that explained everything, then dashed off to get in his van as the whole lot started up and left in procession.
We went on through Ladispoli looking for somewhere to stop. It’s dark, busy, and no sign of any camper friendly areas.
I tried a couple of turn-offs to places not even on our map, but without success until I found one with a beach road car park, in a quite posh area, very quiet, deserted, everything firmly shut. I was a bit apprehensive when we went to the phone booth to find the whole phone ripped off the wall and sitting on the floor, but…I’m too tired to go anywhere else.
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Sunday.
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Drove into Rome as dawn came up, parking right beside the walls of the Vatican.
To our amazement, there was a huge queue of people all waiting for it to open, so we decided to use the opportunity of fairly light traffic to have a drive round Rome town centre.
Not easy. All the signs are for pedestrians and the roads were mainly one way, so even if I wanted to go right, I had to go left, and so on.
Found the river eventually and parked by one of the main tourist route bridges, within sight of major touristy buildings. In front of us were a couple of Italian camper vans. As we were on the left hand side of the one way street, we were against the tree-lined pavement, and I had pulled in almost beside a huge old plane tree.
It was still only eight o’clock, so we put three hoursworth parking ticket on the screen, locked up, and set off to walk around. It was quite chilly, so we had on our light coats.
Bought a map and decided to head for the Amphitheatre ruins (which turned out to be a lot further away than they looked on the tourist map).
We had only gone round the corner opposite the van when we saw lots of purple robed priests and worshippers outside a church carrying huge bouquets of flowers.
A brass band of Mountain Rangers wearing lovat green uniforms with feathered caps was assembling, as were a lot of very poor looking and many quite Oriental looking women.
The huge church doors opened and all the men in purple robes with white belts came struggling down the steps carrying a huge Virgin statue mounted on an ornate base.
A cart covered with velvet drapes was positioned, and the sweating men managed to lower the statue in place so the people could follow as it was pushed off down the streets. Very Catholic.
Various Campos, Piazzas and squares of excavated ruins, plus Sacra Argentina which was a buried temple found when some poor developer was preparing the site for two blocks of expensive town flats, and lots of church buildings….plenty to see, though the distances apart were a lot more than suggested by the map!
All of a sudden, blowing whistles and a motor bike riding policeman was excitedly trying to get some poor lady who had stopped at the traffic lights to drive on regardless of the red light. She did so, reluctantly, and then we saw a long convoy of camper vans come speeding along the road with police outriders leading them straight over the cleared junctions, enough for the lights to go from red to green to red and green again before the last van was through.
Later, we saw them all crammed together in a car park outside one of the very touristy palace buildings, obviously some sort of CamperVan rally right in the middle of Rome.
We rather wished we had chanced getting the bikes out, especially as it was now warming up considerably and we were regretting wearing our coats.
The pedestrianised areas would have been O.K., but the bits in between got very very busy with traffic and pedestrians, in fact, the Tivoli fountains were so crowded one could hardly get to see them properly, certainly not well enough to take a photograph.
Around the actual Coliseum there were hundreds of people. It was absolutely jam packed.
Other ruins in the process of being restored had lots of visitors, too. We decided out time would be up by the time we walked all the way back, and headed for the van.
I arrived a yard or so before Jeannie, worried our ticket would have expired, and the camper door was wide open.
The inside was a tip. Curtains drawn so passers by would not see them ransacking all the cupboards and pulling everything onto the floor.
The passenger door lock was ruined where a screw driver or something had been jammed in in an attempt to open the lock. My anti-theft rivet pins that prevent the lock popping up had worked, so they had gone to the caravan door instead.
The big brass bolts I fitted on the doors had resisted any attempt to open them….so the ******** had put a jemmy between the camper door and frame and levered the actual aluminium bodywork apart until the bolt had sprung from the socket.
Then they had discovered the camper van door lock was still preventing access.
So they levered open the kitchen window, breaking off the three retaining clips in the process, enabling them to unlock the caravan door by reaching inside.
