# Italy trip part one



## torquayite (May 1, 2005)

AUTUMN 2005.
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The Trip to Italy.
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Sunday 9th. October.
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The milometer reads 47373 as we set off from Torquay with all we need for our creature comforts for the next five weeks.
We have three bikes on board, my new one up on end with the front wheel off, just inside the door, Jean’s new Giant also minus front wheel and popped up onto the overcab bunk, and a sports bike we bought for Steve in the back.
As it was a Sunday, we called in at Matford boot sale in Exeter.
We spent an hour or so looking for any bargains.
A nice camera, telescope, and two boxes full of shoe boxes crammed with used stamps, a purchase which was to prove invaluable as it gave Jeannie hours of contented browsing throughout the dark evenings of our trip.
Arrived at Salisbury mid afternoon and unloaded the bike which is our present to Steve for his birthday.
Within seconds he was zooming around the park and I got my new bike out to join him for a ride along by the river on the cycle track into the town centre, a tour round the shops, then back again. We were both extremely pleased with the ease of cycling and the speed we could do without a lot of effort.
He managed to put the bike in the garden shed which saves lugging it down to keep in the flat, and after a lovely tea we had a fairly early night.
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Monday 10/10/05.
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In the morning the sun came out and it was quite warm looking round the garden and admiring the huge conkers fallen from the trees.
We ambled off and enjoyed a pleasant drive, glad we were not coming the other way on the motorway where an upside down car was totally blocking the road and causing miles of solid stationary traffic.
As we approached the M25 junction, the traffic seemed to be getting very congested and I decided to drop off to detour via Guildford and the A2 to join the orbital at Leatherhead and meander to Canterbury in the sunshine.
Parked and walked round some of the City walls, not going in to the Cathedral gardens as there was a £10 fee, spending the money on a pair of lightweight clip on sunglasses for me instead.
To Dover, and parked on the sea front. Quite a long wait as we arrived at 5.30 and can not get in the port until gone midnight. They offered me an earlier sailing but only if we paid a supplement. As the whole idea is to take advantage of the £19 each way fare, we did not bother, enjoying a delicious lamb dinner and an enforced rest until midnight.
I tried to change TomTom to French maps, but it wanted an authorization code, which needed use of a computer. 
Sodding thing once again more than bloody useless.
Text message to Chris in the hope he can get the required code.
On board at 1 a.m. and in the reclining seats for a few dozes as we drone over the gap. We can see the lights of Calais even before we leave Dover.
Change watches to one hour forward, and at 4.45 we dock at Loon Plage and gently drive to our parking spot at Port Grande Philippe, easy on the accelerator as we are pretty low on diesel.
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Tuesday.
.
Lovely sunny morning and after a leisurely breakfast we go for a walk on the beach, setting off for our Grande Tour at about 11a.m.
First thing was diesel, 21.74 litres at 1.15E=25E @ 47688 miles, then on to the E13 for a sunny easy run to the Bruges motorhome aire by noon.
Chris called and said he would try and get the code.
Chatting to some English motorhomers at the aire who told me there were good deals to be had at Campirama, NV Ringlaan, 8501 KORTRIJK, tel. 056-35-62-598.
We got the bikes out and rode into and out of town, following beside various canals. It was busy everywhere with lots of cyclists cheerfully going the wrong way against the vehicular traffic which is scary when you are not used to it, and riding new bikes. The cobbles make cycling in Bruges less than comfortable, probably worse for us as we were going quite slowly and had time to feel every bump.
The sun is wonderful. Shirt sleeves, sitting on the parapet of one of the bridges, eating an ice cream.
Horse and carriage tourists trotting by, Americans by the coachload, and the ever present bicycles. Very Continental.
We had a great tea, then I tried changing the parcel carrier from the back of Jeannie’s bike over to mine. She finds the weight of Curly in his basket quite a trial.
Very pleased to get it all to fit on my bike…..then found a rather big problem. Whereas Jean can step over her lower cross bar, I have to swing a leg over the saddle to dismount, and with a Curly dog perched in his basket, I’d kick him in the head.
So I had to change it all back again, by which time we were tired enough to go to bed.
It had got dark at about seven.
