A (very) Rough Guide to Italy

by Sally Branston

One trip which was very different from the expectations raised by a newspaper article was to the Sassi Gorge in southern Italy. The writer, Graham Fawcett, takes a trip to Basilicata, inspired by the book "Christ Stopped at Eboli" by Carlo Levi. (I can recommend this book for an insight into the southern Italian mind and character, and appreciation of their history and culture.) Fawcett wrote a very romanticised account of his visit and my own experience was somewhat different.

Cave Dwellings at Sassi

Leaving Naples on the Salerno motorway, we were astounded to see a working electronic information sign. In two and a half years of living there, we'd never seen such a thing before and its impact was so surprising that we forgot to be cautious about its message. "Traffic flow restrictions in Angri," it read helpfully. No problem. Our motorway route took us straight past the little town of Angri. Except that it didn't. The motorway was completely closed and all traffic was being diverted into a narrow, potholed shopping street, totally unsuited to cope with this additional burden. Hence the traffic restrictions. And, possibly, the name of the town.

There is no such thing as a signed diversion in southern Italy. When a road is closed you are completely on your own. We followed everyone else for a bit until motorway signs for Salerno eventually reappeared, then found ourselves on a nice new stretch of motorway, completely unknown to us, but which did eventually lead to Salerno - from the wrong direction - with the loss of only half an hour's travelling time.

On towards Potenza, along quiet A roads through dramatic rocky scenery marred only by the concrete shells of uncontrolled building projects with which southern Italy is littered. Near Potenza there was another diversion and also thick fog. We groped our way up and down hilly, twisting roads until, without explanation, we rejoined the road we had started on. We looked in vain for somewhere to stop and open our sandwiches and flask of coffee, but there was nowhere to pull off the road, not even a service area, and eventually we had to settle for an uninspiring roadside layby just outside Matera.

The diversions meant that we didn't arrive in Matera until 2 pm, just as everything was closing for "riposo". We found the Piccolo Albergo recommended in the Times with only moderate difficulty and were relieved to find that it was heated. Many buildings in southern Italy aren't heated in winter and it can be jolly cold We and two other couples were evidently the only strangers in town on this Saturday afternoon in January, so we were easy pickings for the locals. We were admiring the carved doorway of the town museum when the first "guide" approached and offered to take us round the rock dwellings or Sassi (for a small fee, of course). "Nothing is labelled and you won't know what you're looking at without someone to tell you." Nothing is ever labelled in southern Italy, thus providing official custodians with a useful supplementary source of income, and guidebooks are rarely on sale, so we know to go well prepared and do our own research beforehand. We managed to shake him off, but not so the two stray dogs which adopted us shortly afterwards and persistently followed us for the next three hours, until we managed to lose them in a busy shopping street, making me feel very guilty. They were nice, good natured dogs, but dirty and one was limping badly.

The gorge of the Sassi is a World Heritage Site and actually boasts a signposted tourist trail leading down into the cave dwelling area of the Sasso Caveoso. The path is uneven and in one place has been dug up and replaced by soft sand. It is also littered with rubbish and evidence of passing dogs. The trail directs you to a belvedere where you can overlook the gorge, and this gives the custodian of the Church of Santa Lucia alle Malve chance to home in on you. Of course you would like to come with him and see the remains of the frescos painted on the rocky interior wall of the church (the exterior looks like a lock-up garage in a slum). Only a small fee is involved, although you get the hard sell when he opens the drawer containing his little hoard of guidebooks.

We counted ourselves lucky to escape with the purchase of three only slightly overpriced postcards, his parting shot being to tell us not to bother to visit the other cave house area, the Sasso Barisano, as there would be nothing there worth seeing.

In retrospect, this was probably a mistake, as he no doubt had some personal axe to grind, but the cold, the terrible seediness of it all; the unwelcome attentions of the dogs and yet another very persistent "guide" were enough to dissuade us from venturing further.

The town was just coming back to life again, although why the South clings to the notion of siesta in the depths of winter is a mystery to me. We found a nice bar and had coffee, then killed time back in our hotel room by watching an endless Italian game show on RAI in which the contestants tried to amass a very small fortune, 100,000 lire at a time. The weather report forecast fog for the next day.

According to my guidebook, the nearby trattoria was "the best in Matera" - not necessarily untrue. The food, nonetheless, was poor and unappetising and the couple ahead of us commandeered the gas heater and had it wheeled to within inches of their table. As it was the only form of heating in the place, I kept my coat on.

Next morning there was indeed thick fog. This, however, did not deter the average local from wearing his sunglasses. We headed straight off to Metaponto on the coast. There were some Greek ruins to visit - just us, the custodian and his cats - and then, in search of a cup of coffee, we headed to the beach resort area. The sand was beautiful and clean, the sea flat. There was of course neither car park nor coffee bar nor anything else open, but we left the car outside the horse butcher's and had a brief walk on the sand to say we'd seen the Gulf of Taranto.

Following the valley of the Agri River back towards Salerno, the road took us through miles of orange groves alternating with rocky cliffs. Anticipating further motorway problems at Agri, we decided to return to Naples via Avellino. We'd never been there, as the guide books say it's not worth a special trip, but we thought we would have a quick look as we were in the area. Big mistake. You could get into Avellino, but you couldn't get out again. The road we wanted had been closed by a landslide and all roads led back to the town centre again. Eventually we asked a local. "Napoli?" he said, stroking his chin, looking up and down the road for inspiration. You would think we'd asked directions to a foreign country. But eventually he came up with a route that worked. As all roads in and out of Naples seemed to be blocked at the moment, I remarked to my husband that they didn't seem to want to let outsiders in. "No," he replied sadly, "They just don't want to let anyone escape."

**

Yes, before you tell me about it, I realise there are certain cultural differences at work here. I know that many italian people prefer to be shown round places of interest by a guide, whereas British people tend to prefer to go round alone with a guide book. Italians prefer to take a long lunch and we prefer to snack and eat our main meal in the evening, particularly when sight-seeing. But if you had seen how grotty and dirty this supposed World Heritage Site was, you would have wondered, as we did, what the point of such a designation was, if it wasn 't going to lead to its better preservation and some sort of facilities for tourists. And I tend to disagree with those people who say they've never had a bad meal in Italy. I've had several - it's like anywhere else in that respect.

This article is taken from a fuller piece published in VISA issue 44 (winter 2001), part of which was originally published in the newsletter of ItaliaSIG.

Return to La Belle Epoque

By David Gourley

Over my dozen or so years of contributing to Visa I have written about a number of countries spanning all seven continents.  But I have yet to write about one of our favourite, and most visited countries, Italy.  It’s time to remedy this omission.

Our first proper holiday in Italy, as distinct from just passing through, was a quarter of a century ago (that sure makes me feel old).  We had a fortnight in a resort on Lake Como and fell in love with the area and its harmonious bringing together of natural and manmade beauty.  As a fellow traveller put it, the beauty “seeps into the soul”.  Since then we have had city breaks in Venice (twice), Florence and Rome, and longer stays on Lake Garda (taking in three visits to the Verona Opera) and in Tuscany.

