TRAVEL ADVENTURE PART 6 - RAGUSA TO AGRIGENTO

It was deathly quiet when we arrived in Ragusa. A couple of police officers were standing opposite the church above and even though it was a Sunday, there was no flock of people either coming in or out of Mass. We parked around the corner and then went for ice cream at a cáfe nearby. Ahead of us in the queue was an English family, from London, with two kids. We had a quick chat. They were very interested to know about our trip and said that I was very brown-skinned so it was clear we'd been in Italy, and under the sun, for some time. I explained that I tan very easily but fade just as quickly when the sun doesn't shine - hence I'm almost back to my usual skin colour after almost three weeks of being back home under the usual summer grey cloud.

It was quite refreshing for both me and my other half to have someone new to talk to other than just each other. We did feel somewhat isolated due to the language barrier and of course we could never spark up a conversation with anyone, apart from the occasional Dutch, German or French tourist we met along the way who often spoke better English than we did. I felt handicapped and ashamed at speaking no Italian. People we met along the way who did speak English were often fluent in another two or three languages as well. In Letojanni, our neighbours on the camp site were a young couple with a little three year old girl who came to chat and on realising that we didn't speak the same tongue, decided to try and teach us a few words, and likewise picked up simple English words in return like sugar/zucchero. She was particularly interested in our sugar dispenser and how it worked. I showed her, intending to pour just a few grains in her hand but a big pile came out into her tiny palm which she looked at for a minute and then shoved into her mouth before then licking her hand clean.



The family we met in Ragusa was struggling in the heat so after a chat and a "buon viaggio" they decided to leave the cáfe in search of shade in the park behind the church. We hung around at the bar for a bit longer and then did the same. I was looking over a fence at the countryside in the distance when I noticed my husband was called over to a bench where an African man was sitting. They chatted for a while and when I saw him sit down, I figured this could take some time so I joined them.

The African said he was from Gambia but he felt English because the country was, until recently, in the Commonwealth which he felt attached to. However, he felt betrayed because our Govt is doing nothing about the dictator who runs Gambia and whose persecution of people who don't agree with him forced this man to run for his life leaving his family, wife and children, behind.

He'd left the country by escaping into Libya. He said the people there are "crazy" and he showed us the scars on his legs which he said were caused by a machete. From there he'd paid a lot to sail on a cramped rickety boat which only had enough room for him to sit crouched and bent with many others looking to get to Europe. He cried all the way and didn't expect to survive. Many others don't. He had applied for asylum in Italy and was awaiting all the documentation he needed to be able to work there but it was a long, slow process and he was struggling to scrape a living in the meantime.

He said he was staying at a camp where other Africans lived but he spent his days in the park in Ragusa because he liked it there better. He couldn't sell goods like we'd seen others do in Pisa because he needed the money to invest first and he claimed, desperate African migrants are often exploited by better off African migrants who take their money and then disappear. The upshot of his long and tragic story was that he wanted some money so he could call his wife who didn't have Skype. We had no change and we didn't want to give him a note. We'd been approached by so many beggars on the journey and we couldn't keep giving money away especially as, by now, the budget was draining away and we had to think about the places we really wanted to see once back on the mainland and how we might shorten the trip home to ensure the money didn't run out before we got back. The African needed more help than we could give and from people better connected than us who could make the changes he needed in hope for a better life. We moved on and left him sitting there with his thoughts and memories. My other half was cynical about his motives for wanting money. I felt guilty at not being able to help in any way.

Although it was quiet in the town, we felt we should check out the car and it's a good job we did because we'd parked in a residential spot which could lead to the car being towed away. We moved it to a safer place while we explored as much as we could of Ragusa before the need to go off and find a camp site which was most likely to be found on the coast.



It was when we stumbled across the other church, or rather the Cathedral San Giorgio, I recognised it from my favourite detective TV series Inspector Montalbano although I hadn't gone on any kind of pilgrimage in the commissario's footsteps.




I'd forgotten all about it by the time we found a camp site which wasn't the one we were heading for. My camping guide book indicated that a camp site at Santa Croce Camerina was about 20 km away so we headed for that, did our usual thing of losing the road sign and ended up following signs to an Agriturismo site instead. We didn't know where we were but assumed we were in Santa Croce Camerina because we hadn't passed any village sign to tell us differently.

The reception at the Capo Scalambri was manned by two older men. One spoke very good English and the other was in difficulty just trying to write down our English details. We had quite a conversation. I tried using some of my limited Italian, I did want to improve my language skills, but the English speaking owner insisted that I speak English which he clearly understood better than my pigeon Italian. They were a proper pair of characters. The English speaking one insisted we try his wife's home made limoncello which he was selling, along with other farm produce, at 20 Euros a bottle. He carefully laid out two biscuits each for us, before pouring two shots of the very strong cocktail and instructed us that we must first eat the biscuits before downing in one gulp the limoncello. It tasted a bit like strong medicine with a kick to the back of the throat. The other man then decided to go off and pick us some fresh veg and came back with a bag full of auberginbes and peppers. Because we had no fridge, no ice for the cool box, and no other means of keeping food fresh, we couldn't get through it all before the veg started to turn which was a shame because I've never tasted peppers as juicy. I'd never tasted aubergines at all. Neither of us were very keen on those but we felt obliged to eat as much as we could because of the very kind gesture. It felt like a sin to throw it away.