I chained the bikes together and to the rear ladder rack, and we had a quite good night despite the traffic noise from the nearby main road.
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Wednesday.
.
Cloudy as we went for a bike ride along the outer canals to see the windmills. Some of the canals are very similar to the Amsterdam variety, complete with house-boats and “skinny” bridges. Huge barges use the bigger outer waterways, one, which was loaded with rubbish, went passed and must have been over a hundred metres long.
Another cariste taking a freshly purchased van home to Scotland told me to try “palmo.de” on the web search for this firm he reckoned was first class, good prices and service even if you did not speaka da lingo. 
The new mudguard on my bike broke off, so I sent a letter to Halfords warning them I was coming for a replacement in a couple of months. We cycled for miles along another canal heading out of town, and were amazed how frequently traffic, even big lorries, will stop courteously to let you cross at junctions or even on an ordinary road if it is obvious you want to cross over.
On the other hand, one of the quite narrow tow paths had cars and lorries using it in both directions, not leaving a lot of room for us.
Back for a rest. This enjoying yourself is tiring when you aren’t used to it.
Then another vibro massage ride into town after tea to meander around the now almost deserted streets and squares, admiring the flood lit buildings and canals.
We noticed how few police are around, none on the streets and only a rare sighting of a police car.


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Thursday.
.
We went to Ghent on the motorway after leaving Bruges, driving in to the centre and deciding that with it’s bumpy cobbles and tram tracks it was not cycle friendly, so we drove through the central market square where only a few plants were for sale, then back to the motorway when the low diesel warning light came on.
Fuel up, 36.33litres at 1.101E = 40E @ 47791 miles. 
And off to Bruxelles city centre. Or it would have been if I had not driven down into a tunnel just as we were approaching what looked like the Bruxelles version of St. Pauls Cathedral.
It seemed to go on for ages. Other tunnels joined on the right. I was convinced we would pop up out the other side of town. Desperately looking for signs to Namur, but all the exit signs seemed to be of districts of Bruxelles, not outer areas, so when we popped up into daylight briefly, I decided not to dive down again and pulled onto the wide pavement opposite a very impressive looking building which turned out to be the Palace of Justice.
I found a van driver and asked for directions to Namur. He decided that was far too difficult, so I settled for finding out where we were actually parked.
No problem. Straight down a main road lined with very posh buildings, round the court yard of the Royal Palace, cut round the palace gardens, nearly passing what I am sure was the same church we had started from, and we were on a road leading out from the centre in the right direction.
I think we had travelled underground about three quarters of the way round a circle!
I should have stopped before we got to town and studied the map. But that’s what we got that stupid TomTom for!
Going through the Palace garden road, a military type in uniform stepped out and signalled us to stop. I wondered for a minute if he was going to tick us off for being too big for the palace roads, but all he did was wave a big limo out of one of the numerous European Union buildings.
Good fun, but far too busy for us to stop and look round.
On the road to Namur, saw a sign saying Chateau on the Lake, so dived off to have a look.
Followed rather haphazard signposting through Roscaires(?) until we emerged beside a small lake with a Geneva style single high jet fountain opposite an old chateau, which is now a posh hotel.
Parked beside the lake, occasionally getting a wash of fine spray from the fountain, and got the chairs out to sit in the sunshine. While Jean was still in the van brewing up and making sandwiches, a young woman walked along by the side of the lake, came to the vacant canvas seat awaiting Jeannie, and calmly sat down, opened her large file type bag, and began studying various papers. I said Bonjour, got a murmured reply, but to our amazement she sat there quite happily for five minutes then just got up and walked off…..
Back to the motorway and head to Namur where we had stayed on our last but one trip. Quick look round then on to a place called Profondeville on the river Meuse.
Someone had told us there was an aire here by the church, but all we saw was a pile of rubbish, graffiti, a lorry without wheels, and rude kids. 
We drove on to Dinant and pulled in to an open camping site right beside the main road. Admittedly, the river was on the other side of the narrow strip the site occupied, but at 12.75E for one night “sans electricite” we thought we would forget that and drive on.
Unfortunately, the list of Aires I brought with me is useless without TomTom, as the addresses are too small to be locatable using our main map, with even the villages the aires are in being too small to be listed.