Not so long ago we finally made it to the South, staying a week in the lovely town of Sorrento, in a hotel that gave us a room with fine views over the Bay of Naples.   Tours included the Amalfi Coast, Capri and Pompeii.  And also Naples.  This city doesn’t always get a good press and some in our party preferred to stay in Sorrento.  But what we saw of it, including the excellent Archaeological Museum, was fine.  At any rate we saw Naples and didn’t die. 

Our most recent stay, and the subject of this article, was in Stresa, on Lake Maggiore.  With Como and Garda, this is one of the trio of big lakes in Northern Italy and, as noted, we had stayed on the other two.  We had in fact done a day trip to Stresa, travelling down by rail from Interlaken in Switzerland, where we were staying.   Rather indignantly we had enquired, when purchasing our ticket, why we weren’t getting the half fare to which our Swiss Pass entitled us.  Because, said the young lady without missing a beat, Stresa is in Italy.  We had on the whole enjoyed good weather in Interlaken but today it was raining.  Having walked around Stresa in bright sunshine, we arrived back to find that it had been raining all day in Interlaken. 

The bad news was that our flight was with a ‘no-frills’ airline.  The good news was that it wasn’t Ryanair.  We landed at Malpensa Airport, a rather odd name since it translates as ‘bad thought’.  But at least Silvio Berlusconi, the egotistical former Prime Minister whose power base is nearby Milan, didn’t get round to renaming it after himself!  We stayed in one of the ‘grand’ hotels, right by the Lake, and enjoyed our after dinner strolls alongside it. 

Our week’s stay included several excursions.  On day one it was a fairly short trip: to two of the Borromean islands, which are the proverbial stone’s throw from Stresa.  The visitor to Stresa is likely to hear a fair bit about the aristocratic Borromeo family who have over the centuries been important in this area and are still going strong.  They give their name not just to the islands, of which there are four, three of which are open to the public, but to the bay on which Stresa is located.  On one of the islands, Isola Bella, they own a magnificent palace.  They also give their name to the grandest of the grand hotels, the Hotel Borromeo, which is a short distance from our own. 

Isola Bella

We first visited Isola Bella, which aptly translates as ‘beautiful island’ though ‘Bella’ is actually named from a lady called Isabella who married, no prizes for guessing, into the Borromeo family.  The Palace has many fine rooms and we were expertly taken round by a local guide with a great sense of humour.  He decided to get his Berlusconi joke in first: “this is the room where we hold our bunga bunga parties”.   At time of our visit the ‘technocrat’ Mario Monti was the Prime Minister and he was endeavouring to clear up the economic mess left by Berlusconi.  No headache as far as I’m concerned if  Berlusconi is prone to make a laughing stock of himself.  But I didn’t like the fact that there was a danger that his antics would make Italy itself a laughing stock.  The observer might be surprised that he nevertheless attempted to stage a comeback in the recent elections and that millions still voted for him.

The room was pointed out to us where the Stresa Conference had taken place in 1935.  This was a last throw of the dice to maintain harmony in Europe and followed on from the successful conference held a few years earlier in Locarno, which is also on Lake Maggiore.  The scene had very much changed for the worse.  Hitler had by now seized power and Germany was absent from the Conference.  Mussolini had not yet thrown in his lot with Hitler  and France was represented by Pierre Laval, seemingly a good democrat though he later headed the collaborationist Vichy regime and was executed after WW2. 

Adjoining the Palace, and also owned by the Borromeo family, are some fine multi-tiered gardens.  They had not long before been a bit battered, but not seriously damaged, by a hurricane.   At night the tiers are brightly lit, giving, when viewed from Stresa, an almost Las Vegasish appearance.  We then proceeded to Isola Pescatori (or Fisherman’s Island).  This is very picturesque but also tiny so there’s not a lot to do once one has wandered along the main street.  We indulged in a somewhat pricey lunch at the Verbano Hotel, restricting ourselves to just one course.  It was pleasant indeed to sit in idyllic surrounds, looking across to Isola Bella, enjoying exquisitely cooked lamb cutlets and a glass or two of vino rosso.

Next day we had  a boat trip up to the northern tip of Lake Maggiore, taking us to the city of Locarno and thus into Switzerland.  Most of the Lake is in Italy where it forms the boundary between the provinces of Piedmont and Lombardy; Stresa is on the western shore and thus in the former.  Yet it is much easier to get from there by public transport to Milan than to Turin,  the main cities in, respectively, Lombardy and Piedmont.

Italy has such a wealth of historic art and architecture that one is liable to forget that it is still a relatively new country, unified only in 1860, before which ‘Italy’ was just a geographic expression.  Much of Italy was part of, or otherwise associated with, the Habsburg Empire but Piedmont was a genuinely independent kingdom and, under its astute prime minister, Count Cavour, played the lead role in unifying Italy, rather as Prussia under Bismarck was around the same time doing in Germany.  To start with, Turin was the capital of the new country and what had been the royal family just of Piedmont was to rein over Italy until the monarchy was abolished after WW2. 

Our tour guide was an English lady who had lived in Stresa for twenty years.  She volunteered that, though it’s close to Switzerland, she never went there other than when leading a tour.  It was, she said, too expensive.  She also thought, correctly, that, on the whole,  the buildings on the Italian part of Lake Maggiore were beautiful whereas those on the Swiss were functional and box-like.  This was not the first time a guide on the Italian side of the border had spoken disparagingly of Switzerland.  The chap who had accompanied us on a day trip to Milan way back in 1988 had, as we approached Lake Como from the south and thus looked into Switzerland, told us, almost believably, that the Swiss want to charge the Italians for their view into their country!  And “they say it’s such a clean country  but that’s because they send all their rubbish down the rivers to us”. 

I hasten to add that Switzerland too is one of our favourite and most visited countries.   Indeed our daughter lived in Geneva for about eighteen months.  I would count that city, and also Zurich, as among the finest in the world.  But Locarno, it has to be said, is not a city of any great interest, despite its fine location.   Our return to Italy was via the scenic Centovalli (‘hundred valleys’) Railway.  This  terminates in Domodossola,  a town that gets a lot of visitors passing through, located as it is on the southern side of the Simplon Pass, though  it is not otherwise a place that one would go out of one’s way to see. 

We returned to Switzerland on day three, travelling this time by bus, a three hour drive over the Simplon Pass to Zermatt.  We were blessed with good weather throughout our stay so it was blue skies every day.  The party who had stayed the previous week had been a good deal less fortunate and rain and mist meant that they had seen scarcely anything on this trip, which affords fine scenery the whole way.  Truly frustrating.

We paused on the Swiss side of the Pass where some of us ascended the memorial to the WW2 Mountain Brigade.  Aspersions are sometimes cast on how neutral Switzerland really was in WW2.  I believe these to be unfair: it’s easy to sit in the comfort of one’s armchair and criticize a small country that found itself entirely surrounded by Axis powers.  The local Nazis always got derisory support and it provided a safe haven for Jews who managed to escape across the border.  I had not realized, until I went to a moving exhibition about Anne Frank, that, when it fled Nazi Germany, her family split and went in two directions, both equally safe at the time: west to Holland and South to Switzerland.  The Swiss branch of the family lived safely in Basle, just a mile or two from the German border, throughout WW2.  Apparently the Swiss plan, if ever the Nazis had invaded, was to have strategically withdrawn from the northern cities and then fought to the death in the Mountains.   Hitler must have decided that he would have been biting off more than he could have chewed and that conquering Switzerland was business that could be left until he’d won the War. 