Upon arrival, I noticed a huge poster on the wall outside of the reception of Inspector Montalbano and the dog he saved from fighting, Orlando, and remarked upon it asking if the men were fans of the series.

"You have that in England?" the English speaking chap said incredulously. "Yes, I said, "I love it and watch it every week that it's on."

"Well, he said, "his house is about 1km away from here if you want to go and see it."

I couldn't pass up on that opportunity so the next day we went in search of it. It didn't feel like a km away because we literally just drove around the corner and there it was, It took a matter of minutes to reach it via a walk along the beach from our camp site, although I have to say it's less impressive in real life, probably because there were lots of tourists hanging out nearby, and a family was staying there because the place is rented out to holidaymakers as a B&B.





We soon found out that the place we were camping at was called Punta Secca. Montalbano is an iconic figure in that part of Sicily. A local cáfe announced that they sold arancini - the favourite food of Inspector Montalbano and behind the counter was a framed photo of actor Luca Zingaretti and, I assume, the owner. In the local tobacconists, they sold fridge magnets with the house on, books about Montalbano the series, and the novels by Andrea Camilleri.

I had my first taste of arancino in Taormina and it was scrumptious but that sold at the Punta Secca bar was orgasmic. I didn't see it on sale in any part of Italy except the far south and Sicily and certainly I haven't seen it sold at home. If cooked correctly, it would make a great popular addition to the pasta and pizza so loved by the British but no one seems to have capitalised on it here yet.

I had my third arancini in Trapani which wasn't very nice, hard on the bottom, and soggy inside. My husband thought it funny that after three arancini, I was considering myself an gourmet expert.

We stayed three days in Punta Secca. It was a lovely marina village with a very strong community spirit. People stopped and chatted in the street, said hello as they sat outside on their terraces as you passed by and it had agreat feel to it. The weather of course was glorious until the last day when the sun was hot but marred by a very strong wind which made swimming in the sea impossible. A life guard stayed on the beach warning people not to go in the sea. The beach was almost empty except for a couple of people with towels over their heads and us. The strong wind also created a sand storm and we felt like we were enduring death by a thousand cuts as tiny grains of sand whipped across our legs, arms and faces and hurt.

Our favourite part of the day was morning when the bread man, fish man and veg man came round at various times to sell their produce from a van. Each called our their goods as they circled the site. "pane! cornetto!" the bread man repeated as he went, "pesce!" the fish man yelled but the veg man who had a deep and scratchy voice sounded his produce as if singing a song. I wish I'd been able to video it because I can't even repeat all the word he sang except for the first two :"patate, manana, ...., .... ,...." and the middle and last last vowels of the last unrepeatable word was dragged out and elongated before he began his little song again.

Our next destination was Agrigento where we saw the Valley of the Temples and we took a very quick look at Porto Empodocle which changed it's name in honour of author Camilleri's fictional town of Vigata, but more about that tomorrow.

TRAVEL ADVENTURE PART 5 - ZAMBRONE TO RAGUSA

Before we left Zambrone we had a day out in Tropea. Chilles are a speciality of the region and there were lots of them hanging in bunches from small specialist shops everywhere you looked. We bought a jar of pasta sauce made from chillies but not the really hot sort which they call bombe and we had our first taste of cannoli There were lots of steps leading down to the white sandy beach and the town was quite charming if somewhat rather invaded by tourists like us and the prices reflected this. It was quite expensive. The prettiest monument we saw was the church and monastery of Santa Maria della Isola, which sits on top of a limestone rock facing the sea. Fishermen's cave homes line the path to the church.



We inadvertently went to the pedestrian embarkation dock when we reached Reggio Calabria, which is in Italy's toe and where the ferry to Sicily goes from. We were sent back to the motorway with instructions to come off at Villa San Giovanni and follow signs for vehicles. We had another round of going in circles before we finally got there. Italian road signs point left when they mean straight ahead which often confused us and led to many wasted hours searching back roads for a way back to our flight path. I still remember a drenched ragged looking dog sitting alone in torrential rain on a hillside track we ventured along after losing a road sign sometime after after we left Pompeii.

Driving out of the dock at Messina was madness with drivers sounding their horns, crossing lanes, coming from right, left and centre, but we scrambled through the city and got onto the road for Taormina which was our first stop. We planned to just follow the coast line and stop at places we fancied having a look at, maybe going inland if it looked easy enough on the map. My camping guide book suggested a camp site at Letojanni, a seaside town nearby.

The camp site leading down to the beach was packed, very noisy and it was hot. The sun was bright and strong with the temperature simmering at about 37 degrees so we took full advantage of being able to swim in the sea and cool down. The heat in the tent at night was unbearable. We were melting. On balance, leaving the tent flap open with the risk of letting mosquitos in was the better option than dehydration. We got a lot of bites but the soothing salt water and the treatment cream we had helped a lot.

It was lovely to get up, shower, and laze in the sea first thing in the morning after a bad night. We were swimming happily and remarking how wonderful it was to be in the water when my other half suddenly yelled out and said he'd been bitten by something. He was quite far out and struggled to get back to his footing. When he reached the shore, he said whatever had got him felt like an electric shock. Neither of us was keen to swim anymore so we headed back to the tent. Once there, I took a proper look at his shoulder. It had blistered into a shape like Sicily.



The mosquito bite cream seemed to bring the swelling down. We supposed it was a jelly fish but we didn't see anything in that clear blue sea during our swim. It certainly made us a little more wary after that. The next day the blisters had gone completely but he was left with something that looked like a strawberry birth mark.