Fortunately, one list I had downloaded mentioned an aire at Rochefort and, as we needed both to empty the Thetford and fill with water, I pressed on through very English sort of up and down country roads to reach the town, turning left at a “Campervan Parking” sign.
We had almost decided the sign was not current when we came to an open parking lot with two other vans already in situ.
Decided to try the T.V. to get a weather update, and then found we had left the remote control at home. Now, the Toshiba works on 12 volts, it receives French, German, Italian, and other signals, but….it does not have any manual switching to change from British to Continental reception…..so it, like TomTom, was useless!
I suppose it will still work with our Lidls satellite dish, but that is a pain to keep setting up, so I don’t think we’ll be watching any T.V. this trip.
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Friday 14th.
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Cold but sunny morning. Walked into the village to buy some envelopes and looked in the few shops before returning to the camper and trying to fill the water tank.
The tap had a most peculiar action. Turn it on, and a dribble of water came out. Turn it off and try again, and water shot everywhere, giving me a soaking trouser leg. But we filled up and emptied, then set off through the pleasant Ardennes countryside.
Roads fairly empty, well surfaced, but not really going anywhere, so we decided to rejoin the motorway and head for Luxembourg.
There was a turn signposted Luxembourg, and we seemed to be skirting lots of developed areas, so much so that I decided we must be on a ring road. Not a single “Town Centre” sign, just signs to what we surmised were suburb names. And none of the other turnings had signs to other towns, so one was virtually driving by guesswork. 
The turn I took decided to become a dual carriageway with no place to u-turn, and was heading away from town. Eventually, it did provide a sign….to Metz!
I turned off into minor no man’s land, again sign-less, and by sheer luck came across a park and ride car park beside a small lake. Even the sign for that had been placed high up in the middle of a tree, virtually hidden unless you knew it was there.
My mood was by now none too happy. Luxembourg could have imploded and sunk into a large abyss as far as I was concerned.
But we left Curly in the van and waited for the coach to run us the seven kilometres in to the town centre at a cost of 1.20E each, each way. 
We were the only ones on the bus to start with, but it soon became almost full.
We got off right beside the viewpoint square, and had a stroll around, went in to the impressive cathedral, and said “Hello” to a group of English servicemen who were cycling from Sarejevo to London, accompanied by a Land Rover support vehicle, raising money for Cancer Relief.
Watched the solitary guard outside the Royal palace marching back and forth, bought some post cards and stamps, and sauntered back just in time to get on the bus driven by the same driver.
Curly overjoyed to see us, and we rewarded him with a walk around the lake.
Setting off in now dreadful traffic, missed the proper turn for the Remich main road ( because the silly baskets have no signposts) and had to do a sort of “by guesswork” circle at zero miles per hour until we could get back to where we started and actually turn down to the main dual carriageway motorway heading for Remich.
Fuel was not as cheap as we had hoped, and seemed to be the same price even though we went in to a supermarket station to fill up… 63.28litres @ .935 L = 59.17E at 47999 miles.
Road works at Remich, but enough space for us to park and have a little walk round, then move a little way along the road beside the river and park in a smaller car park. Jean pleased when another van pulled in so we were not alone.
Very dark night despite a big ¾ moon.
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Saturday.
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Thick white mist. Water dripping from the trees we have parked beneath.
Breakfast cereal thrown away, as we had put some of our new fresh milk on it only to find it was heavily lemon tasting stuff and it was vile.
Huge barges grumble by in the mist, hardly able to see them even though the river is not all that wide.
And on the other side of the road, two red squirrels are scampering down from the trees, along the pavements and in and out of the gardens, seemingly not as worried by the passing traffic as we are.
We set off on the A8/A620 to Saarbrucken, drove into town and through the central square, then on to Sarreguemines which was a nice town on the river Saar.
After shopping, we parked by the river for lunch and then went on to Strasbourg.
Centre of town very busy with people, narrow streets, lots going on, and nowhere to park.
We had stopped at a Camper Van Sales place along the way and bought a big book of Aires of Europe, but it only listed one in Strasbourg where one could empty the WC and take on water, but only park for three hours.
Found it O.K., in the grounds of a sort of girls’ residence centre. We could see over the fence was the “proper” camp site, and found our way round to that.
