quando fa buio?

After our lethargic start in Italy we are chomping at the bit to get out of lovely Loreto.  Straight up the hill, take a side street to avoid the top, then rejoin the road along the ridge to Recanati.  This town is also perched on a ridge.  It's busy with tourists wandering the pedestrianised and cobbled streets.  A street market is in full flow down the main street.  The town has a medieval market town feel to it.  We half-expect farmers to be pulling their livestock into the main square for sale.  But there's only cheap clothing stalls and cafes.

We descend southwards into a valley with the prospect of another straight up climb to a viilage on the next ridge.  The climb ends in a push as the gradient gets the better of us.  The surrounding farmland is green and peaceful and the all-too-familiar rain clouds begin to gather above us as we tuck into our lunch in the main square.  

Happily the rain holds off and we head off along the tops towards the city of Macerata.  At one point we opt for a minor road which takes us down into a deep valley and right back out again.  Another crawl.  It brings us to the edge of Macerata and in the mid-afternoon sunlight it looks rather dramatic.  It too is perched on a hilltop.  Mmm, there's a pattern developing.

We wander through the cobbled streets but it's the wrong time to visit the old city centre - siesta o'clock.  Everywhere looks closed up - a zombie disaster movie in the offing.  We roll out through a grand arched gateway into the new town.  Down again heading southwest in the late afternoon rush hour.  We pause at a petrol station to top up our cooking fuel.  The garage is unmanned.  A man is filling his motorbike up.  I try to catch his eye to ask if he would fill my bottle if I give him some money.  Before he listens to me he hangs up the nozzle.  The minimum payment is 5 euros and I don't even need one.  So we push on and at the foot of the hill find one with an attendant.  Here I can use my bank card and I only get charged for what I take.  A driver comes over to chat with Gayle.  The attendant is an African, Ghanaian it turns out, and he comments that he's never heard so much English spoken since he arrived here.
 
It's after six when we finally pull off the road and backtrack into a field that drops away below the road at a 90 degree curve.  We camp at the edge of the field and only then realise that there's a farm road at the bottom of the field.  We are in plain sight but only if someone actually looks upwards.  The evening light is not really appreciated.  After dinner and nightfall I unzip the tent to have a pee.  I'm just about to step up and out when a man walks close by using his phone as atorch.  He must've seen us - we're in his path - but he said nothing.  We're momentarily freaked.  But then we reflect - so is he probably.

When does it get dark?