Letojanni was a typical Italian seaside town with lots of bars and restaurants serving food that was mostly alien to us, apart from pizza and pasta. Our budget didn't allow for wining and dining often but we decided to eat out in the town. The owner of the restaurant we chose could see we struggled with what to order, and our language problem was evident, and so he sent over an English speaking waiter who really looked after us. I wanted a quart of wine but ordered half by mistake so I ended up a little bit tiddly by the end of the evening.

We ordered steak and he recommended a salad which suited me fine. My husband wanted chips and the waiter looked a bit offended. "We won't do chips," he said. "Bread? Pane?" I asked. His nose went up in the air at the suggestion and he appeared to be about to say no but then relented and said : "Just for you this time." Another waiter was about to bring us salad when he was called back by the other one who insisted it wasn't dressed and we couldn't have it. Meanwhile, as we waited for our food, I ate the olives that were placed in front of me with the wine. I don't normally like them but I developed quite a craving for them by the end of the trip and that started that night in the Letojanni restaurant. The meal was delicious too. We had a good night and looked forward to visiting Taormina the next day.



Driving is forbidden in the old city which sits on top of a cliff so we parked in a multi-storey and then had a long walk up hundreds of steps to get to the centre of town. Taormina has very narrow roads and passageways which are packed with tourists and it's easy to see the attraction. It is a very diverse and colourful place with a huge character. Author DH Lawrence made his home there.



We walked around for hours taking in as much as we could. There was a small amphitheatre, the Roman Odeon, which unlike the Bigger Greek Amphitheatre was free to enter, at the back of some houses so we ventured in as it was devoid of visitors and we could have a good look around. However, as soon as we entered, a huge group of tourists with a tour guide suddenly appeared in a flurry of noise so we inched our way between them and headed for the exit.

Most people travel from top to toe in Italy but we'd decided to go around the whole coastline. This inevitably meant we'd see more than a balanced share of seaside towns. It made a nice change, therefore, to visit Ragusa a southern inland town, that was divided by an earthquake in 1693. It was also officially the half way mark in our journey and where we met an African immigrant in a park with a very traumatic story to tell that made me feel privileged not only to have a home and family but a second home - even if it was just a two man tent.



I'd hoped to write more today but there is too much to say in one post so I'll save some of the other adventures that I mentioned yesterday in Punta Secca, Trapani, and Aquadolce for tomorrow's read.

TRAVEL ADVENTURE PART 4 - TERME di SATURNIA TO ZAMBRONE

We got a little lost on our way back to a better road south from the Termi di Saturnia when we came across the above pictured fort. I have no idea where we were but my husband was so impressed by it, he had to pull over and get a shot. Castles, forts, and amphitheatres were his favourite sights. Mine were churches, narrow alleyways and steps.

We had two rules on the journey. One was to always ensure we filled up with petrol when the car hit half full - if we got lost the last thing we wanted to worry about was the possibility of running out of fuel in the middle of nowhere - and the second rule was to find a camp site before dark, preferably by 7pm - it isn't easy pitching up when you can't see properly.

It was early evening when we got back to a main blue road. We couldn't find any signs to camp sites along the way so I checked the Camping guide book I'd bought for the trip. It mentioned a couple in Rome and although we had no intentions of visiting the city, we were pleased to find somewhere to stay. However, it was about 8pm when we pulled in. The place was huge and very expensive - but then it did supply toilet roll which was a rarity in camp site toilets where you're normally expected to provide your own.

There was a group of young Australians camped nearby and adult supervisors staying in a huge camper van next to our tent. We'd had something to eat and just got the kettle on when the downpour came again. We were both irritable,tired and fed up of rain.

We went off to seek wi-fi and find the bar which was packed with the Aussies watching a world cup football match. There was lots of drinking and lots of noise. The wi-fi didn't work, the bar was too noisy, it was raining hard, and so at about 10pm we decided to get our heads down for the night.

Sleep was impossible because the young Australians got louder and louder. Sound carries further after dark. Every time we nodded off, there was more whooping and yelling from the kids and that rave type music that feels like someone's taking a hammer to your head with every thumping, dischorded beat. At 4am I could stand no more. I sat upright and shouted at the top of my voice :"This camp shouldn't be selling alcohol to kids at this time in the morning and those teachers need bloody shooting for allowing that lot to drink all night!" On reflection, it was a bit harsh. We were staying at a holiday camp after all. They were just having fun and why should they creep around because two weary, knackered, and middle aged travellers needed sleep - although clearly on the night, I was very irate.

About five minutes after my outburst, everything went deathly quiet. Tent walls are as thin as paper. Maybe the adults in the camper van next to us - which flew the Australian flag - heard and sorted out the rowdy bunch or maybe the 4am wake up call was the official end to whatever party they were at. We managed to drop off but we had to be up and packed early. We woke about 8am and there was no sign of the Aussies who were, perhaps, snoozing on a coach taking them somewhere.

We drove for two hours around Rome looking for a road sign to Naples which was the direction we needed for Pompei. We got so frustrated at driving round in circles, that we reluctantly took a green toll road just to get us moving again. As it turned out, it wasn't as expensive as France. We paid two Euro when we came off.