Switzerland is a country that doesn’t much like joining things.  It has never joined NATO for example.  Nor is membership of the EU, let alone the Eurozone, likely to happen any time soon; indeed a proposal to join the European Economic Area, which links the EU to Norway, Iceland and Lichtenstein, was defeated  in a referendum.   Switzerland even stayed outside the United Nations for many years, despite the fact that the Organization’s European HQ, formerly the HQ of the League of Nations, is located in Geneva.  When I visited it, guides had a trick question: name the three countries that don’t belong to the UN.  Few would have guessed that it was the very country that they were standing in (Vatican City was one of the others and I can’t remember the third).  But realism does kick in and Swiss shops and restaurants will accept the Euro, though change will be given in Swiss francs.

We by-passed Brig, an attractive town which I had previously visited.  A lot of  Italians commute over the border to work in Brig and its environs – there is a bus service to and from Domodossola.  They do rather well since they get paid at Swiss rates but benefit from Italian prices.  

We had been to Zermatt before, staying there with our daughter when she lived in Switzerland.  As it is traffic-free we had to get off at the previous station, Täsch, and complete our journey by train.  Being without cars does not mean that Zermatt is all that pedestrian friendly for there are plenty of small electric vehicles plying  their way around town.   Last time we had done a trip on the Gornergrat Railway which affords splendid views of the Matterhorn.   Such a trip could just about have been fitted in to our visit this time but we’d have had no time to look round the town.  We went instead for the alternative, and significantly less expensive, option of taking the Sunegga Funicular.  Nothing to see on the way up since it’s in a tunnel but at the top there was, on this clear day, a beautiful panorama that took in the Matterhorn.  There is a café which at first sight didn’t look promising but the pork schnitzel with chips turned out to be rather good.  All the more so as we ate al fresco looking at the Matterhorn. 

Back in the town we wandered though the historic area with its quaint wooden houses.  There is a statue here of a local mountaineer who continued to lead expeditions into his nineties.  Then we strolled along the handsome main street before starting our return journey to Stresa. 

The next day was free.  Our guide put forward various suggestions for spending it, one of these being a trip to Milan.   We had visited that city twice when staying on Lake Como, once as part of a tour and once under our own steam using boat, train and metro.  We did not feel in need of a third visit.  It is worth a visit, if only for the magnificent Duomo.  But in my view it lacks the charm that one associates with most Italian cities.  It almost feels unItalian, like a bit of northern Europe that somehow found itself south of the Alps.  It is a businesslike sort of place, Italy’s financial centre and renowned as a centre of the fashion industry, something in which I have about zero interest.

In any case we much preferred to spend a day enjoying Stresa and its beautiful surrounds.  We went up in a cable car which, higher up, turns into a chairlift.   On a clear day one can apparently see seven lakes but, though we continued to enjoy fine weather, there was a lot of haze meaning we could see only Lake Maggiore.  The location around the top of the chairlift looked a bit uncared for though there were all manner of walks which would doubtless have taken one into some beautiful areas.  We headed back to Stresa and a leisurely lunch. 

In the afternoon we took a boat across to the third, and largest, of the Borromean Islands that can be visited by the public, namely Isola Madre.  We rather miscalculated our timings for we thought that little time would be needed, since there is no settlement of any sort.  We got the last boat, only to find there are some magnificent gardens.  We had to hurry round them in the limited time before the last boat back to the mainland.  A good couple of hours or so would have been needed to do them justice.  There is also a small palace which we didn’t much take to.  The art exhibits that were scattered around rather jarred: pictures of such dismal sights as Chernobyl and the notorious slums that adjoined Hong Kong’s former international airport.  It was as if, in our Italian idyll, we had to be reminded that there is a big bad world out there. 

We had especially looked forward to the next day since we were returning, after all too long an interlude, to Lake Como.  We were driven to Como city and from there proceeded on a slow stopping boat to Bellagio.  Lake Como has the shape of an inverted ‘Y’ with Bellagio at the apex.  There was plenty of time in which to relax and enjoy the stunning scenery.   Lakes Maggiore and Como are not at all alike.  The scenery around the former might be said to be mellower and more tranquil whereas that around the latter is by comparison dramatic with much steeper sides.  One is hard put to say which is the more beautiful. 

One of our last stops was at Cadenabbia, directly across from Bellagio.  It was here that we’d stayed in 1988, lodged in a grand hotel where Queen Victoria had once stayed.  Sounds impressive but we had the feel that it had known better days (though it has apparently since had a massive refurb).  Dinner was included but portions were miserly.  So, there was nothing for it: no option but afterwards to walk the short distance to Giorgio’s and there enjoy ice cream of the type only the Italians know how to make.  Giorgio had an English wife, Marion.  She told us how English visitors might say to her, very slowly, “you – speak – very  – good – English”.  Bellagio is considered by some to be the most beautiful town in Italy.  Can’t offer an opinion myself since I haven’t been to every town in Italy.  But it could be true.  Alas, timings meant  we had to take the fast boat back to Como, so had less time in which to soak up the scenery. 

The trip on our last day was to what is billed as a hidden gem, Lake Orta.  It is, as the Guardian has put it, the Italian lake that tourists haven’t discovered.  It’s not far from Stresa so this was a shorter trip giving some free time back at our hotel.  The town of Omagna, at the northern end of the Lake, is industrial and cannot really be described as beautiful.  But the blurb was certainly not misleading.  Further down the small town of Orta San Giulio is beautiful and located in idyllic lakeside scenery.   It is traffic-free so we had to walk in from the coach park (arrangements are made though for those not mobile enough to do so). 

We enjoyed a good lunch in a restaurant overlooking the Lake.  The journalist and wine critic Simon Hoggart has observed that whereas in France, which boasts rather  more loudly about its national cuisine, one can often end up disappointed with a restaurant meal, in Italy one seldom does.  That has been our experience too in Italy.   If I had to single out one meal for mention it would be in Florence.  We had left things late for lunch as it was mid-afternoon and we kept going into places that had stopped serving it.  Then, a bit to the south of Ponte Vecchio,  in an unprepossessing small shopping precinct, we found a ‘Mama and Papa’ establishment.  Papa told us they had closed but Mama wasn’t having that.  The food was plain but exquisite, so much so that we went back there for dinner on our last evening.   There was a wonderful dish that simply comprised grilled vegetables: courgettes, aubergines, mushroom, peppers Then there was Florentine steak -  no sauce, just the right sort of olive oil - with the steak shown to one before cooking, in the customary manner.