Eleven Euros, sans electricite, for one night.
We settled beside a small slow moving stream and were amazed to see huge coypu swimming in the shallow water, even more surprised when they came out and came up to us hoping we had some food they may like.
It is 3k. into the town centre, and there is supposed to be a cycle track part of the way, but we are too tired to-day, so I can settle down to do nothing and the Boss can get her stamps out to soak them off the paper and generally amuse herself while I read.
.Quite a cool evening. The site is peaceful, though one can hear the trains going by fairly often.
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Sunday.
.
Misty again. In fact, it was more like a proper fog, certainly not nice enough to get the bikes out.
After breakfast I drove in to town and was surprised how many cars were parked wherever there were parking lanes, so many, indeed, that it took me a long time to find a space we could stay in.
Meters free on Sunday, which was nice. And we were almost in the middle of the town centre and could walk along by the river/canal, pausing to go into the Cathedral and listen to some of the service, then meander on to where we had seen some tents around a square. Not a market, unfortunately, but a cheese and wine festival with the Strasbourg brass band in attendance.
Back through an area known as Petite France, picturesque flower-bedecked buildings clustered round the banks of canals, cobbled narrow roads that would have been murder to cycle on, and a sort of Hansel and Gretel twee-ness which was quite pretty.
Watery sunshine tried to penetrate the mist and was slowly winning as we drove to see the European Parliament building, a huge curved glass fronted place on the junction of two wide rivers/canals. Unfortunately, its architectural elegance was severely compromised by having some sort of advertising blurb plastered over three quarters of the windows…..
Sat by a canal for lunch watching big boats coming up the Rhine before we drove on to a lovely colourful little village called Colmor which we had seen on postcards and thought it worth a visit.
We parked and had a walk round. The mist was killing the sunshine and it was not very warm, but a really pretty place with lots of canal boats holding up to eight people at a time. They went by silently as the engines were electric ourtboards.
Despite the occasional idiot driving round the car park as if it was a race track, we decided to stay the night there. Rang the boys and Chris told me Tom-Tom was a dead duck. Useless bloody bit of expensive tomfoolery.
Jeannie doing her stamps and, with the TV useless as well, we listen to the good old steam radio.
A German station, and they are playing a calypso, in English, about “Angelina bring your concertina and play a welcome for me!”.
We almost forgot it is Curly’s birthday today. Made a fuss and gave him a special piece of chocolate......
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Monday.
.
Quite a good night. The car park is really full this morning and the leaves are tumbling from the trees, the sun still obscured by this damned mist.
We set off on the main A25/2 heading for Basel.
Just before we got there, wrongly expecting fuel to be dearer in Switzerland, we pulled off to St.Louis and found a large Geant supermarket. The pumps were card only, so in went the debit card but the machine not only refused it, but would not give it back.
Some irate button pushing, and just before the kicking the machine syndrome took hold, a kindly German gentleman retrieved the card and said he would do it for us. Unfortunately, it still didn’t work, so he offered to use his own card to put in thirty Euros of fuel if we paid him cash. Many thanks and hopeful waving of the required number of Euros, but his card could not obtain diesel either. He began to think the tanks must be empty, as it worked for him on petrol with no problem.
We just went shopping instead, and after driving a bit further, pulled in to a smaller supermarket fuel station. Next to us, a woman was using the diesel pump. She filled up, put the nozzle back, went and paid at the kiosk.
We put the nozzle in the filler.......and nothing.
Two other diesel pumps were not working either. The drivers stood, pump nozzles in vehicles, looking perplexed but not seeming to get at all upset.
The girl in the cashier kiosk put on her coat, left and locked up her kiosk, and walked off without a word to any of us.
Now, of course, the petrol pumps were not working either.
A few motorists drove off, a few waited. The chap next to us shrugged, lit a cigarette, and sat back in his car, pump nozzle still in the filler.
Eventually, a good five minutes later, the girl returned, opened the booth, took off her coat, and turned-on the pumps.
44.17 litres @ E1.08 per litre, total E47.70 at 48253 miles.