We drove through the outskirts of Naples and it looked a bit grim. To find it's beautiful centre, we'd have to drive in and we both wanted to avoid getting lost again so we bypassed it in favour of staying in Pompei. We were both more interested in seeing the volcanic ruins than art in Naples anyway.

I was vary of using the camping guide book again but a site it recommended seemed easy to get to by just taking a turn off the motorway. When I read properly the description of the Rome camp site, it did say that it was more geared up to attract the young. If I was 18 - 30, I probably would have loved it. However, Camping Zeus sounded perfect and more our cup of tea, especially as it was right at the entrance of the ruins. We decided to hang around for a few days for sightseeing, to get some washing done as the weather was glorious, and to rest.

We'd just got settled in and had tea when this little chap came along to say hello.



He was a bit mucky and he had fleas but he was very friendly and clearly liked the company of people. I looked around thinking he must belong to someone on the site but I soon found out he was a stray. He didn't stay long before moving on. We called him Zeus after the camp site. Later on, as we walked through the town, we saw many dogs wandering around on their own and with others and we realised no one owned them. We saw the sandy coloured puppy walking away from the camp site behind two older dogs as we approached after our walk. I pointed him out to my husband and said : "Ooh look, there's Zeus," and the dog turned his head at the mention of the name we had given him and I swear he smiled as dogs sometimes do.

The next day was blistering hot and we had hours to look around the ruins. The first thing we saw was an old dog resting on the cool marble floor of the entrance. Signs were posted around warning tourists not to approach the strays. Not all of them were as friendly as Zeus and this one certainly wasn't. We saw him later barking at and chasing cars.

I hadn't realised historic Pompeii was an actual city and it took some getting around. We walked for four hours and didn't get around it all. I wanted to see the erotic art and the casts of bodies (black tourism again) but we couldn't find them. I did see some casts isolated on their own and my husband picked up a fridge magnet while there which gave us a taste of what we had missed. There were other artistic frescoes to see and mosaics too.











There was a sadness about the place and it did feel a little immoral taking tourist photos of what was a massive human tragedy. This was clearly in other visitors' minds. A little girl was laughing and playing near the cast of a sitting person with his hands to his face that looks like he's weeping. Her father asked her to have some respect. They are not real bodies but each cast represents a person who died an awful death.

Apparently, when the exotic art was discovered it was thought too disgusting, initially, to show to the public and then men were later allowed to view it. Woman were banned from seeing it until the 1980s.

Camping Zeus run trips to the top of Vesuvius but if you want to go to the crater, you have to pay extra. We took the bus ride which was hair raising. I mention it in detail HERE in an article looking at a different aspect of Italian life but if you're a rabid anti-smoker, it's best not to look.

The roads to the top were were narrow and hairpin like this one. Initially the weather was lovely but as we left Vesuvius, the heavens opened which made the ride a little more unnerving. It stopped by the time we reached an isolated bar on route where we had free wine tasting and bruschetta.





We didn't go to the crater because of a misunderstanding about the cost and a row my husband had with a shirty guide at the entrance to the crater walk, so we hung around at the foot of it picking up pieces of lava for the grandkids and taking photos of the lizards running around. We also had a beer in the bar and a chat with our bus crew who were great.



The rain came back to the camp and so did Zeus who had popped in every day to say hello. I felt sorry for him walking this way and that, following people who he thought might take him in and out of the rain. If I'd had something bigger than a two man tent, I might have taken him in and if I could have taken him home, I would, but it was impossible. We didn't see him again after that night. We asked the staff about him and other strays in the area and why there was no dog warden of anyone to look after them, but he said that was just the way it was. I wondered if Zeus had managed to melt another camper's heart and been taken home. I hoped so anyway. He was definitely a dog, or rather a pup, who wanted a human friend.

We said goodbye to Pompeii and headed down to Tropea. My husband was all for cracking on towards Sicily but I reminded him it wasn't supposed to be a race and Tropea looked gorgeous. The place was packed with people as we drove through the small town and it was difficult to negotiate our way past them all walking on the roads because the pavements weren't big enough. We didn't find the site mentioned in my guide book which was just as well. Quite by accident, as we gave up and headed back on the road towards Reggio Calabria, where we would take the ferry to Sicily, we found a little piece of heaven at the Paradiso del Sub in Zambrone - a place that wasn't even on the map.



We pulled in at the sign and then followed a long, winding, narrow road down, wondering where it would eventually lead us. Then we saw this when we got to the bottom and it took our breath away.



The link above to Paradiso Del Sub shows there is a whole different side to the camp site which we didn't see. We were happy with the camping pitch because apart from two other campers in a tent, who left the next day, a bloke who came out every day to sit on a huge rock and fish, and a family in a caravan, there was no one else around so it felt like we had it all pretty much to ourselves, although a few people who were staying in nearby bungalows on the site occasionally walked past and disappeared along the path. We didn't know where they went but I'm guessing to the swimming pool and the whole camping village that we didn't know existed.

The photo above shows the view from our tent. We were lulled to sleep each night by the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks. I could have stayed there all holiday but we weren't even half way on our journey so reluctantly after a couple of days, we moved on in search of new adventures in Sicily - a place we both looked forward to getting to.

Tomorrow's post recalls how we ended up at a lovely site just around the corner from Inspector Montalbano's house, how we lost the car in Trapani and failed to make ourselves understood at one of the few times when being able to speak Italian really mattered, how my husband fell foul of police in Aquadolce, and earlier got stung by a jelly fish in Letojanni where we camped because it was close to Taormina.