On the way back from Lake Orta we paused at a huge statue of Carlo Borromeo, Cardinal Archbishop of Milan for twenty years in the late sixteenth century, who is honoured as a saint by the Roman Catholic Church.  Unfortunately the huge ears had been added on as an afterthought and looked decidedly wrong.  One can ascend from inside but that would not have been a good idea since it is made of copper and the temperature was in the eighties. 

We had time on our final day for a last look round Stresa since we were not leaving for the airport until after lunch.  On our previous visit we had noticed, alongside the Lake, a memorial to the victims of 9/11.  Today was the eleventh anniversary and there was a short and moving ceremony of remembrance featuring local firefighters, in honour of their New York colleagues who had played such a vital role on that terrible day. 

We finished off with a stroll along the lake.  A last chance to enjoy the view from a town that is sometimes associated with La Belle Époque.  This term was originally applied just to France but later become associated with the era, around the turn of the last century, in Europe more generally.  This was a time when Europe was peaceful and growing more prosperous.   After all, most of the reigning families were somehow related to Queen Victoria so there couldn’t be a war, could there.  As we know all too well, the history of the first half of the twentieth century was to be tragically different. 

We had, the year before, become first time grandparents.  Twins Alexander and Phoebe were now a year old.  I reflected, as we enjoyed for the last time the wonderful scenery, that I’d been born a  couple of years after WW2 and that Europe (parts of former Yugoslavia excepted) had been at peace throughout that period.  Democracy had initially been confined to the western half of the continent but, after the fall of the Berlin Wall, had spread east.  Yet now democratic Europe was facing perhaps the greatest of its postwar challenges, with an economic crisis that had plunged many into joblessness, poverty and despair and which was stubbornly persisting.  As in thirties Germany, extremists can thrive in times of  economic hardship, exploiting grievances in the hope of seizing power.  In Greece right now an unashamedly neo-Nazi party was flexing its muscles.

I prayed that Europe would get through its crisis and that better times lay ahead.  And that, sometime in the 2070s, sixtysomethings Phoebe and Alexander would stroll alongside the Lake in Stresa and be able to reflect on a Europe that had been peaceful and democratic throughout their lifetime.  A belle époque that had endured for a century and a quarter, and would go on enduring. 

 First published in VISA 109-110 (June-August 2013)

Death of a Pope

by David Whiting

We booked a holiday through Worldwide Christian Travel to visit mainly the basilicas and churches of Rome and Assisi in early April 2005. The itinerary included an audience with Pope John Paul II. We immediately thought “yes, if he’s still alive”, owing to his ailing health. We could never have imagined the chain of events that would happen during our week in Italy.

We arrived at Rome airport on Saturday 2 April, five hours before the Pope died. We knew immediately that several changes to our itinerary would be necessary.

Our group, principally members of the Methodist Church in Britain, attended a service at the Methodist Church in Rome on Sunday evening. Fortunately for me (a non-churchgoer), this church was located ten minutes’ walk from St Peter’s Basilica, where a Mass was due to be held that morning. From the Methodist Church I crossed the bridge to the Castel Sant’Angelo (originally Emperor Hadrian's Mausoleum). Close by were massed the satellite vans of the dozens of news agencies from around the world. Behind them were numerous cameras and several news reporters, smartly dressed from the waist upwards (the part shown on television), with shabby jeans and standing on boxes and crates so that St Peter's could be visible behind them. I continued past them and had a leisurely walk along the Via della Conciliazione direct to St Peter’s Square and Basilica. This street, and many others in the vicinity, was closed to traffic for the benefit of an estimated 130,000 people expected to attend the open air Mass, which was also relayed over giant television screens around the Square and street. Yet this was Sunday, a Mass was being held for the Death of a Pope, and all the souvenir shops were open and trading. It seemed a triumph of capitalism and commercialism over religion!

After the Mass was over there was a huge increase in traffic, with the legendary horn-blowing chaos of the Eternal City.

The Italian TV stations were broadcasting their normal programmes, with only a few programmes devoted to the Pope. Our hotel received BBC World and CNN, with virtually nonstop Pope television and only brief mentions of the forthcoming wedding of Charles and Camilla and even less of the General Election.

The Vatican Museum and Sistine Chapel were reopened to the public on Tuesday, so our visit took place that day. Of course all the other tour groups in Rome had had to reschedule their visits, so there were several days’ visitors on the one day, making it difficult to hear and follow one's guide.

The Pope’s funeral was arranged for Friday and Catholics were arriving in Rome from all over the world, especially from Poland, the late Pope’s homeland. Extra Police and Militia were drafted into Rome from all over Italy, approaching 100 000 in number. John Paul II’s body was lying in state in the Basilica and people were queuing for hours to file past. Some of our group were among the first in line and viewed the body within three hours. Two days later, others joined the queue at 3.30 am and made no progress. The queue soon grew to 24 and then 28 hours, as people flooded into Rome by air, rail and road. Eventually the authorities had to close the queues in order that the funeral could take place as planned. Estimates were that between two and five million pilgrims and other visitors had arrived in Rome on top of the city's three million or so population. The city was virtually bursting at the seams!

On Friday 8 April, the day of John Paul II’s funeral, the authorities took the unprecedented step of closing Rome! Workers were told to stay at home, private cars were prohibited on the streets (buses, taxis and motorcycles were permitted) and police stopped all traffic from entering the city. That was the day we left Rome to travel to Assisi where we would spend the final two days of our holiday. As we drove out of the city, the streets were eerily deserted, like a ghost town, particularly after the mayhem of the previous days. We could actually enjoy the views. The funeral was the climax of the religious activities and once over, according to television reports, it was a tremendous relief, people drifted away from St Peter’s Square and gradually life returned to normal.

Whether it was necessary for all those pilgrims to travel to Rome is uncertain. No doubt many felt they had a duty to do so, rather like Moslems have a duty to travel to Mecca once in their lifetime. Others no doubt came to Rome just for the experience, for the atmosphere of a potentially unique occasion. I feel that television coverage should have been adequate and that many visitors travelled to Rome needlessly. Now that an elderly Cardinal has been elected as the new Pope it is likely that the occasion will arise again quite soon. At least the authorities know what to expect another time.

The death of a Pope certainly was for me an event I am glad to have been so close to, but I would not choose to be present at a similar event.

First published in VISA issue 61 (June 2005)

Milan

by Glen Strachan

My wife and I have spent many happy times in southern Italy over the years and the great cities of that beautiful country have also had their fair share of our attention.

The obvious quirks and unique features of Venezia and Firenze or Venice and Florence, to give these cities their English language names (why does that happen - surely one would never translate the name of a person in such a way - so why do town and city names appear ‘in translation’?) have made them firm favourites but one glaring omission from our ‘Italian job’ has always been Milano.

Why should that have been? No special reason, other than the fact that it lacked the kind of ‘focus factor’ that Roma has with the Colosseum, Napoli with its volcano etc etc. Whisper it (especially in the company of the Milanese), but we just believed Milan was a little dull by comparison to much of the rest of Italy and so it has been the last of the major Italian cities to appear on our radar.

That situation changed recently as we were planning some time in the UK and, in organising the travel plans for there, we realised that for a very small surcharge we could fly from Alicante to Milan and then on to Glasgow and so a week in Milan came to pass.