We continued on the minor roads, following signs for Basel. When we arrived at the Swiss customs post the officer came over and wanted 30 euros straight away for the road toll. I told him we were using non-toll roads, at which he looked very surprised and said that that was impossible. So I gave him a copy of our route plan. He studied it for quite a while, then shrugged and admitted that if we went exactly on that route we probably would avoid all the main chargeable roads, but he wouldn’t like to try it.
Dire warnings of large fines followed, so we reluctantly coughed up for our 
windscreen sticker and entered Switzerland with five Swiss francs change from our thirty Euros..
Drove on until we saw signs for Lucerne and took the motorway, stopping for a bite of lunch, bemoaning the lack of what probably were lovely distant views due to the foggy outlook.
Descend beneath Lucerne when we arrive by entering a series of tunnels, emerging at length beside the lake for a brief glimpse before burrowing down again, then a series of overhangs and more tunnels. Had hoped to drive round the North side of the lake, but we must have missed a turning as we came out on the opposite bank and had to follow that towards Altdorf, through an amazingly long tunnel before we got there.
Drove through the very pretty town looking for the route close to the lake, but we had to go virtually back to the beginning to enter yet another tunnel that brought us up to a road fairly high above the lake. There was nowhere to stop so kept going until I could turn off into the small village of Brunnen where we parked in the main square by the post office.
Jean went into the tourist office to ask where we could park for the night and the chap rang a couple of camping sites but they were shut as the season was over. He rang some-one he called “the head of the town” to see if we could park on the town square overnight, and the answer was “yes”….so we found a quiet corner and that is our spot for the night.
Post office still open, so Jean could change some Euros for Swiss francs, worth about 50p. each, and buy some stamps for her collection.
We strolled down to the lakeside, a small passenger ferry arriving out of the mist to land a few people and pick up a few more. Lake bus service, I suppose.
It was quite cold, so we went back for a great meal before wrapping up for another stroll to the lakeside. From post cards, it looks like there is a really picturesque view, but it’s just white mist and darkness now.
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Tuesday.
.
Can’t believe it is only a week since we arrived. We seem to have done so much and been to so many places, it seems a lot longer.
The mist has risen a bit, but not enough to see the view.
Wandering round the shops, Jean nearly bought some waterproof boots with thoughts of tramping through the snow, but when she saw they were made in Italy and we’re not even there yet, she passed them by, a decision she was later to regret.
A lady walking a huge St.Bernard told us the sun was shining once you reached 1000 feet, so we decided to climb the St. Gothard pass.
This meant retracing our steps along the lakeside to Altdorf and zooming along the motorway to Hospental for coffee, then up to turn off for Andermatt. 
We climbed a steep and curvy road, stopping to look at a Russian monument commemorating a defeat in 1700 when the French army stopped them invading Switzerland by holding a tiny bridge over the ravine.
School children from Lucern were scampering about, peering over the low walls at the edge of precipitous drops to the chasm below, not seeming to worry their masters and mistresses one bit. Stephen would be apoplectic.
Not only that, but the bus that dropped them off was returning to the foot of the pass, and the youngsters were going to walk down the narrow twisty track down the side of the gorge.
Just a little further on, the pass opened out and we were able to park in the Swiss Army Gunnery Practice Ranges where we could hear the pop pop pop of small arms fire from the ranges at the foot of the mountainside nearby.
And the sun was shining. Switzerland suddenly looked a lot brighter.
Parked on the railway sidings we walked by to go into the village were beautiful colourful trains of the St.Gothard and Matterhorn Railway. Bright Swiss Army Knife red, able to climb hills we would need first gear for (one track leaving the station simply set off up the side of a very steep incline).
We walked through the village, full of flowers, small expensive shops, pretty timbered chalet style buildings. Only cigars seemed cheap. Made me quite sorry I gave up smoking.
The only things we bought were a sticker and a few cards.
The sign posting is dreadful. There are three roads leading out of town. The names on the signposts are of hamlets probably consisting of six chalets and a ski lift. None of them mention a town big enough to feature on our map.
They say the name of the pass you will use to get to the places mentioned, also not on the map, but nowhere could we find a mention of Milan, Locarno, etc., so I went into the station car park and asked a coach driver who spoke no English or French, but seemed to understand a querulous voice saying “Milan?” accompanied by a hopeless shrug of the shoulders and the offering of our map.