TRAVEL ADVENTURE PART 3 - LAVAGNA TO TERME di SATURNIA

We thought we'd seen the last heavy rainfall in Lavagna where we endured a huge thunderstorm which banged so loud in the middle of the night, right next to the tent by the sound of it, that it woke us both up. Luckily we stayed dry, if the bedding was a bit damp, and the next day, as we packed up and made our way south down the western side of the coast, the sky was clear and it was hot.

We had no intention of stopping in Pisa because we've seen it many times and at that time of year, it was flooded with tourists. However, we knew of a cheap and comfortable little hotel there and we both wanted a proper bed and some rest. Not only had it changed its name from The Villa Leaning Tower to the Villa Soriano which confused us somewhat, it was also full when we arrived. We booked in for the following night, left the car there, and made our way to another hotel, without parking, The Ariston which was right next to the Piazza dei Miracoli which includes the magnificent leaning tower.

It's a good job that we did because that storm from our last night in Lavagna caught up with us. Pisa was grey and very cold and although we could see the night sky floodlit with lightning from our hotel room, we couldn't hear the thunder. Everywhere we walked the next day, we had to negotiate our way past tourists doing the holding up the tower shot, and the Africans selling umbrellas or sunglasses depending on the weather. No thankyou wasn't always accepted and we felt a little harassed at times, although we also accept that they have a hard living to make in difficult circumstances.

We decided to catch a train to Lucca. It was another place on my wish list and although it was clear and bright when we arrived, the clouds soon moved in and before long torrential rain came down, as the photo above shows. We ran to a cáfe bar for wine and bruschetta and shelter. I'm often told I look Italian. Waiters always approached me speaking the language and would look surprised by the confused look on my face but it gave me the opportunity to say fluently one of the few sentences I could construct : "Mi dispiace, non parla Italiano." On this occasion, the lady surprised me more by switching to English in a strong Scottish accent. "Ooh sorry," she said. "I thought you were Italian." I was intrigued to know how she, and the other staff member who was also Scottish, came to run a bar in Lucca but they were very busy due to the sudden influx of customers who were also trying hard to avoid the sudden downpour.

We stayed until the rain eased off but although Lucca was beautiful, it was pretty miserable walking around in such cold, dull, weather. Our budget was always tight and so we had planned to be selective about the museums, galleries and attractions we visited that had entry fees which were almost always quite expensive. During a short holiday of a week or two then it isn't such a problem but when you're hoping to stretch your cash over eight weeks then you have to be as prudent as you can. The way things were going, because we spent far too much in Pisa, we'd be lucky if our budget covered petrol, camp site fees, ferry fees and food when we still had such a long way to get around the boot. We were already trying to be careful.

However, a visit up The Guinigi Tower, at eight Euros each, was another way of taking our minds off the grey miserable weather. My husband was surprised the weight of the trees at the top didn't bring the tower down and we did get a marvellous view of the city below.



Later, as we walked around some more, we came across some underground tunnels which were fascinating, dry, and out of the chilly air.





There was also a replica of the Guinigi Tower down there so I decided to do my own "holding up the tower" shot there instead of the Leaning Tower of Pisa so favoured by tourists. It was so flimsy that as soon as I put my hands on it, I almost pushed it over. Everything appeared to be made of cardboard.



The sun finally came out and the air heated up a lot after we got back to Pisa. We grabbed a fantastic night's sleep at the Villa Soriano but we woke up covered in mosquito bites. The repellent cream helped a lot but didn't always deter the pesky little mites.

I was looking forward to getting back to camping after two nights in a hotel in a place we never planned to stay and I had intended to stop in Cecina but I was completely dazzled by the gorgeous coastline along that stretch and didn't notice that we'd missed the turn off. My husband who only kept his gaze fixed on the road and depended on me for navigation, didn't want to find a way to turn back. I thought Grossetto was close and maybe we could take a train back to Cecina once settled but after a very long drive we realised that it was much further than we thought so I missed that opportunity. My husband also wanted to see the wreck of the Costa Concordia - black tourism, apparently - but it wasn't at Grossetto as we thought but rather an island off the coast somewhere.

As we made our way there, we saw signposts to the Island of Elba and we couldn't resist taking time out to visit as it was on the wish list of places we hoped to see during the trip. We found ourselves heading for Piombino where the ferry sailed from and about an hour after a wonderful, blue sky and azure calm sea crossing, we stepped off at Portoferraio.



It was lovely, very hot and very beautiful - full of the sort of enchanting alleyways I love so much but it was all rather rushed as we only had a couple of hours before we had to get back on the ferry and on course towards Grossetto.



My husband who had been so scathing about churches and religion in general while visiting a church in Aosta put some holy water on a particularly huge mosquito bite and was amazed when it had disappeared the next day without giving him any trouble at all. I did my usual thing of lighting a candle near my mother's favourite saint.



We arrived at Grossetto late and stayed only one night in a wood which was very busy and packed with campers. The next day we took a look at the beach and had a paddle and then checked out the gorgeous marina where the boats are docked. With the sun still shining, we decided to drive south as far as we could get before dark. However, because I'd noticed that the Terme di Saturnia was relatively close to Grossetto and might be easy to get to, we decided that if it was signposted on the way, then we'd follow it. If not, then we'd continue with our plan to head south before dark.