One aspect of Milan that is obviously neither boring nor bland is the fashion side of the city and while we have long departed a business scene that had both of us in designer clothing for our professional years, the sharp end of the fashion business is still of considerable interest - even if that interest is now simply as spectators rather than buyers of this kind of clothing.

As luck would have it , our timing was a little out and we missed Milan Fashion Week - which by all accounts is surprisingly accessible in the number of events that welcome the attendance of the ‘great unwashed’ like Flora and me, as well as the BrAnjelinas and the other Madonna (more of her later). But nobody could ever walk through the centre of this city without noticing the opulence of the shops and the eye-watering prices that were being charged for clothes that looked, to our unsophisticated eyes, quite ordinary.

Another small surprise was the number of buyers in these shops as the cash registers happily clanged away and the locals and the near essential Asian tourists hit the street with large bags of their proud purchases. I have to admit this was something of a throwback as most of the cities we have visited lately seem to be suffering from shop closures and a surfeit of sales offering curiously large discounts, apparently in a desperate effort to move merchandise and stay alive through these difficult times for the retail world - but nobody seemed to know about such things in Milan.

Our first port of call in Milan was the fabulous Piazza del Duomo - a vast square in the centre of the old city and that offers a great impression of the city to any new visitor with the Royal Palace, Galleria Vittorio Emanuele 2 and several other beautifully crafted and wonderfully designed buildings but all of that pales into something close to insignificance when seen alongside the remarkable Gothic facade of Milan Cathedral.

Gleaming in the sun like some vast wedding cake, this building is probably the most ornate that we have seen anywhere - given the sheer size of what I understand is one of the five largest cathedrals in all of the world and the one that boasts the largest collection of marble statues anywhere.

From any part of the square the eye is invariably drawn to the gleam from the golden statue of the ‘Madunina’ - as the locals refer to the statue of the Madonna (definitely not the singer, we were assured!) that sits on the highest point of the cathedral roof.

That cathedral also has most intriguing door policy, as a visit is not simply a matter of going right round the building and seeking out the ticket office but, once that ticket has been bought, the young security guards on each main entrance claimed the right to apply a very rigorous dress policy. There were quite a few heated arguments overheard as that unfolded although it must be said that there were some young ladies seeking entrance who looked to have adopted a dress code more suitable for one of the many nightclubs that surround the square. Their insistence that this had not been pointed out when they paid their money was met with an uninterested shrug of the shoulders. When one young American was reminded that she was seeking to enter a place of Christian worship and should moderate her look, she made her counter-point that it hardly seemed Christian to insist that she should pay for entry to this building of prayer in the first place.

I found the inside of the cathedral (yes, they found nothing immodest in my look although the iPad did get a little scrutiny) rather underwhelming after the great impact of the Gothic facade but, in fairness, what could have compared with that?
The visit did make sense, though, when we were able to stroll around the balconies and out onto the supremely sculpted roof. Just the various details around that roof and the closer view of the Madunina were enough but, when you add in the superb views across the city from that great height, it makes a very fine way to spend a morning.

Only a few yards away from this seat of Milan’s version of Catholicism - which contrasts in several significant ways from the Roman version of that creed - one enters the equally impressive Galleria Vittorio Emanuele 2 which carries a wide range of designer shops and some very chic restaurants with equally chic prices on their menus. So there it was - two very different ways to worship, the old and the glittering new!

The restaurants seemed to be doing a roaring trade at lunch time and in the evenings when we subsequently visited the square but it is worth pointing out that, only a few steps outside the vast Galleria, sat a wide range of indoor and outdoor restaurants that were also very well patronised, but which offered very similar menus in food terms at a much more sensible price.

The food itself was absolutely as good as you might expect in Italy. In Milan the emphasis was more on rice than the pasta that seems to be such a staple in other regions. That suited me just fine and we enjoyed several good risottos of one kind or another, not to mention some decent bottles of wine.

We did laugh when we saw the busiest outlet in all of the Galleria - yes, that was MacDonald’s, where the more discerning Milanese seemed more interested in drinking coffee than eating food and somebody did tell us that the price of a cup of coffee there was lower by far than any other cafe in the area. It therefore made sense to buy a coffee there and sit in the middle of this wonderful Galleria drinking it while watching the world and his shopping uncle pass by.

Taking one of the major ‘shopping streets’ out of the square led us to the site of Milan Castle - the traditional residence of the ruling House of Sforzesco. Even allowing for the surprise of finding the castle on flat ground, it was quite an impressive building and on one day that we visited, there was a large market in progress.

To our great delight, we arrived ahead of lunch and discovered that this organic market mostly featured some great wine and a bewildering array of cheeses, which most of the stall holders were happy to cut into small pieces and sell in similar quantity. I doubt if we have ever eaten so many different kinds of cheese on any single day. With some fine red wine to wash that down while sitting in the beautiful gardens that surround the castle, this was a grand way to spend a sunny afternoon. Maybe the cheese that we were most surprised to see (definitely not one we had seen anywhere else) was called ‘Strachen’ - just one letter different from our surname, and naturally we had to try that one - and very nice it was too.

Anybody who has read my meanderings in other SIG newsletters that I have written for will probably find it very easy to work out the one place above all others that would lead me to a Milan visit - one of the most famous Opera Houses in all of the world of music; the wonderful La Scala.
The fabric of the building and the museum attached to the main theatre were as impressive as any opera buff would expect. It was a little bonus to be able to sit in on a full dress rehearsal during our morning tour of the opera house.

It generated a very definite tingle to sit on the seats around an auditorium where first night performances of Madame Butterfly and Turandot were heard all those years ago. While none of the current season’s offerings are likely to break significant new ground in the art, it was still a big thrill to listen to opera there.

Milan is a very attractive city and superb architectural values have been assisted in no small way by the relative prosperity of the city, not to mention a decided sense of style from the wealthy folks who put their money into business there. There are many attractive official halls and churches there. In a city that was a hotbed of resistance from Milanese who were devoted to the overthrow of the Nazis, clearly the years that followed World War II were a very successful time for Milan, while Rome struggled to recover its public image which was left ruined in tattered complicity with Hitler and his twisted aims.

Our time in Milan was spent in a small hotel - one of many in that part of town - in the area off Viale Romagna which, although mostly residential, boasted some great restaurants and bars. We ate at La Mongolfiera several times and it was a very traditional place, much favoured by the locals who seemed to arrive in family groups and almost all of whom were welcomed on first name terms by the owner. Before that week was over, we were being greeted in that same way by the owner and his father - now retired, but still on hand to oversee his world of food.

The owner was particularly helpful in providing directions to various dishes that were not covered exactly by the lengthy menu and we enjoyed the treats that he sourced for us. La Mongolfiera was much smarter than some of the wonderful down-at-heel little local restaurants that we so enjoyed in the south of the country, but it still retained that special knack that Italian restaurateurs seem to have in making dinner ‘in their house’ seem like an invitation to their mother’s home - albeit a highly decorated Art Deco style home. Even the size of the bills from there hardly reflected the quality of the food and service.