Once in, they ransacked the cupboards and had got plastic shopping bags on the lounge seats with our various items inside, a spare camera, the CD player, inverter, etc., but for some reason they had not taken them with them.
Then we saw that the Honda generator had gone from behind the passenger seat, and realized they couldn’t carry the bags as well.
My Tom-Tom, being re-charged on the back seat, my watch, left behind because my wrist was itchy, a couple of bags of souvenirs ( including the jewellery Jeannie had so successfully haggled for in Pisa) and so on.
We always carry our wallets and bank cards, and a few other items were carefully and successfully hidden.
Broad daylight. Literally hundreds of people almost queuing to cross the road within a hundred yards of where we were parked, and they lug a bright red Honda generator off down the street.
The two camper vans ahead of us had also had their driver door locks destroyed with the screwdriver punch, but neither had opened. And, of course, their camper doors were on the right hand side, in the one way street constant traffic whereas ours was nicely concealed right beside the trunk of a tree on the pavement…….
We tried to stop quite a few policemen driving by in cars or on motorcycles, waving and trying to run after them if they stopped at the lights.
I whistled ( I have a very loud and piercing whistle ) and one almost stopped by Jeannie, looked straight at her while she yelled for him to help her….but he was on the phone as he drove, far more important, and just drove off.
I rang the special police phone number for tourist crime assistance. It was out of order.
Eventually I found two policemen in beautiful beige uniforms with lots of sparkling gold braid and pretty badges proclaiming them as Locality Police.
They would not come with me, but told me to cross the river and go to a police station about ¾ mile away.
It was shut.
At least, the big doors were firmly locked, so I went round the back and shouted to another beautifully uniformed layabout who was admiring his motor cycle to open the door.
That worked, and I went in to be greeted by two more impeccably turned out Carribiniera who informed me they could do nothing and I would have to go to the Tourist Crime police station half way across Rome.
The street was on the map, so we drove there. I was overtaken and shouted at by a blue light flashing police car because I was driving up a bus lane the wrong way in a one way street…..as he shot by, I swung into a side road and I think the traffic was so heavy, he could not be bothered to turn round to chase me.
Parked despite notices saying not to, and walked to the station to be accosted by a glamorous she-cop in the approach road and told they were shut on a Sunday, but I might see someone at an office round the corner.
Yes, very smart chaps. Three of them this time. All totally useless.
“Go police tomorrow. Where you go? Florence? Sienna? You say there. We are shut. It is Sunday.”
Useless prats.
Traffic was chaotic as we tried to leave Rome, totally disenchanted with the whole place and wishing every plague under the sun on the useless Italian idiots in both the criminal world and the police forces too.
We went round in circles. Two young men told us a big football match had just ended and traffic would be dreadful. They pointed us in the direction of a ring road which we went on for miles before discovering it was in totally the wrong direction.
As seems to be usual in Italy, every sign was for a locality, never for another town, and thus useless unless you knew the area.
Eventually found a road going to Tarquina and followed that, heading for the coast.
We found a whole bunch of campervans and parked up, twenty plus, and all Italian bar us.
Quiet night, but awoken early by shot gun shooting close by. Some poor ducks must be having a hard time.
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Monday Oct. 31st. 2005
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Cloudy but warm. Set off on the search for a police station. None to be found at Tarquinni Marina which is where we have stayed, so its off to the town which is a little inland. Having driven a lot further than intended last night, we are low on diesel, and I spot a petrol company sign on a road nearby, get on to it, only to find it is a dual carriageway motorway style road and the petrol station is on the wrong side of the road. Fortunately, able to turn at a junction after four kilometres and return to fill up with fuel.
58.976 litres at 1.153 per litre, total E 68, mileage 49194.
Asked the attendant where the cop shop was, and he said go up to the old town. Nice car park if you can avoid hitting the tree branches.
Jean went for a stroll round to see the shops and the rather scruffy castle ruins, I found the cop shop and rang the bell. The door, fortified with sheets of steel, was, as is usual, locked.