In guttural German he showed me the pass on the map into Italy, then pointed to one of the three gaps in the mountains. Now I knew which way to head.
Green space filled with cows wearing bells. Then seriously up-hill, with tight z-bends until we reached the summit of the pass.
There was ample parking by a small lake, a museum based in an old fortress, a statue of some leading his horse with a woman in the saddle, and thick cloud wiping out the sunshine.
As we started going down the other side of the pass, the cloud closed in to become a thick white fog. Into a tunnel, amazingly full of fog, too, which was not pleasant.
In fact it got quite scary going round z-bends in the total blank out fog, to find a foolhardy or incredibly brave road repair men working on the road. One lot had a traffic light. The next lot just materialised in the gloom without even a man waving you down before you got to the dug up road.
The fog thinned a little when we reached the bottom of the pass at Airolo, which was not a very pretty place.
Re-joined the A2 and headed for Lugano.
We stopped in the services area at Bellinzona where the restaurant had the most amazing and impressive layout of food I have ever seen in any restaurant.
Salads, meat, fruits, tarts and pastries, absolutely piled high with lots of choice in each category. It was quite amazing.
We left the motorway to go into Lugarno. Unfortunately we had hit the rush hour and traffic crawled at a snails pace all along the lakeside. Not a space to be seen to pull over and park.
Oh, and not a sign to be seen mentioning Lake Como which is where we wanted to go.
More by luck than judgement we followed the twisting lakeside road…..no, “lane” would be a more accurate description despite the heavy traffic………which was heading for Porlezza.
Narrow, a single file of nose to tail cars, far more cars than one could possibly expect as the sheer cliffs on the side of the lake don’t leave room for any houses.
Then we find out the reason for the long crawl…..Swiss customs.
Armed and officious, they were pulling cars out of the line and searching the boots.
What on Earth could one smuggle out of Switzerland?
By contrast, the Italian customs officers a hundred yards further on seemed totally bored by the whole thing.
Italy.
And straight away we are into a tunnel, but this one is tiny, un-lit, and narrow. The road is so tight I have to creep round the sharp corners between the house walls, hoping no motorhome is coming the other way.
Dreadful.
And absolutely nowhere to stop. The mere suggestion of a parking space and there are “Private” signs or chains. We can’t even stop to let the queue of card behind us overtake.
Just before Porlezza the road improves slightly and I pull off into a car park by the lake front which sports prominent “No Camping Car” signs.
Go along the waterfront for a hundred yards or so, turn left into a nice avenue with trees on both sides of the road, and 100 yards along the road is a car park with a notice saying not to park on Saturday ( market day) but with no other restrictions.
It is level. There is a clean and open toilet block, with hot water. It is surrounded by mountains, a short walk to the lake, and quite smart houses around the car park. What a perfect spot to spend the night.
.
Wednesday.
.
Lovely night.
After breakfast walked down to the lake and saw two men fishing. One was trying for big fish without any bites at all, the other was pulling three inch tiddlers out as fast as he could dip the long pole back into the water.
Very nice narrow shopping street, lovely peaches for 1.80 E a kilo, and a very nice five Euro Ferrari calendar as a gift for Chris. It started to drizzle slightly, but we walked on and found the tiny Porlezza church, open for visitors to browse and see the stunning paintings, especially on the ceiling. No-one at all around, and the big old doors wide open.
Back at “our” car park, a few more vehicles around but still plenty of room. Took the opportunity to empty the loo and have a really good wash with the hot water.
Then we started to drive clockwise around Lake Como, but the road descended into a series of long tunnels with only the occasional glimpse of the lake when we surfaced.
At last we emerged for more than a few metres and pulled in to a small car park with a closed tourist information cabin, and a phone booth.
Phone not working either, so we decided to press on…..and that’s when disaster struck. struck.
Aptly named Gravedona, the lakeside village “main” road was narrow and twisty. Also, the slight drizzle seemed to be the first sign of rain for weeks.
The entrance/exit of the car park was on the apex of a z-bend, and I waited patiently moving campervan, then pulled out, turning right to let a car way to my left come passed so he would not be stuck behind a slow 
Coming fast round the bend from the other direction on the opposite side of the road was a red Pajero 4x4 jeep style. He saw me, and despite having enough room to pass in front of me, hit the brakes. Damp road, speed, and the inevitable skid….straight into our nearside about midway along.