Saturnia was signed and we ventured out on small country roads in search of it. I wasn't disappointed when we found it. Legend has it that the Gods Jupiter and Saturn had a massive fight in the area and when Jupiter threw a lightning bolt at Saturn, he missed and created the hot springs so enjoyed by people like me today. I was in heaven. My husband in his cynical way poo-pooed the legend and said he was sure it was just a hot sewer pipe running along there like the old hotties in Stamp End in my home town where he played as a kid. That was something to do with the steam coming from the old now defunct and derelict factories.

I could have spent all day there. People lazed in the water and others covered themselves from head to toe in mud which I assume is some form of beauty therapy. As time got on, we decided to grab a snack in the bar on the site and head onwards. There was an American girl in front of me in the queue who ordered a huge array of food for herself and her friends and then after giving such a long order, she found the bar didn't accept cash cards and she had no means to pay and so cancelled the order. Luckily for us, we had just enough to pay for the burger and chips beer and coca cola we consumed which was perfect after the hunger I felt from swimming in what was like a lovely warm bath.





The Terme di Saturnia remains one of the highlights of the trip for me but there was still a long way to go to get around that boot and see as much of Sicily as we could as well. If readers are not bored by my travel adventure yet, then tomorrow I'll talk about the awful camp site we stayed at in Rome full of rowdy drunken Australian youths, the stray dog I fell in love with in Pompei, and a little piece of heaven we found near Tropea.

TRAVEL ADVENTURE PART 2 - AOSTA TO LAVAGNA

The best thing about Aosta is the mountain range. It's the sort of place people stay when mountain climbing or skiing in winter but we were happy just to gaze out at the beauty of it all from a safe distance. The town itself was very enchanting. We walked around for a few hours checking out all the little shops. I bought grappa, a very strong Italian wine, similar to brandy, because it's hard to get or very expensive at home, and my husband bought his first fridge magnet. He planned to buy one from every town we visited as a way of collecting souvenirs.

We went into the Cathedral of the Maria Assunta. I love the heavy silence of churches. It allows space and time to think and reflect. The world outside is a million miles away. They always make me think of my mum who was very religious and especially very Catholic. I lit a candle for her in the many churches we saw and always under an icon of her favourite saint, St Mary, mother of Christ.



My husband saw a different Italy to the one I was looking for. As a non-practising Protestant, he didn't much like all the iconography, he kept making jibes about pervert priests, and condemned the lavish wealth of The Church while homelessness, poverty and begging were rife across the country. His view of Italy and mine would remain at odds as the trip progressed.

We stayed in Aosta for two days before moving on. We were both fed up of driving already and I wanted to do some sightseeing. We also figured the car needed a rest too. We still weren't sure that it would hold up during such a long road trip - especially as he told me he'd got a nail in one tyre and, like the other on the front, the rubber was cracked. There was some drizzly rain but nothing as bad as the downpours we drove through in France - nor the soaking we got the first night at the French camp site we stayed at.

Initially we started with two tents - one to sleep in and the other to keep stuff dry and out of the rain - but we dumped one as the weather improved.Rain was a recurring feature during the first part of the trip and it got me down a bit but my husband kept assuring me that the further south we went, the better the weather would be.

After spending a small fortune on driving the roads in France, we found in Italy the green roads were tolls and we went to great lengths to avoid them. Blue signed roads in Italy were free so when we left Aosta, we headed for Turin and Genoa along smaller narrow roads that wound down the mountain range. I'm amazed that I didn't pull great big chucks out of the car seat as I gripped on in fear as he negotiated his way along, often pulling away from the edge and putting me right in the path of oncoming cars as I was, after all, sat on the left where the driver should be. We found out later, as went along, that free to use blue SS roads were often duelled, straight and well signed, but blue SP roads were narrow, often one car wide, with hairpin bends and twists and turns. There were occasional spots to pull over and admire the beauty of the landscape below us and take a breather and so we did.



Turin was hectic to drive through and the signs to Genoa were hard to follow. My other half still had his English driving head on so when he missed a turning, unlike the Italians, he wasn't prepared to U turn, cut up other drivers to get into the right lane, or hold up traffic while he made up his mind how to navigate from where we were to where we wanted to be while being serenaded by a concerto of car horns pipped by impatient motorists behind. It took until we got to Sicily before he began to feel more confident about his driving and think like Italian motorists.

I checked the map and realised that the signpost we'd been pushed to follow to Savona would do as it wasn't far from Genoa and it did lie at the top of the west coast so was on our eventual flight path. However, using the little roads meant that we drove that day for eight hours before we reached it. It was incredibly hot as we were pulled in to the Camping Charly site which lifted my spirits somewhat and even though it was dark, we managed to get a paddle in the sea to cool down which was just across the road.

We were both starving and the smells from the camp site cooking were tortuous. The eggs we bought in France were still good, the bread was hard but good enough for toasting, and we had a little ham but it clearly wasn't as appetising as the food being served by other campers. We realised quickly that Italians take their camping very seriously. They pitch up in families, grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles and all the kids. They had extra awnings and tents to set up kitchens and dining rooms. We noticed as we went along that sometimes campers bought the fridge freezer, the fridge, a cupboard to keep the food in, and one neighbour we later saw even bought her own washing machine.

We stayed two days in Savona and it was too long. The heat gave way to lashing rain and strong wind the day after our arrival, which made the stay pretty miserable, but we escaped into town where we could at least sit in a cáfe and walk under porticoes to stay dry, rather than hunch up in our tiny tent with our backs bent sat in a camping chair and heads pressed up against the top. The town is much prettier with more character than the ugly outskirts but then where in the whole of post war Europe isn't like that?