A young officer spoke enough English to invite me up the stairs and in to a waiting room.
I asked if all their police stations were like “castellos”, pointing at all the steel reinforcing on the doors. He understood, smiled, but did not answer.
Three officers then had an animated argument about what they should do as I had been robbed in Rome, which is nothing to do with them, so Rome coppers should have the paperwork, not them.
I smiled pleasantly, and it seemed they decided by two to one that I wasn’t such a bad bloke, and they were doing damn-all else anyway, so they would take a statement and make a report.
I was seated in the office and all three of them co-operated with signs, drawings, some French, some English, and many expressive gestures to fill in a report on the computer, a copy from which was eventually printed out, officially stamped and signed, and presented to me with many hand shakes and general agreement that Rome cops were not as good as Tarquinna cops!
Off to Grosseto Marina which was a lot further away than it looked on the map, joining about a dozen Italian and two English vans parked in a beach side car park at the Western end of town.
Got the bikes out and cycled all over the place.
In a very posh area, we saw builders developing some high class housing among the fully protected pine trees. This meant digging foundations inches from the roots of the huge pines. One or two houses even incorporated a tree within the building!
Seeing the huge bumps in the surrounding roads and pavements where the pine tree roots have lifted the tarmac, we wondered how a house foundation laid literally alongside the tree trunks would fare.
We are feeling a little better. The “Oh let’s just go home and sell the bloody camper” mood has mellowed with a hassle free day when even the driving was pleasant.
As we are starting to have dinner, we see all the other camper vans driving off, literally dozens keeping a steady stream in the direction of the marina end of town. Then a carribiniera car drives up and the policeman explains quite pleasantly that we are in a car park for cars.
The fact that there is not one single car in the car park seems to make no diference.
He explains they have a road on which camper vans can park, and gives us directions. We follow the two other English vans, pulling up behind them. I chat with Mr. Massey, owner of the van with a registration number MA53EYS who can not drive further along the road as his satellite dish is stuck up and the pine branches would knock it off. He eventually finds a switch he did not know he had which allows him to lower it.
For which he was thankful as he and the other van are off to Sicily in the morning.
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Tuesday 1st. November.
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Awoke to “pinch punch first of the month” after a restless night. It had been quite hot and had rained at times.
Driving back via Grosetto towards Sienna we enjoyed a lovely stretch of good dual carriageway, unfortunately not yet complete, so we were soon back on the old inferior road.
Plenty of signs to Camper Van Parking, and we found dozens of camping cars making about four lines in a big but quite scruffy car park. It is free.
We parked and walked up the hill to the main road then along to go through the town wall and in to the old town.
Followed signs to the centre and found it a lot further than anticipated. Almost all the shops were shut as it is All Saints Day, a Bank Holiday here. But we reached the famous square where they hold the horse race every year, surprised to find it dish-shaped rather than flat, and impressed by the towers around the square and lots of people taking photographs and generally milling about.
Everyone seemed to want a picture of a Romulus and Remus bronze, so I took one, too.
Then it started to rain and people literally ran for cover, crowding out one small shop selling folding umbrellas. In minutes, there were brollies everywhere. Most of the Italians had them all ready. Perhaps they had listened to the forecast.
We walked round to the Duomo, a lovely huge church in white and pink marble. Unfortunately the impressive and colourful front of the church was totally covered by scaffolding and sheeting as the façade was being restored.
Another square, this time with a striped tower, and then….an enormous crash of thunder, flashes of lightning, and torrential rain.
The narrow paved streets turned into streams, and we tried to shelter under small arch ways, but it seemed this rain was in for a long session. The streets had emptied as if by magic, every taxi vanishing in a cloud of spray. Not that a taxi would have been much good to us as I didn’t know where we were parked, and there is more than one camping van parking area around Sienna. So we decided there was nothing for it, and walked back the way we had come, totally soaked literally through to the skin.
