Il Po e gli Appennini…
Monday 9 September
The day started at 6am. We cleared camp in record time in order to make the 8am ferry to the Lido. We arrived at the ticket office and were told that our passage with bikes was not guaranteed and that it would be at the discretion of the captain as to whether or not he would take us all on or whether we would have a very broken morning having to wait an hour and a half for the next boat to bring the second half of the party. We were waiting in line with a painful Italian guy indirectly, but clearly directly having a go at us because we were on bikes. Lisa tried very hard to ignore him. As we approached the ferry we could see the captain leaning over the rails to check us out. The guard asked if we bought tickets for the bikes as well and when we answered yes, he just let us keep walking. A huge relief.
Once we’d parked our bikes in the open area we were greeted by a sublime moment in the waters just out of Venezia. The sun was already rising and using its pastel palette, a soft, romantic sky was painted. The sharpness of the white snow capped Alpes in the distance against the pinks and oranges gave way to the darker tones of olive green that defined the various types of pine and other trees in the foreground, only to then role into the browner, softer autumnal colours of the thinly lined marshes surrounding the blue green of the lagoon. Although frail, the composition had extraordinary depth. It would be a mistake to underestimate the power of the very thin marsh line which without it, the texture of the Alpes and the large expanse of sky are less powerful, less present, less relevant. Xavier remarked that he now had a much better appreciation for the landscape behind La Gioconda. This together with the dampened air, lined our nostrils with an elixir. Every breathe was ‘painfully beautiful’ as Simeon would say. We got off at the Lido and had a quick, snacky breakfast while Xavier changed Arsène’s back tyre which has been going flat regularly over the last few days. Just as we were about to get going Oreste accidentally smashed the jar of abricot jam on the wharf. After cleaning up, we rode a lovely 15kms to the next ferry hop. We arrived at the perfect moment so the guy was able to squeeze us in on the side behind a van, right next to a bus and right up against a Vespa.
After a quick 5 minute crossing we rode another 15 kms and did breakfast and lunch shopping at Pellestrina before heading to yet another ferry hop that would take us to Chioggia. The boys met an old man on his bike out the front of the supermarket. We found out that he also had relatives in Australia, which seems to be the case for many here. Back on our bikes, we headed for the wharf. On the boat and just as we pulled out from the wharf we saw the old man pushing his bike along the pier in the distance. We waved at him. He recognised us and repeatedly put his hand to his heart and blew kisses.
Chioggia is a very attractive town, much like a mini Venice. It felt like it would have been worth spending a day or two, but we continued on our way and stopped for lunch in what felt like a dodgy little park in Rosalina where we had to make the base of a tree a one off toilet stop. There were no toilets in the playground and there was nowhere discrete. Covering our trail, we were heading for the Po Delta which took us over a number of very long bridges we shared with semi trailers. The fact the we had at least a small bike lane made us feel relatively safe and much to the credit of most drivers they gave us more room when they drove passed. Such a different experience to Slovenia or Switzerland. We were nervous but given the considerate behaviour of the other road users we felt safe. We felt like there was a mutual respect and that there was some type of understanding about how vulnerable we were. They didn’t see it as a form of power or that they had more right to be on the road. We were there as much as they were and that was absolutely ok. They didn’t use that sense of ‘I’m bigger and more dangerous therefore get out of my way’. It was nice to just be able to be yourself without fear of being harassed or aggressed in some way. The reliance and trust bike riders put into the humanity of others was made abundantly clear.
Arsène also saved his mother from five days of throbbing, inflamed, itching hell. We were having an Italian conversation session riding side by side on a calm bike track when Arsène looked at Lisa. His face changed ‘Maman you have a wasp on your pinky’. Rolling at 20kms per hourish, Lisa thought ‘flick’ and it was gone. Thank you Arsène!
Much of what we travelled through was very suburban and industrial. We eventually made it to our camping ground which is the cheapest we’ve paid so far – 15 euros for all of us. The boys finally got to frolick in a pool, even though as soon as the sun started coming down the boys were quite happy to get out without prompting. The manager of the place was friendly but slippery. Difficult to trust and despite his interest, was difficult to get too close to. We eventually got to meet the owner, il tremendo Andrea, who we later found out is also the director of the balloon festival currently taking place in Ferrara, which is where we are headed tomorrow. He’s invited us to go pitch our tent next to his camper van tomorrow night and enjoy the festival.
Tuesday 10 September
We set off at around 9:30 and made our way towards the Po river.