Forceful enough to push me almost onto the kerb.
And that is when I made a serious mistake.
The road was fairly busy, and cars were not slowing down despite the litter of broken plastic skirt material scattered over the road, so I reversed back to drive into the safety of the car park area.
The young man in the Pajero also drove in and stopped.
If it ever happens again, don’t move.
Had I stayed where I was, it would have been obvious that the error had to have been the other driver.
However, I was more concerned with making sure he was O.K., and despite the language barrier, this was quickly established.
I made “let’s write down addresses” type signs, and got some paper just as a cop on a scooter turned up, almost before I had got out of the cab.
I went to try and clear some of the pieces of our demolished skirt and the glass from the Pajero’s headlights, but the traffic was reluctant to slow down.
The copper shot off on his scooter, returning quickly with a broom. I tried to slow down the traffic while he took his life in his hands trying to sweep up the debris.
Started swapping names and so on, then a man drove up who was the other drivers insurance agent, responding with astonishing speed to the young man’s mobile call informing them of the accident.
He produced the official accident report form which we then set about completing.
The very helpful young policeman was concerned about Jeran, asking if she wanted an ambulance to take her for a check up. She was a bit tearful, but only the truck was damaged. That’s what made her cry. A great torn hole right through both the outer and inner skin of the left hand side of the van, and water pouring out from where the boiler fittings had been ruptured.
We assured him we were both fine, and Jean asked how he had arrived so quickly ( all questions and answers done by a mix of sign, French, and English with an Italian accent!) and he told her he had heard the “crump” of the impact.
Well, we all shook hands, including the local young man who had driven into us. I pointed out to the policeman that on the claim form, the Italian had drawn the vehicles in a totally impossible position which, if true, would have required his vehicle to drive right around us and hit us from the opposite direction.
Gesticulating that I could draw something different, he saw what I meant, but I pointed to the sketches of the damage and signified how they made his position on the road quite impossible. Lots of agreeing nods, but MISTAKE TWO.
I should most certainly have drawn my version of the positions of our vehicles at the time of the collision. Much later, despite agreeing completely that the actual sketch could not possibly be correct, the insurance company said it was a legal document and they had to accept the drawing regardless of common sense.
I started to pull off as much of the remaining side skirt as I could. Though thin plastic, it was jagged and sharp. I feel sure I would have been pulled over if I had tried to drive with such a jagged edge on view.
Wanted to buy some Gaffa tape, and drove on in horrendous traffic, stopping at various places to buy filler or tape, without much success. Eventually saw a sign for an Auchan supermarket at Curno and got silver 2” sticky American Tape !
Filled up, too. 51.33 ltres @ 1.169 = E 60 at 48568 miles.
It was dark and gloomy, so decided I’d leave any cosmetics until the morning.
Still trying t0 find a phone that works, and we noticed one outside the store, so Jean went back in to buy a E5 phone card to ring Steve and tell him of our disasters.
Tried to use the Caravan Club free phone number, but it doesn’t work.
Set off into Bergamo, which is virtually joined on to Curno, and within a mile or so there was another big Auchen store. Don’t see any for miles, then two come along at once.
Although we were on a main road, there was a sort of service road alongside, and we saw three campervans parked and joined them, hoping this was somewhere we could stay. Unfortunately, they probably belonged to people living near by as they were empty and locked. But even though the traffic is roaring past at well over any speed limit, we are bushed and have no idea where there may be any sort of site or aire, so I pulled behind the group of camper vans and we settled for a noisy night.
.
Thursday.
.
And it was noisy. Even in the morning, traffic is non-stop. The weather is poor, we have a torn side in the van, there seems to be an awful lot of mist and low cloud, so we wonder if Venice is a good destination after all. Looking at the maps, it seems sensible to abort our route and head South towards the sea near Gerona in the hope it will be warmer and brighter.
Chose to drop down via Crema and Cremono, so joined the dreadful traffic and crawled into the centre of town until we saw a sign to Cremona, a less major and less busy road. Arrived and found a big car park outside the Po Sports Centre, almost the only vehicle in the huge area.
The rain started.