The heat came back with a vengeance when we left Savona and headed for the Cinque Terra. I'd given up any hope that we might see Genoa as we appeared to have travelled too far down the coast to go back up again. I guess I saw as much of Turin as I was going to see when we drove through it. We stopped in Nervi because the sea just looked so wonderful and then we stopped again in Rapallo, taking time out once we got back to driving to look from the cliff top down on Portofino.







Then we arrived at Lavagna. We found a lovely camp site called Campeggio Panarama where we stayed for four days. It was very hot initially and we both enjoyed our first proper swim in the sea. The town was charming with a huge church and the camp was nestled among olive trees. The owner was a lovely, helpful man who arranged for us to pick up some camping gas from a store in town after ours ran out. In addition, he lent us a gas cannister and small hob so we could cook food and make tea that night. However, the one he brought to us fixed ran out immediately. We didn't know how to fix the new cannister to the hob so my husband took it to the office to ask if the owner could do it for us. Apparently as he tried to attach the hob, gas spurted out in a whoosh. Both he and my husband ran from the office with it and he then he managed to get that hob on. There was just enough gas left for a half boiled cup of tea the next morning which I half enjoyed as my husband carried the new gas bottle from town to the site, complete with new regulator to fix it with. He moaned about the cost - 100 Euros - for most of the rest of the trip and wasn't best pleased when it ran out again a week or so before we finally headed home.

The owner, who my husband insisted was called George, spoke excellent English. He gave us a map of the Cinque Terra and told us how to get there from Lavagna railway station. We enjoyed one beach day at Lavagna and worked out that Genoa wasn't far by train so we had a day out in Genoa after all where we saw a pirate ship, the town and ate seafood and drank wine.




The sun was still shining and all was good in Lavagna but on our third day, when we decided to go the Cinque Terra, the clouds came over, it rained a bit, and it wasn't very warm. The Cinque Terra towns are Monterosso al Mare, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola, and Riomaggiore. We didn't see them all because we spent too much time that day in La Spezia, which still has a working fishing port, but we did grab some time to see Manorola. Stunning is the only word I can use to describe the place that took my breath away.





We were sad to leave Lavagna, it remains one of our favourite places of all those towns, cities and hamlets we saw, but we realised that we had a long way still to go and we had to move on. We've been to Florence, Pisa and Rome before so we decided to skip these fantastic cities but we found ourselves in Pisa - another place we felt we stayed too long.

Tomorrow's blog post recalls a very wet day walking around Lucca, a quick stop in Grossetto, after missing the turn off to my mother's home town of Marina Di Cecina, a day out at the wonderful Termi di Saturnia and a quick look around the island of Elba before we headed further south.

TRAVEL ADVENTURE PART 1 - ENGLAND TO AOSTA

Home for six weeks as we travelled around Italy and France.

I can only apologise for the neglect during the last eight months in updating new posts. I haven't had much free time due to an extremely busy year involving teaching, writing and journalism and from September my working life will be even more packed. It will also involve a new and exciting project, that I can't talk about yet, so I'll hardly get a minute to breathe as autumn and winter set in. This long summer was my chance to do something different so I grabbed the opportunity to make time to travel.

Readers still here, after such a long absence from the blog, may recall that last year I only managed a virtual trip to my favourite country. I saved hard and worked hard to make the dream become reality and enjoyed six long weeks under the sun travelling along the west side, around the foot and heel, and up along the east side of Italy's boot.

My husband was impressed that he could just drive the car from our home in England, packed with tent and essentials, onto a train at the Eurotunnel in Folkestone and 35 minutes later we were driving off again and through France. We had a map but no idea of where to find camp sites which proved quite difficult without some sort of guidebook. As dusk fell after a very long day, we pulled off the motorway and by sheer chance found a lovely little site at Bourget Et Comin. Blue motorways in France are awful because of the cost involved in paying to use them. We eventually got wise and found the green roads were better because they were direct, well signed to towns, villages and camp sites, infinitely more scenic and of course they were free to use. We estimated that we spent about 100 euros driving along ugly French tarmac so it was a tough lesson learned on a relatively small budget.



The camp site was surrounded by an area where WW1 trenches were dug and battles fought. A single poppy pushed up beneath the fence near to our pitch was a solemn reminder of the horrors faced by men of many countries. We saw endless rows of English, French and Canadian wargraves but I couldn't help thinking how different history could have been if at least one of the fallen German Jews had been Corporal Adolf Hitler instead.



These graves were particularly poignant for me given what came later and what is happening now in Isreal and Gaza. The Muslim graves in the French cemetery made me lament why people who once stood shoulder to shoulder in battle during the first and second world wars are now enemies across Europe and in danger of fighting each other in a third world war.



Whether Muslim, Jew, Christian or Atheist, they were all mostly boys and young men. It was impossible not to shed a few tears looking down at that vast waste of life lost in "the war to end all wars." You hear about it, watch documentaries, remember all you were taught at school, but nothing prepares you for the reality of the numerous graves, each containing the lost soul of a person starting out in life, with a future, hopes, dreams, family, loved ones, all stolen by the machinations of global war, hatred, and the belief that Governments owned them to use as they would and their belief they were there to be used and "do their bit."