On our way Oreste questioned time. Why do we have it? Why is it 10:05 and not 3:05? Who invented time? Why is time different here than in space? Why don’t we just use the same time of space? This then progressed onto reflections about our common humanity and how we are all brothers and sisters, even the people that we scream at for driving too close to us are our brothers and sisters. And if we are brothers and sisters why do we have wars? By the time we finished these reflections we began to ride along one of the branches of the beautifully wild Po River. Images of Dante’s Styx river came to mind. Is this what he saw? With the wind behind us, the 70 kms to Ferrara we’re done very quickly.
The Po is a beautifully rugged river with no boats large or small abusing it. There were a great deal of birds and we were even greeted by several pheasants, snakes and skinks along the way. The butterflies are dainty and iridescent. The small purple butterflies have a shimmer of iridescent blue that is sublime when caught momentarily by the sun. We saw brightly coloured yellow butterflies as well as white ones. Such magic riding. The wind blew the leaves of the what seemed to be poplar trees. It blew the long grass lining the bike path. Soothing to hear, to ride through, to breath, to watch. Like thick hair blowing in the wind, rising up, laying down, swirling. We felt we were on a flying carpet. Life is so incredibly beautiful in its simplicity. If only we all took the time to look and listen more and better.
We stopped to have a snack because there were no shops in sight to stock up. We didn’t do too badly – a fairly large bread roll from yesterday, salami, feta cheese, tomatoes followed by prunes, grapes and chocolate bars. Needles to say it was only a snack because the boys are constantly hungry. They could be eating every half hour and even went as far to say that we weren’t feeding them enough. We made it to the campground where we decided to stay.
Lisa called Andrea to let him know that we needed access to a shower and washing machine tonight so we will go by and see him either later tonight or tomorrow morning. He understood and was happy with the idea of a coffee.
We enjoyed an early arrival and made the most of getting the shopping done for dinner tonight, showers and washing. Let’s just hope the clothes dry in the wind fast enough before the sun goes down.
Xavier has developed conjunctivitis which we are treating by washing out with saline solution. We were reminded of the strangeness of the Dutch language at this camping ground. And also of the behaviour, which wasn’t normal. The guys on their bikes accused the boys of taking one of their metal plates that they used to lean their motorbikes on in the grass. The boys had no idea what they were talking about. Xavier obviously told them where to get off, accusing the boys when they had no idea, nor interest. They didn’t even know what the bikers were talking about. In the end, they found it and felt stupid. Rightly so.
After that intermission, we decided to ride to Bologna tomorrow instead of catching the train. We can’t remember why we said we’d train it because it’s flat and only 50kms from here. We’re looking forward to getting up higher in the mountains on our way to Florence as well. The cooler temperatures will mean less mosquitos which are absolutely voracious here. Ever since we’ve been in Italy we have been supplying the local communities with well oxygenated blood which they clearly can’t get enough of. It feels that someone is missing. We’re all missing Kornel.
Wednesday 11 September
This morning we entered the very chilled, yet highly sophisticated historic town of Ferrara via a road that passed through what used to be the extreme wall of the city. This place is so heavy with history and the remnant spirits of these characters that linger and drip from its charming walls. In an area where the Etruscans arrived in the 6th century BC, where Dante’s rivalry between the Guelph and Ghibelline families played out, where Antonioni shot films, where Titian, Bellini and Pietro delà Francesca hailed and Lucrezia Borgia loved – to name but a few.
It was very well organised for such an old city (thanks to Biagio Rossetti), but that is no doubt tied to the fact that there are very few cars and many people simply walking. It was wonderful to see so many people of all ages on bikes. Women in suits, older ladies doing their shopping. The dad that had just dropped his child off and stopped out the front of the coffee shop for his ristretto. Students between classes. As we were eating a snack a young girl on her bike rode into a few chairs out the front of a coffee shop. Her very cute and totally innocent response was ‘opah’.
Reluctantly leaving this tumultuously exciting place, we rode another 50 kms along some beautifully quiet bike paths where we saw otters and collected wild figs. We had a Virgil show up at a decisive moment who told us which way to go and then enjoyed a very generous home made ice cream in a park after lunch. What a great idea to have a gelateria facing the kids park.
Tonight we are camping just outside Bologna in a hideously expensive camp ground with crap in the women’s shower block, that is right next to some huge Fun park type festival. Let’s see how much sleep we get tonight! We are covered in mosquito bites.
Thursday 12 September
Before leaving this morning we struck up a conversation with the woman who was watching us set up camp yesterday evening. She came over to tell us how curious she was and in a round about way declare the benign nature of her constant surveillance. She noted we speak three different languages and the English was not like hers; are a large family on bikes with fairly young children, trained in efficient methods of setting up and taking down camps; and practice minimalist cooking. She was captivated by the cooking skills with so little. Lisa’s way of chopping the onion, the timing around what was cooked first (the rice) in which casserole (the smallest) which was then put to the side, only to then make a fabulously perfumed dish in the larger casserole which she could smell from over the road (garlic, onion, zucchini, chick peas, mushrooms, maybe egg). And all of that would be ready once the boys had returned from their shower, the tent was up and then there was dessert.