The geographic situation of Milan makes it a superb location for travel throughout Europe and the long distance links in rail (five major stations) and air (three airports) are in keeping with the excellent internal city links of Metro and bus. Even the taxis offered a decent service at reasonable prices and perhaps we were just lucky, but the guys who drove the cabs we used were quite affable and helpful.

It is to Milan’s credit that the size of its population - almost 1.5 million - is not immediately apparent in this spacious city while the transport links from a metropolitan area that is heading towards a total of eight million still leave one with the impression of a handsome town, rather than some teeming, over-crowded cityscape.

Apart from my own feelings about La Scala, there is not really much to leave one breathless about this city. But while we are unlikely to return soon - our next trip to Italy will likely be to a destination much further south, probably the fabulous Amalfi coast - we did have an excellent week in Milan. Even if few pieces of that pricey designer clothing found its way into our bags for the homeward journey, we have rarely eaten better.

Forza Milano indeed!

First published in VISA 102 (Apr 2012)

 

Coffee with Mr Big

by James Allen

My abiding image will be of the oranges on the road, surrounded by glass. The upside-down car, the tense faces of the local police and the paramedics treating the two casualties by the side of the road are secondary. The second car I didn't see, but Mara says it was crushed on the side of road. Already the first ambulance had left heading towards a hospital and had passed us. This was the second confirmation in 20 minutes of the assessment we had made in the first hour of driving in Sicily - that unlike most Italian drivers who may kill themselves driving, Sicilian drivers will kill themselves driving.

Sicilian windmill

This was the second day of our three-day trip to Sicily and already we had that feeling of being at home there.

On Friday 1 Feb we had dashed to the airport in the late afternoon to catch a plane to Palermo. Palermo is the capital of Sicily, which is a part of Italy. Sicily is the soccer ball that the foot of Italy is kicking. It's a very old culture dating back to 700BC with the foundations of the Greek culture. Its list of invaders/conquerors reads like a Who's Who of Mediterranean power (Greeks, Romans, Carthaginians, Arabs, Muslims, Spanish, Norman-French, Crusaders, Germans and finally Italians - from a Sicilian point of view). It is also the home of the Mafia; interestingly an organisation which was almost wiped out prior to World War II, but which the USA used and thus reinvigorated to help fight the Germans.

We landed late on the Friday and collected the car - now points mean prizes and since it was really low season we found the car we had booked had changed from a two-door small car to a four-door BMW 3 series (and I later found out was charged at €7 or £5 or $10 per day!) We then plugged in the sat-nag and drove towards our hotel. The first 35 miles of the 36-mile journey was great, the sat-nag taking us wherever, only then to find the road blocked by the police due to a fire. Okay - heading off in another direction the sat-nag rerouted us back to the hotel. Great - this made it worth the investment...

The hotel is on the outskirts of Palermo and it overlooks the small-boat harbour and is one of the top hotels on the island. On arrival we found that we had been upgraded and in the room was a bottle of wine and cheese. We looked around the hotel later and found that it was like a grand country house. We were two of about eight guests - due to the low season. The piano player in the bar started playing when we walked in. Built at the turn of the 19th/20th centuries, the hotel has evolved over the decades: the dining room was in a late 19th century design (gilded but plain - lots of mirrors); the bar was in an 18th century vaulted area; the upstairs dining room (which was closed) was in a wonderful art nouveau design. Wonderful paintings and architecture - it is a great, if overlooked, gem.

On the Saturday morning we headed for the Imperial Roman Villa. This is a UNESCO World Heritage site for in this Roman villa each and every room is decorated with floor mosaics. And it has a lot of rooms. It's due to close very soon to upgrade the roof, which meant that some rooms were closed or the floors covered. Thus the price was reduced, but what we saw took our breath away. The mosaics cover every room - including the toilet - and outside around the gardens. Nearly 2000 years old, the mosaics range from mythical scenes to hunting and fishing to just geometric patterns (these make some 1960s patterns look dull!) The images range in size from two feet high to 10 feet high and are still very bright. We spent a great time walking over the site, surprised by almost every room we stood above.

We had a coffee and headed back towards the hotel and detoured to see the cathedral of Monreale. This is an 11th century Norman church that was covered internally with mosaics representing a number of Bible stories, all on a gold background. The central figure of Christ is over 40 feet wide. Sunlight and electric lights make the gold tiles glow in the semi-darkness. It was incredible.

Also incredible was the location. Trust me when I say don't drive here - narrow one-way roads made travel around the area horrible (reversing up a narrow one way street after a mistake is the second image I want to forget). Ironically I made the comment on arrival back to the hotel that I was pleased I hadn't scratched the car, then, when stepping out I noticed that the side of the bumper on the passenger side was badly scratched.

On Sunday we visited the Valley of the Temples - this is another UNESCO World Heritage site, on the coast on the south of the island. It's a large site (over three square miles) with a series of 2500 year old temples, many lined up along a ridge about a mile from the coast. Behind and below the ridge stood the town, which is mostly gone, but is replaced with almond trees, which were in bloom when we were there.

The remains of the temples ranged from a raised pile of earth to one of the best, if not the best-preserved Greco-Romano temple in the world. The temple stands now because, in about 700AD, it was converted into a Christian church. Although roofless, the columns and inner temple all stand. The sandstone colour makes the temple stand proud on the ridge.
We then headed to look at some items further up the hill, but found that the museum and access to the site was shut - it was Sunday afternoon and being the Sunday before Lent was the local children's festival, combined with the almond festival. So we headed down the coast to another site that we found was also closed and so headed to the beach and wandered around the area. This was very relaxing and calming - a bay with perhaps three miles of fine white beach, backed by pine trees.

It was returning from here that we passed the site of the first accident, but neither of us saw the cars or people involved, only the police and the seven mile queue of traffic that had built up. It was as we turned to head north across the island that we were stopped and then let past the second accident. There were about eight cars let through, and what's remarkable is that we all travelled together towards Palermo at the speed limit for the next hour. Cars passed the group, but our driving became exemplary.

Segesta

On Monday we headed for the other contender in Sicily of the best-preserved Greco-Romano temple. This is Segesta, a Greek town built on a hilltop before the Romans arrived and rebuilt it. Then the Normans arrived and built a castle. On the hilltop today are remains from all three eras. The best preserved (and reconstructed) is the Roman theatre. This looks out over the valley and towards the sea. The wonderful backdrop and setting would have taken the crowd's eyes off the players in all but the most spectacular plays.

We then went down to the 2500-year-old temple. This is larger than any standing in the Valley of the Temples and we were free to walk around and in the temple. The roof and any internal fittings have gone, but the size of each column is huge; each is about 18 feet in diameter. Again built in sandstone, it sits nestled in the valley below the fortified hilltop and would have dominated the approach to the town.

We then headed down to Marsala, where the fortified wine comes from. Yes - we had a small tasting and purchased a couple of bottles. One we couldn't resist was named Terra Arse. We then headed back towards the airport, but detoured via the local saltpans. These Roman saltpans are still used today and present a beautiful romantic vision of the whole area, framed with ancient windmills for pumping water. Being low season, it was quiet but sunny and warm - a very relaxing area.

