Thursday, 26th July 2007
Up early again (old habits die hard), and after breakfast we took to the bikes again, looking for Torre Del Lago Puccini, where we would be seeing Madam Butterfly on Sunday at the open-air theatre by the lake.
Torre Del Lago wasn’t too far away (about 25 minutes by bike), but then it was a bit of a stretch to the lake. We didn’t think that walking or cycling from our present campsite for the opera and back was a viable idea, so we need to rethink.
The lake was beautiful, and from what we could see of the theatre, it was very impressive. Since it was mid-morning, the area was quiet, and free from sight-seers. After taking a few photographs, we cycled off, to find the orchestra and choir rehearsing for the night’s performance in a huge marquee. It was a beautiful sound, and made us wish we had tickets.
On the way in, we had seen a sign for a campsite, which was only around a mile or so from the theatre. We investigated, and turned round as soon as we found it. The campsite was right next to (like 20 metres from) the main motorway. We decided not to book.
A little further out of town, we followed the signs for another campsite, and we cycled round it. Apart from the regimented green-covered permanent tents and caravans (every one had a military-looking green plastic cover over the whole pitch), the site seemed okay, and had the requisite facilities and shop.
We followed the signs out the back of the campsite, and found a track which looked like the one which went past our campsite, which indeed it was. We had a much more pleasant ride ‘home’, avoiding the cars and lorries of the main road.
Italian driving is a cliché. I’d seen some before, and had experienced a white-knuckle ride as passenger from a factory in Turin to the airport a few years ago. Maybe I had preconceptions about the driving styles, due to the fact that I was going to miss my flight. I didn’t miss the flight.
Driving in Italy takes a bit of getting used to. France, Germany, Switzerland, the Benelux countries – all fine (if you call driving on the wrong side of the road fine). In Italy, the rules of the road get thrown out of the window at the first opportunity after they have passed their tests (they do take driving tests, don’t they?). The only law seems to be – every person for themselves (women and men drive the same way). Right of way? Forget it. Don’t assume that because you’re on the main road, and that person on the side road has painting on the road and signs on sticks to say “STOP” – that they will. If you’re cycling, the vehicles seem to give you a wide berth, but that’s only because they’re going to pull in front of you to turn right as if you weren’t there. Your side of the road is only your side of the road until someone coming the other way wants to use it. And they will.
Pedestrians have right of way everywhere, whether they’re on a zebra crossing or jaywalking in between. They are allowed (seemingly) to stand in the road, talking to their mates, and you have to drive around them.
Driving along the seafront, a car was backing out of a parking space into the road. I stopped, and waited, dutifully. Not so the bloke behind me, who sounded his horn, overtook me, narrowly avoiding the car backing out and a van coming the other way. The car behind him did the same, only without the horn.
Mopeds and scooters are everywhere, and are a law unto themselves. The least said about them, the better.
Annie insisted we go to the bar at lunchtime, so we could get our fix of email and gossip. Annie was very good, and emailed friends and family, and then browsed the Tour de France and Big Brother sites – essential stuff for any traveller. I cruised my email, Facebook and forums, and we sat outside, planning our next few days.
After the requisite post-lunchtime siesta, I cycled off to find the tyre shop, ready for the annual purchase of a new tyre. I met a very friendly man, who checked that he had a Pirelli Citynet (or the newer version thereof) in stock, of the right size, and even gave me a price from the catalogue, without having to resort to the usual computer antics (see last year’s blog). We made a date for the next morning, and I cycled off happily.
I cycled back to the beach, and took many photos of it and the mountains behind, and then it was back to the van.
As Annie’s birthday was approaching, I treated her to a very special Italian
broom (€3.90 – nothing is too expensive for my Annie), and she enjoyed herself sweeping out the van ready for leaving the campsite in the morning. Well, she must have enjoyed it as she didn’t swear – much. We had quiche and salad for dinner and I had a glass or two of Beaune (Annie’s still on lemonade due to her virus) and we chilled and read and watched the family on the next pitch who had pot noodles and coke for dinner – better than the telly.
