It feels like a long time since I last posted a blog and looking back, I see it was only five days ago on our last rest day.  But, my word, so much has happened and I’ve barely had time to take it all in, let alone write about it or go through the countless images I’ve take every day.

So, first things first we are now in Southern Italy on a campsite right on the beach.  It’s 25 degrees and it’s another well-earned rest day.  The extent of my decision making goes no further than what time I can have my first beer and where do we eat.  The last week has been amazing, yet calamitous. Relaxing, yet stressful.  It’s been filled with some priceless instants that lift the spirits, balanced with moments of utter exasperation. And time has raced by despite some considerably long journeys.

I’m trying to come to grips with my attitude to Italy.  Nothing is easy to do here.  One the one hand it’s utterly charming, rather rustic, undeniably beautiful and has a rich and glorious history.  While the other hand constantly takes away with its lack of coordination, the confusion and the ‘I’ll do whatever I fucking well want’ attitude of Italian drivers.

There are too many locations to visit, which means it’s not possible to see it all and because there are so many places on bucket lists, there’s hordes of tourists everywhere.  Sometimes I find it a bit sad and depressing that so many places are over run and their character is at real risk of destruction, and yet at the same time I have to admit that I’m here too and we’re part of the problem. 

Yesterday was probably the perfect example.  We visited Terme di Saturnia very early in the morning after camping near some of the quaintest Tuscan villages you could imagine.  BUT, it was Saturday and it was going to be busy because everyone wants to lounge in the 37 degree thermal pools.  Before the crowds arrived, it was breathtaking and serene.  When the numbers began to increase, we’d had our fill and left but we had to park our van somewhere because of the narrow Italian roads that claimed our brake light and dented the back door.  So, we’d parked on a dedicated motorhome site that was rammed to the gunnels and had facilities that were so despicable an ancient Roman soldiers would have baulked at the conditions.

As I sat there in the queue to empty our waste and fill up with fresh water, I couldn’t but help wonder whether this really was the ultimate freedom that comes with life on the road.  Did all these other motorhome owners accept this as normal and were resigned to this fate? Or was I just naive?

This is only part one of this instalment of the blog, I’ve got a beach walk planned and hopefully lunch on a terrace somewhere before this day is over but I just wanted to share a final thing that highlights the extremes of the Italian experience.  Reaching Tuscany felt quite special and we stayed on a small campsite that offered a simple pasta and charcuterie dinner cooked by the elderly owner and served with their own wines.  It was perfect and the Tiramisu dessert will never be forgotten by Kerry.

The next day we wanted to visit Florence which had a huge carpark on the outskirts of town with a tram connection, in theory a brilliant idea. Not really, because the carpark had filled just as we arrived, it was a case of one in and one out.  The queues were backing back through the toll booth and onto the autostrada.  There was one official guy in a high viz vest, but he was doing sweet FA apart from a lot of arm waving and hand gestures. He never took control of the situation and cleared a path so that people could leave if they didn’t want to wait hours in their car for an available space.  Most Italians seemed to accept this, got out of their cars and started smoking.

We never made it to Florence.