She watched all of it. At least it entertained her. We told her what we were doing and she was so bowled over and went back to her caravan to tell her husband. Her enthusiasm and curiosity was very sweet. He came over to say hi, we chatted a little more and then were on our way to Bologna.
What a great city. A hot, young, grungy and sophisticated cesspit all at the same time. Junkies openly shooting up in one street, university students celebrating a graduation around the corner. This is what Fellini was capturing. Opinions, posters, artworks, poetry, graffiti layering these beautiful old burnt orange walls. Here there was life. In all its beautiful and repulsive colours simultaneously. Contradictions have never looked or felt so movingly poetic. It was sublimely invigorating. Where a precarious balancing of life played an other worldly tune that spun its fragility, strength and beauty skyward before free-falling back into the discoloured liquid trickling between the vein like cracks of the ancient cobblestones laid out to be walked over by everyone and anyone – the pompous, the wretched , the virile, the youthful, the robots, the old. Painful beautiful harmony in the mosh pit. Exhilarating.
We were invited into the Accademia di Belle Arti di Bologna by one of the professors who saw us peaking in the hallway with our laden bikes. We each had a chance to float through a hall of figurative statues that spoke a thousand mesmerising languages and lured your gaze into each of its subtle mounds, meaningful crevasses, superb forms and scale. Lisa saw the most beautiful silk, autumnal golden brown with a tinge of red, high neck jumpsuit she had ever seen in a shop front window. This alongside the depths of despair being played out just a few streets away.
We ate pasta bolognese – of course – in a restaurant but were left wanting. The portions were way too sophisticated for bellies that feed thousands of revolutions per day. After lunch we started heading for the hills but we had to stop at the nearest decathlon to buy new air mattresses for the boys. The road getting there was like a maze. We seemed to be going round and round in circles, ended up going the wrong direction on certain roads. None of it made any sense. We were caught up in the unhinged, brilliant, madness of the place. We eventually got there, but couldn’t find the same air mattresses we had before which had the anti slip cloth on one side – the ideal. We couldn’t be choosy so we cut our losses and started heading for the mountains.
We made it to Sasso Marconi but there are very few camping spots here and wild camping wasn’t really an option because it was too built up. We went to a camping ground which was our only hope and they told us that they couldn’t take tents but suggested we go knock on the door of the house just down the road that sells fresh veggies. We made our way over as suggested only to find a heavily pregnant young woman tending the field in front of a rather grand old home. The dogs were wildly barking so we waited until she had them under control before we got within talking distance. We explained our predicament and her elderly father allowed us to pitch our tent for the night in the back of his future b&b for 10 Euros. But because it wasn’t yet ready, we wouldn’t have access to hot water but we could have a cold shower using the hose just under the trees if we wanted. We focused on getting dinner ready, pitching the tent and keeping the mozzies at bay which are driving us completely mad.
Friday 13 September
We left Sasso Marconi prepared for a day of climbing into the Appennini Mountains. It was a relatively difficult day but not impossible. It was unfortunate that Lisa’s memory of almost being killed twice was on an Italian road because we’ve found that most drivers, even on the more busy roads, are very patient and give you ample space. Of course there’s always one or two but we’re feeling well looked after. Having said that however, we also know when we’re pushing our luck and today that sense was swelling, so the moment we could go on the bike track we did and it was an excellent choice.
Although the gravel road and getting bogged in mud was difficult, we were surrounded by greenery and the sound of the running river. We continued on our way and stopped for lunch in Piazza della Pace in Vergato. A quiet but very picturesque little town where we enjoyed our usual home made sandwiches with ingredients that we bought earlier before leaving Sasso Marconi. Léon wanted to test his language and euro counting skills so went off to the Conrad supermarket but unfortunately came back empty handed because it was closed, which was a good thing because instead we enjoyed gelato artiginale from the little bar next to the park which was animated by a group of old men, a pair of young men and another lonely drunk man with his glass of red wanting to make conversation. The coffee and chocolate fondant were just divine. So full of body and flavour. Unbeatable.
High on the energy of this place, we continued on our way, surrounded by a beautiful green, mountainous landscape and rode into one of our most adventurous moments in Italy.
As we were riding we saw a castle come mosque perched up on a hill top that seemed to be a combination of byzantine and Arab architecture. The fusion of styles of La Rocchetta Mattei Di Riola were magical in this setting. We kept riding up and up and eventually made it to a spot where we could stop for a breather. There we were greeted by two lovely women sitting on a balcony overlooking the road. They were having an afternoon chat while one of them was preparing the greens for dinner. We asked for directions and struck up a conversation in passing, they congratulated us on what may seem like madness, but is pure beauty in disguise. We’ve come across a lot of people in Italy full of surprise and encouragement, including the woman from the Accademia Di Belle arti Di Bologna yesterday. She was so curious, as are many.