Now we hadn't seen anyone remotely looking like the Mafia yet (not that they advertise their profession), but that hadn't stopped us commenting on the employment of various scary looking individuals we saw/met. But driving back, we pulled into a small local café. As we did so a large, dark Mercedes also pulled in. Out stepped an older, well-dressed man (Mr Big?) with two less well-dressed men.

As we all walked in the well-dressed man asked if we were German. I replied "No, English." At which he suddenly became very friendly in a "we can't communicate but we can smile a lot" way. He asked a couple of simple questions in Italian which we could answer, and then tried a third for which we didn't have the Italian to understand. He then just raised his voice, asked the question and someone else - who had already been in the bar - asked us the question in English. We answered and continued to try and talk. It was all very friendly and fun.

They had a coffee and soon left and we finished our impromptu and incredibly cheap meal and then went to pay before we left. But we both had the feeling as we walked out that the Mr Big was perhaps a 'Mr Very Big'. A likely escape - maybe...


First published in VISA 79 (Jun08)

Sunshine and Death

by Neil Matthews

The message on the answerphone was ominous. "Intourist have rung about your holiday. Please call us." The group who were due to accompany us to Moscow and St. Petersburg had cancelled their booking and the trip was off. The option to spend more money on the same itinerary via dearer hotels did not appeal. A thought occurred; what about Sicily -a new area of Italy to explore, with the promise of good food, fine weather and all the other Italian virtues? Sicily it was, then - and specifically Taormina.

Taormina is on the east coast of the island, halfway between Messina in the north-east (just across from mainland Italy) and Catania, the island's main airport. Taormina is Sicily's most famous resort and it exists at least as much for the tourist as for the locals. It clings to hilltops overlooking the Mediterranean, like many Italian towns. It boasts clean, uncluttered beaches, also like many Italian towns. In addition, the stylish main street, Corso Umberto, encourages visitors to shop until their bank balance drops on clothing, pottery and souvenirs. But Taormina has three special features, which set it apart... a volcano, a theatre and some very pretty gardens.

The closeness of Mount Etna cannot help but cast a shadow over the immediate area. There have been no recent eruptions, but the best way to see this phenomenon is definitely from some distance away, lending not only enchantment but greater safety to the view. In some ways, despite its grotesqueness, Etna is a reminder of reality in a location at least semi-detached from that state.

There is no better place to see Etna than from the Greek theatre on the far side of the town, set into a hill. The sea, volcano and other mountains and rocks make an incredible backdrop for the theatre, which could apparently hold almost 10,000 people. It's hard to see how any drama could compete with such natural beauty. The Romans tried to improve upon nature by encasing the theatre in brick - an act of philistine clumsiness.

 A less historic, but more tranquil location, is the Villa Communale, a large set of gardens cultivated by Florence Trevelyan, an Englishwoman who married a local and settled in the town earlier in this century. She bequeathed the gardens to the town so that everyone might enjoy them. Children play, the budgies and lovebirds in the aviary chirp and other visitors sip their drinks in the bar while looking at the sea, the volcano, the orange and lemon trees and the many other exotic varieties of plant life.

Taormina is only one side of a multifaceted story. Further south, but still on the east coast, lies Syracuse, founded as a Greek colony. This city was, at its zenith, one of the most powerful in the ancient world. With the inventive aid of Archimedes, Syracuse twice repelled attempted invasions from Athens in the 5th century BC. Its Greek theatre could hold up to 20,000 and the view from the top is impressive, as is a very pretty harbour.

 Arabs and Normans have also left sizeable footprints in the sands of Sicilian history, a fact illustrated clearly by a visit to Palermo, the capital, and nearby Monreale. The periods of Arab and then Norman rule (c. 830 - 1200 AD) were, in many ways, the high noon of the island's prestige and influence. Both sets of conquerors showed religious and cultural tolerance; they were happy to use the administrative and creative skills of all groups. Monreale's Cathedral is, as a result, a bizarre and beautiful mixture of Arab and Norman architecture. Byzantines were also specially contracted to complete the work. The Palatine Chapel in Palermo, built for King Roger II in the 12th century, is distinctive and impressive for similar reasons. The speed of completion of both these works hints at the financial prosperity of the island at that time.

Since then, Sicily's influence has drained away. This was at least partly because of the steady expansion of the world in perceptual terms. The Pacific Rim or Suez, for example, had no strategic importance then; the ancient and medieval worlds still revolved around the Mediterranean and Sicily occupied a vital position at its centre. A steady decline in fortunes set in under centuries of Spanish rule. The nadir was probably reached during the European wars of the late 18th / early 19th centuries when the island became, in effect, a bargaining counter. A glimmer of hope came with Italian unification in 1861, followed swiftly by disappointment as the Italians, like the Romans before them, simply used Sicily as a breadbasket.

The political decline and the rise of the Mafia may have encouraged a certain morbidity in the Palermitans. Palermo's equivalent of Mount Etna in the east and the Mafia all over the island is the Catacombs - a display of corpses, neatly categorised, often in their original clothes. There are many empty spaces...

Although its basis is Italian cuisine, Sicilian cooking reflects many tastes. The Arab influence lies behind some of the more exotic items. For a truly hot starter, pasta arrabiata (tomato and chilli sauce) will kick-start the palate. Seafood is a speciality, especially swordfish. Involtini (thin slices of meat or fish rolled up with a filling of breadcrumbs, herbs, cheese etc) are delicious, as are arancini. These are so called because they resemble oranges; they are a layer of rice and breadcrumbs surrounding a meat and vegetable filling. The most famous dessert is cassata, a concoction of ice cream or (in its cake form) ricotta cheese, studded with candied fruit. Many shops display sweets based on almond paste and fruit or vegetable shapes made with marzipan -although it is hard to imagine anyone eating (for instance) a whole marzipan orange.

 This section would be incomplete without reference to granitas, refreshments too solid to be a drink but too fluid to be an ice cream. Flavours are manifold - some examples are lemon, coffee, peach and strawberry.

 A week spent in Sicily seems brief, but the impressions will last. The character of the island and its people is deeply divided. The sunshine, the natural abundance and beauty, the good food and a colourful heritage are the positive side of the equation; the negative side includes the fatalism, the Mafia and Mount Etna (although volcanic lava has enabled the soil to flourish as well as bringing death). The two sides are inseparable; after all, the most sparkling jewels provoke the basest emotions.

The cultural and historical interest can keep a visitor as fully occupied as can the fine art of relaxing in what is a beautiful place. The attractions appeal to a wide age range and to visitors from all corners of the world. They will testify that, whatever you do when you're there, visiting Sicily is one of life's pleasures.

First published in VISA issue 17 (July 1995)

Sardinia for a Penny

by Maxine Bates

In October I found 1p flights with Ryanair from East Midlands Airport to Alghero - plus taxes plus booking fee plus baggage handling charge but still remarkably cheap - and, fancying a little winter sunshine, Travel SIG member Helen B and I booked a long weekend on Sardinia. Having made enquiries I was unable to find anyone who had visited the island and could offer any advice. So I'm writing this article in the hope it helps someone else in future.