Anger hung over both of us as we headed out of the region and onwards towards the Italian border. We didn't speak very much on the way but snapped out of it as we got to Dijon where we stayed in a hotel due to it being dark and not wanting to drive for hours in search of another campsite when we had no idea where to find one. We left early and headed for the Mont Blanc.



The view was incredible as we got closer. We had to pay 42 Euros to go through five and a half km of tunnel, which was a bit much, but we marvelled at the amazing feat of engineering. Then we were in Italy and our first port of call there was Aosta, a lovely historic town in the Valle d'Aosta which seemed to be more French than Italian.



My husband fell in love with the place and it remained his favourite after the trip ended and we had seen the contrasting Italian regions from north to south and back again. We stayed at Camping International Sarre which is about four km from the centre of Aosta, and we chose to stay there at the end of the trip as we returned home.

I had intended to write a travel blog each day but getting wifi for the laptop wasn't always easy or available although the above camp site had excellent facilities. I began to keep an old fashioned journal but then it got packed in a bag that got buried beneath other stuff in the car so I lapsed quite a lot. Instead, I decided to write about it all after we got home about 10 days ago but now realise that's quite a lot to write and read so perhaps serialisation is a better way to approach it. So, for now, dear reader, if you stay with the blog and check back, I'll update and feature the next stage of our journey in a new post tomorrow and explain how we headed for Turin and Genoa after Aosta but ended up in the seaside town of Savona instead.

We didn't always get to see the places we had on our wish list, and we often found places that we would never have thought of visiting, but it was a great trip and we have many interesting stories still to tell from our travel adventure.

A CRACKING YEAR FOR CRIME

Lucan, the drama based on the mystery of the disappearing 7th Earl of Bingham following the brutal murder of his children's nanny Sandra Rivett in 1974, ended a cracking year of TV crime dramas.

Lady Lucan disagrees that it was an accurate portrayal, and I suppose she should know better than most, but it certainly reflected and expertly dramatised the facts as we have come to accept them over four decades. However, whether Lord Lucan killed the nanny is not a matter of fact but allegation that has never been tested in a court of law.

The inquest jury into the nanny's death named him as the culprit but that in itself led to a change in law and the role inquests could play in determining who was thought to be responsible for a death. Thanks to the Lucan case, inquests now have only one purpose - to identify the deceased, and how, where and when they died - and no longer can an inquest accusation lead to presumption of guilt before criminal trial.

The mystery of what happened to Lucan will no doubt be a matter of speculation long after our generation has gone. 100 years from now they'll still be talking about it, writing books about it, and making films about it, in the same way we still talk about Jack the Ripper and who it might have been.

We've always generally believed that Lucan either committed suicide or lived in anonymous exile in Africa after the murder and I was genuinely taken aback by the third possibility - that his powerful friends had him executed to save them further embarrassment. The thought literally made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge and a chill shuddered through me. It's certainly feasible but whether it's true or not will never, and can never, be known.

Rory Kinnear in the starring role is brilliant as usual. That stiff British upper lip appears to be a natural characteristic of his and despite it, he still allows silent emotion in any scene to break through with sublime subtlety. He's a great actor and has never stood in the shadow of his father Roy - who died after he fell from a horse while making The Return of the Musketeers.

It's been a great year for the younger Kinnear and I'm sure he has many ahead as he's now embedded as a national treasure as his father was before him.

Other TV dramas, with both well known and lesser known actors, have really given TV audiences something to look forward to after a hard day's work this last year. We had edge of the seat stuff, complex mysteries, original screenplays and satisfying conclusions - well almost.

I sat and watched The Fall avidly but felt cheated at the end when nothing was really resolved. In fact, such was my disappointment that I won't be watching it again if it comes back because what's the point? Perhaps it will just end up the same - a step closer but still miles away from stopping a vile killer that you want to see get brought down.

I wasn't too keen on the Top of the Lake NZ drama either which irritated the hell out of me. One episode was enough to bore the pants off me and thereafter, I was happy to find another favourite series to watch on iPlayer instead. Who Do You Think You Are is not crime but tells really heartwarming stories of celebrities' ancestors which are common to us all.

A list of this year's greatest dramas can be found in detail over at the Crime Time Preview Blog and that includes some of my favourites including Peaky Blinders which, for me, was the best this year.

I also loved Ripper St, Montalbano, both young and older, Endeavour, Life of Crime, Broadchurch, Secret State, Death in Paradise, Southcliffe, Foyle's War, Jack Taylor, What Remains and The Fear.

The new characters in New Tricks spiced up the series of the old dog detectives and I'm looking forward to the new series next year. I also watched Whitechapel, despite it's rather gory and unrealistic plot lines, but I was happy to suspend my disbelief in the name of fiction even though I had to stretch my reality check factor quite a bit. I think, ultimately, it's just not quite my cup of tea.

The last episode of the final Poirot ever made sealed the whole long standing series as a classic to be enjoyed by many generations. It was a brutally fantastic end for the great detective who ultimately was not quite all he appeared to be in his quest for justice above all else.

In addition to being this year's best and most original drama, Peaky Blinders also enjoyed the best theme tune - Red Right Hand by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. I'll raise my glass of Christmas mulled wine to it and hope that it to returns for a second series in the new year.



2014 is going to be great. I wish all my readers the best Christmas ever and hope the new year to come allows you to follow your own hopes and dreams as I intend to follow mine - but more about that as the new year unfolds.