Tonight we’ve made it to a lovely camp spot just above Lago Di Suviana which we will visit in the morning. It may be just because we didn’t have a shower yesterday and we sweat a lot today but the shower tonight felt like the best shower experience ever. The blanketing warmth of a hot shower on cold skin reminds you how full bodies make life. Fuller, warmer, redder, hotter. There is such a deep pleasure in wholesomely and wholeheartedly enjoying those things we take for granted. Who would have ever thought that a shower could be as deeply rewarding, reinvigorating and fulfilling.
If we would have read the landscape, not just admired it, we might have had an idea about what was waiting for us. The road was blocked by metal barricades so Xavier and the boys went to investigate while Lisa looked after the bikes. It seemed that the road had given way to a landslide. There was no other way, so we had to push our bikes through the steep slide. It wasn’t easy and overgrown with all sorts of plants and weeds, including prickly ones. It was astounding to see what had happened to the road. All of a sudden the roads we travel on look so much more fragile and less reliable than what was imagined. The bitumen looked like a thin layer of liquorice on top of clay, dirt, stones, rubble, bricks. As we continued on the buckled track we saw that its an area which has experienced many landslides, patched up roads and entire mountainsides have given way. The scars of this are very evident and a clear reminder to all – including the people with homes within metres of the edge of that last landslide. Possibly one of the reasons you see a lot of ‘vendesi’ (I’d sell) signs in the area.
Saturday 14 September
The calm and satisfaction offered by the wonderful shower last night was taken away by a wonky tent floor, which meant we were rolling to one side all night long and didn’t get to sleep very much. But we did get to hear the wonderful sounds of the night life in the mountains up here. When going out for the nightly pee, Oreste got to see the owl we all heard that was perched up high in a branch of the pine tree grove that surrounded us on the full moon. We heard deers and wolves as well as birds who played in the branches in early hours of the morning.
The morning started off awfully. Lisa is ready to leave the kids in any village. They are driving their parents bonkers. Lisa stormed off the campsite as soon as she was done and headed off to see the lake next to which we camped to have some alone time which is rarely possible on such trips. Xavier pointed out that although we may have thought about everything before we left and were incredibly well organised, the idea of being together 24/7 did not even dawn on us. Never did we imagine that spending time together would be so powerfully demanding emotionally and psychologically. It’s easy to understand why parents just give in to mind zapping, attitude consuming, life sucking mobile devices. But we don’t want to hand over our children’s brains and spirits to these power hungry, multinational panopticon thieves.
After another minor bike repair, this time on Oreste’s bike, we were ready to continue our ride up into the Appennini. It was the most difficult of the legs with very steep and unrelenting climbs. We got up to 1000 metres. Memories of Les Enfers came back. Zig zagging roads climbing higher as we zagged up. There were moments where the grass smelt like freshly cut oregano. The butterflies were out in big numbers. When we got to the top and rode around the curves of the mountains it was impressive to see where we had come from and its context. We were perched up with a view of Pistoia down below and the ridges of the southern side of Appennini. After relishing the various views, we travelled a long, gloriously refreshing descent into Pistoia. About 10-15 kms away from the centre we felt a wave of heat envelop us. Similar to our experience on entering Biel/Bienne. The difference in temperature was at least 10 degrees higher. It was radically different from up high. We went to the b&b we found online last night, had some lunch, dropped off our bags argued some more with the boys who still were resentful for having to do work and then went down into the city of Pistoia. Another very cute town with an interesting history, captured in the multitude of textures. The old bricks, the sandstone, to concrete, the plaster, the marble, the figurative, the abstract, the narrow streets and how all of these are aligned to provide a strategic perspective onto the Apennini. The ride in and out was dominated by nurseries of specific tree growers. Pines, palms trees, decorative plants, amber trees, camélias – so many plants of all kinds.
We came home and made a very big dinner of pasta bolognese – clearly filling the frustrating gap left by yesterday’s lunch – and a salad. Being in a home as opposed to a tent feels so excessive. Do we really need all this? The shiny, clean tiles, the pretty containers. It feels devoid of texture, poetry, chance, nature. Even the beds felt too much. Do we really need an entire room for a piece of furniture which dictates what happens in that room? Do we really need a room for a screen that reigns supreme on a throne of more furniture which has called for more furniture to praise it? The only place that seemed worthwhile – at a stretch – was the kitchen and table. A pipe with warm water spouting from a nearby scrub would have been a much more a poetic shower, closer to nature, closer to ourselves in all our glorious contradictions.
