Rain. We get directions that help us find the road out of the city centre and into the countryside where we've booked an Airbnb place. From the port the road climbs, and climbs, and climbs. It drizzles, it rains, it drizzles. We ask a woman about a supermarket and she directs us to a mini-market in the village centre up ahead. But it's just after three in the afternoon and the shop doesn't reopen until 4.30. Stupid siesta. At least there's a seat under the awning to wait it out and practice some phrases.
Che tempo fa?
Piove, bloody piove.
While we're waiting a car pulls up occasionally and the drivers wind down their windows to ask us if the shop is open, when will it open, why isn't it open?? They all drive off disgruntled. So it's not just us who think the siesta is silly. One man pauses to ask, stalls his car and can't get it started again. The village is quiet but the main street soon gets a tailback. The driver is befuddled. He can't get the thing started and tells everyone that it's all the fault of FIAT. Another man appears and tries to help. While suggesting things to the driver he begins directing the traffic to go around the stalled car. It is a classic Italian scene as the man becomes more and more demonstrative and the other drivers slowly realise that they can actually get past. He looks at us in despair, throws his hands up in the air and wails "Italianos!!" We help to push the car up the hill and to the kerb so that the road is clear again. And then, after words with another passerby, the man walks off in a strop. Italians indeed.
The next day we bus it back into the city for a wander around.
Che tempo fa?
C'è il sole.
We enjoy a wander up and down the city streets. The duomo sits up on a hill overlooking the port. The streets around the port are narrow and packed tightly with grand buildings. We bathe in the sun. It all looks so much better than the day before.
Che tempo fa?
Piove, bloody piove.
While we're waiting a car pulls up occasionally and the drivers wind down their windows to ask us if the shop is open, when will it open, why isn't it open?? They all drive off disgruntled. So it's not just us who think the siesta is silly. One man pauses to ask, stalls his car and can't get it started again. The village is quiet but the main street soon gets a tailback. The driver is befuddled. He can't get the thing started and tells everyone that it's all the fault of FIAT. Another man appears and tries to help. While suggesting things to the driver he begins directing the traffic to go around the stalled car. It is a classic Italian scene as the man becomes more and more demonstrative and the other drivers slowly realise that they can actually get past. He looks at us in despair, throws his hands up in the air and wails "Italianos!!" We help to push the car up the hill and to the kerb so that the road is clear again. And then, after words with another passerby, the man walks off in a strop. Italians indeed.
The next day we bus it back into the city for a wander around.
Che tempo fa?
C'è il sole.
We enjoy a wander up and down the city streets. The duomo sits up on a hill overlooking the port. The streets around the port are narrow and packed tightly with grand buildings. We bathe in the sun. It all looks so much better than the day before.
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| what everyone wants - democracy and toilets |
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| graffito |
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| from the dockside |