Curly is wrapped in a towel, quite content to stay there, and we have had to change everything we wore.
A lot of vans have left, but there are still about a dozen remaining for the night.
It is only three weeks of the holiday so far, but we seem to have done so much that it feels longer.
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Wednesday.
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A good night but foggy in the morning, so we took our time over breakfast. Still able to squeeze water out of the coat cuffs of our wet clothes, so they will take a while to dry.
After a while the weather brightened and we decided to return to the town centre and see the difference with the shops being open. Busy, with lots of Canadian and American visitors on coach trips visiting famous places in Italy.
We bought some delicious pastries and sat on the marble steps of the cathedral for a break, oddly joined by an elderly German gentleman who came and sat beside us for his wife to take a photograph of him, odd because there was plenty of space on the steps for him to sit elsewhere.
We strolled round the square again, looking at the Chianti with alcohol content up to 13 % and costing about E5.50 for a 70cl. bottle of last years brew.
Jean bought a big Ferrari flag and multi coloured bows made of pasta to make a little present for Chris.
We treated ourselves to a three flavour pot of ice cream each, nice flavours but the ice cream was more ice than cream. Watery when compared with Kellys.
Next to us, a lady from the U.S. was resting her legs, unable to keep up with her group. They promised to come back for her in an hour. She had flown from J.F.K. to Rome, been to the Vatican which she described as pretty horrific as everyone was jammed shoulder to shoulder, shuffling round without ventilation, stuffy, but worth it to see the amazing gold and jewels on display. Next the Catacombs, to-day Sienna, to-morrow Florence and Pisa, then board a cruise ship at Gerona to tour the Med. before sailing back via the Canaries and the Caribbean to Florida.
Back to the camper, and we found that we had been an hour out for days as the clocks went back on Sunday. This means it is now dark at half past five, which makes for an awfully long evening.
A good job we had tired ourselves out with so much walking. An early night was on the cards, but somehow it was still half eleven when I began to get the bed made up.
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Thursday 3rd.
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Foggy again. But by the time we were ready to leave it had brightened.
I emptied the Thetford but decided against filling with water from the tap provided as it seemed to be too close to the open waste dump for my liking, and was used by lots of Italian drivers to rinse their Thetfords, too.
We headed out on the free motorway that led to Florence. Our Rome experience and the standard of driving encountered in busy areas convinced me to give Florence a miss. We saw it a few years ago, and, delightful though it was, it would not have changed enough to warrant a second visit, so I turned left towards Volterra.
The road climbed and twisted through some lovely Tuscan countryside, views of hill top towns, sharp bends in the road, but not too much traffic.
We pulled up before Volterra for a coffee and a car drew up beside us with a family from Bruges. He said he had been following his Tom Tom and had finished up in a farmers field. We told him he had somehow missed Volterra, so he turned and went back.
We saw a “motorhome parking” sign as we entered the town and followed the arrow, suddenly less than sure it really meant us when the road narrowed alarmingly and went round a really tight z-bend down the side of a cliff! It seemed to go on, a lane and lots of sharp bends, until we were convinced someone had been turning the signs the wrong way, but then we came to a nice aire complete with tap and dump situated only a hundred metres outside the base of the old town walls.
The hundred metres was mainly upwards. Through an arch at the base of the old wall, a gushing spring of water falling into a big stone bath-shaped area in which large fish were swimming, then steps, steps, and more steps, splitting into three flights as we climbed towards the houses above.
Narrow stone-paved lanes between tall old buildings, lovely squares, and shops selling lots of alabaster eggs and much more elaborate creations, especially in the main square where a huge shop was home to the Alabaster Producers Association.
In a small shop on the way up, Jean bought a few of the brightly coloured eggs for E1.50 each, the elderly lady shopkeeper telling her all about how the white, grey, or tan coloured natural alabaster was mined locally and cut to shape then rolled in dye crystals. Next it was soaked to absorb the bright colours before being polished to appear as we see it, like shiny marble.