Buses in Sardinia are a law unto themselves and didn't appear to keep to any timetables, although the airport bus does link in with flight arrivals which was convenient. Turn right outside the arrivals hall and walk 50 metres to the bus stop. The bus is yellow and the route number is AA. But you'll need to buy a ticket from the machine in the arrivals hall before boarding - and argue with the driver to be allowed on if the machine is broken! The fare is €0.70 compared to €20 in a taxi.

We stayed in Fertilia which is half way between the airport and town of Alghero, 3 km from each. Although walking round the bay along the beach I'd say it was further as it took us nearly 1.5 hours at a fairly fast pace! Opinion is divided how the town got its name. Either from the Latin for seaweed (algae) which invades the shores off-season or from the Arabic for cave (Al Gar) referring to nearby Neptune's Cave.

The old part of Alghero is walled - similar to St Malo in France or Dubrovnik in Croatia - and you can walk upon the ramparts or wander around the cobbled streets lined with restaurants and shops selling clothes, leather goods or coral jewellery. There are very few souvenir shops. Ladies, remember not to wear heels! Or il trenino is a narrated train ride around the town that describes the architecture. Of particular note is the Cathedral of Santa Maria with a bizarre mix of neoclassical facade, Renaissance interior and baroque chapels. Beware, everything closes after lunch and doesn't re-open until dusk.

Boats depart from the port outside the town walls offering full day excursions with snorkelling and lunch or a two hour trip to Neptune's Cave at Capo Caccia. We took the latter. Boat trips varied from €10 to €13 and there's the option to alight for a 30 minute tour of the stalactite and stalagmite caves for an extra €10.

Helen and I had wanted to visit the medieval town of Bosa, situated one hour south of Alghero, but the bus never arrived and there was nowhere to find further information. Luckily, we met an English couple with a hire car who were heading that way and allowed us to tag along. So we all enjoyed an unexpected day out! The coastal road was a lovely drive and, although there were signs for cows and deer, we only spotted pigs by the roadside and vultures circling overhead. We assume these were griffin vultures as this area is home to the largest colony of these rare birds in Italy.

Arriving in Bosa we parked near the River Remo and walked up to Malaspina Castle. Built as a military fortress in the 12th century, only the walls and towers now survive so the entrance fee is a mere €2.50. We were handed a laminated information sheet and were able to enter the Church of Nostra Signora di Regnos Altos in the castle courtyard to view the 14th century frescoes. Whilst in Bosa we saw the picturesque houses, the abandoned leather tanning buildings and enjoyed an al fresco lunch. On the drive back we passed many cyclists and one disabled carriage who must have been mad on the winding roads!

As for dining out... you have to like pizza! Nearly every restaurant is a pizzeria with five or six pages of pizza menu but just one with pasta. And nearly all pasta dishes are seafood ones or just plain tomato or bolognese. The local wine, such as Vermentino, is very drinkable and quite cheap with a 1 litre carafe costing as little as €9. Traditional liqueurs are distilled from either myrtle or lemon. And the Italian ice cream is yummy though it melted fast in the sunshine.

The temperature? It was 25C, warm enough for a day on the beach, which were all deserted apart from local families on Sunday afternoon and the occasional fisherman. It had been 28C the previous week and the forecast was for 22C the following week, so definitely getting to the end of their tourist season. Apart from Alghero, the island 'closes' during winter.

My thoughts? A lovely island for a cheap long weekend break. But probably not worth a return visit unless you are a serious sun worshipper or hire a car to explore further afield. I'm glad I went, though

First published in VISA issue 77 (Feb 2008)

Life is a Lemon

By Helen Matthews

The writers of management platitudes say that when life gives you lemons, you should make lemonade. In Sorrento, they appear to have taken this advice to heart in a big way.

There are a lot of lemons in Sorrento. The town is surrounded by lemon groves, their trees carefully protected with netting against giant hailstones.

But they don't only make lemonade. They make all sorts of lemon-flavoured products: limoncello, a liqueur which can be described as a cross between lemsip and paintstripper; lemon ice-cream; lemon sorbet; lemon granita; lemon sweets; lemon biscuits; lemon chocolate; lemon sauce; lemon risotto; lemon profiteroles. You name it, they do a lemon version of it.

If the edible versions were not enough, they also do lemon soap and numerous tourist souvenirs of varying degrees of merit featuring lemons, ranging from ceramics and table linen to fridge magnets. It would be quite easy, if pointless, to have an entirely lemon-flavoured meal, served on tableware decorated with lemons.

I am not that keen on lemons as such, but I tried several of the lemon-flavoured edibles in the interests of research. Lemon risotto is quite pleasant, if a little too like rice pudding for a starter. Pasta with lemon sauce is more interesting, particularly when made with unusual star-shaped pasta. 'Lemon delicious' is a sponge-based dessert with lemon cream, which is surprisingly pleasant, and nothing at all like the synthetic lemon-flavoured desserts I remember from school dinners. A chocolate version of this dessert looks more delicious still. Lemon granite (a refreshing crushed ice concoction) is widely available from Sorrento's gelaterias and from street stalls in Naples, and very welcome in the heat, but overall the quality of granitas in the area does not match that of Sicily, where they are a little more sorbet-like.

Sorrento's gelaterias serve ice cream and sorbets in many other flavours as well as lemon, from the anagrammatic melon to apple, and from amaretto to tiramisu. The oddest flavour I saw was Ferrero Rocher - presumably the Ambassador comes to Sorrento for his holidays. The Bougainvillea has a menu for ice-cream sundaes as thick as a telephone directory.

The bigger gelaterias also serve a waistline-threatening range of cakes. Interesting patisserie is also available in cafes and bakeries. I sampled a delicious pastry with cream and raspberries, from a small bakery in Naples, which cost only 50 cents.

Pizza was of course invented in the Naples area, and it is impossible to beat a genuine Italian pizza made in a proper pizza oven. Whilst purists might argue that real pizza should be topped with nothing more than tomatoes, mozzarella and a sprinkling of herbs, pizzerias offer versions topped with other items including ham, sausage, mushrooms and artichokes. Those looking for a Hawaiian pizza with pineapple will be disappointed.

Pasta is also good. Seafood versions such as spaghetti alla vongole are delicious. For the more adventurous, I can recommend ravioli with almonds and cherry tomato sauce. This is in effect marzipan ravioli in tomato sauce, garnished with a langoustine. It may sound revolting, but actually tastes surprisingly good. The Sicilian speciality of pasta with tomato and aubergine sauce is also widely available, although here it goes under the name of 'Siciliana' rather than 'alla Norma'. After such interesting pasta starters, main courses can seem a little dull, but a plate of mixed fish and seafood from the grill is never boring. The only problem is finding room for the dessert afterwards. If you are planning to visit the Sorrento area, be prepared to gain a few extra pounds.

While you’re in Sorrento...as well as Naples, the local trains can get you to the famous sites at Pompeii and Herculaneum within an hour. If going in the summer, take one morning for each site rather than combining the two; there’s little or no shade, so it’s hot work.

First published in VISA issue 69A (Oct 2006)