And in the window of the very posh Alabaster Association premises, the same coloured eggs were just E1.20.
We had seen the ramparts of the castle, showing up miles before we even reached the town, so set off to explore. When we got there, it turned out to be a prison with signs forbidding photography.
Although we could have stayed the night in the very pleasant “sosta” we decided the weather would probably be misty again to-morrow, so did our shopping and headed towards Cecia via hairpin roads over the hills, enjoying the lovely views.
Straight on to Varda and back to our little cul-de-sac by the beach where we had stayed just over a week ago. The sun was nearly setting, and Jean went straight out to have a walk along the beach.
She was amazed to see huge lumps of tree roots, long canes of bamboo, and even one piece of a pine tree some 42ft. long plus another length of 25ft., possibly from the same tree, washed up at the edge of the sand.
There must have been one hell of a storm to bring this lot in. We could hardly believe it. It has been like a mill pond every time we have seen it, and apart from the thunder and lightning, we don’t seem to have had any extreme weather.
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Friday.
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Nice sunny start to the day, then it clouded over and we were just beginning to think the weather had changed when out came the sun and it warmed up so well that Jeannie was up to her thighs paddling in the sea.
Most of the jetsam has floated into the water again. I am amazed none of the fishermen bothered to drag the larger logs and tree trunks away from the high tide mark to stop them floating away. I certainly wouldn’t like to run into one of those things in a boat.
We left the quiet delights of Varda and motored along the coast, passing Pisa in the sunshine and reaching Viareggio where we followed the camper parking signs all round the town until they cease just at a multi junction. I am somewhat brassed off by this typical Italian attitude to sign posting. We have found ourselves in a fenced off area beside a main road, outside a factory that makes huge grotesques and giant figures for carnivals and falladas.
Back to follow another set of signs, and we find a dismal triangular area wedged between a fly-over and the railway line. Admittedly, each marked space is provided with an electric point and a water tap, but it is shut anyway.
I parked on the sea front road and we walked along looking in shops with wonderfully arranged displays that look like art exhibits, far too nice to spoil by going in and buying anything. The beach is almost totally deserted, and one can only get to it through narrow little alleys between the rows of restaurants and cafes, all boarded up, that each control their own slice of beach. In fact, when on the beach, they have large signs with “Exit” so you can find a place to get off.
We followed yet more “camping” signs, this time seeming to go almost back to Pisa, before deciding that they must refer to commercial sites that have all closed up and battened down for the Winter. Considering how many groups of camper vans we have come across in other towns, the lack of any even driving around in this area suggests it is one of those not friendly to motorhome areas. I am becoming very up tight. It is dark, Italian drivers do not like wasting electricity by putting their lights on, they have zero road sense, car doors open just as you drive by, my eyes are on stalks and I am once again learning to dislike Italy intensely.
More by luck than judgement I recognize a roundabout as being near where we had seen some campers parked when we drove through the town on our way down, and on turning in, there is a car park for camper vans. It is next to a wire-fenced area being developed, probably the actual camping area some of those damned signs once pointed to. However, I’m in, and can rest my very tired eyes at last.
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Saturday November 5th.
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Light rain and cloudy but not cold. Got the bikes out after breakfast and left Curly in the van as we cycle off along the wide beachside promenade. Some of the paving is in lovely white marble and there is a wide bike track all the way along. Unfortunately, the almost unbroken row of restaurants, bathing points and bars between the promenade and the actual beach ruins the view, and again there are just a few tiny little access points.
We were disappointed that the stalls and the market area we had seen when we drove through last Saturday now seem to have gone. In fact, it looked to be a totally different place, so quiet with the shops all open but empty.
We went to the marina and cycled out to the end of the harbour wall. Very big sleek motor yachts, some of them more like full size ships. Not much sign of the poor Italians. Torquay harbour is full of dinghies by comparison.
We put our orange cycle capes on to go back. I think it is the first time we have worn them, and it made the rain go away.