Despite this, I had to try and press back some of the peeled open jagged aluminium and I also wanted to find out why our water was still leaking.
Under the near side seat to try and unbolt the Truma, but it was bolted in before parts on the coachwork had been added, so there was no way I could get it out.
The car that hit us tore off the vent pipe fitting for the boiler, and broke the two wooden posts between the ally skins to which it had been fitted. I dis-connected the boiler and switched off the gas supply, then made a plug to block the water supply pipe.
This seemed to work as we could then draw water from the tank to the tap without the boiler leaking.
Next problem was where to get a sheet of something to cover over the gashes in the side of the van. 
We use a small sheet of clear Perspex to block the driving area off for the dog, and Jean made me carry this into the sports centre and ask if anyone spoke English.
They were almost all old men playing an indoor version of boule or bowls, and no-one seemed to speak a word of English, but I managed with French and gesture to convey that I wanted to get more plastic….which they more or less understood and told me No Plastic Here.
Eventually, they twigged, and one old man drew me a map of where I could get Plastic.
It was about 4k. away, and, to my amazement, we actually found the shop which sold acrylic sheets and various plastics off roll or by the metre. The old man had his wife hold open a large roll of springy clear sheet, and with a huge pair of shears he cut off one and a half metres. I asked where I could buy sealant, and he told me there was an ironmongers a mile or so away. Found it eventually and bought sealant and an applicator pistol. Total cost was only about twelve Euros, but we were sure we could make a tidy repair once the rain stopped.
We decided to stay the night in the car park. 
Rang Steve to tell him we had decided to continue the holiday having had second thoughts about our initial reaction, which had been to head for home, and got through to the Caravan Club on the ordinary phone ( free number did not work) to report we had had an accident and asking “Trish” to let the insurers know details would be supplied when we returned.
.
Friday.
.
.We had a very peaceful night in the car park. Apart from the noisy cleaning truck making the rounds in the early morning. And we were the sole occupants when we awoke.
The weather, though cloudy, was at least dry enough for me to apply the mastic and use a few of my small stainless self-tappers to fix the panel of acrylic sheet over the gashes in the side of the truck. It looked better, but, being clear, you could still see the holes beneath the plastic, so we decided some spray paint would be required to blow it over.
Cremona, though fascinating, has lots of narrow streets not really suitable for a motorhome, so we found our way to the motorway and headed for the sea in the hope that the weather may be brighter.
Stopped at a small market for a stroll round, then joined the Peage, putting 70 cents in the slot, which paid for a short distance until a main Peage barrier where we took a ticket labelled Cremona. Now we could go where we wished and pay the fee when we leave the system.
A15, heavy lorry traffic most of the way. Up through the Appenine mountains the weather deteriorated to thick cloud and mist, obscuring any chance of enjoying the view. After we had descended through a downhill tunnel following the Pass of Cisa, we came out into cloudy sunshine, the first we had seen since being in the Swiss mountains.
We paid E 12.10. which was quite expensive, but the non toll road had been alongside us some of the time and looked to be both narrow and very up-down-around, so probably we would have spent a lot of the fee in extra diesel.
La Spezia, the coastal town at which we emerged, was a nightmare.
Cars were parked two deep either side of the road, traffic was not only heavy but quite insane. Push, swerve, stop, leap, turn in, squeeze through, cyclist lying in the road by smashed bike, absolute mayhem that was frightening the wits out of me.
Eventually managed to stop in a little back road, getting out and asking passers by if they knew where the Camping was, near the Port de Plaisance, but getting an expressive sorrowful shrug as the reply most of the time until a younger chap suggested we were in the wrong end of town.
So we braved the mayhem in a Southerly direction, eventually spotting Camping Car signs that led us into a series of muddy road works, signs now spray painted graffiti on the old walls of an extinct factory building.
Just when we were about to give up, we found the Spezia Town Council camp site. 
Tucked in a valley and fairly grotty, at least it is cheap. Six Euros a day with water and dump facilities. To use those without staying would cost 2.50.
It is about a kilometre from the nearest shop, a Penny Market which we never found, four k. from the sea front prom., and with the absolutely crazy traffic there is no way we would even think of trying to use our bikes. So we park up and sit in the setting sun for an hour.
It seems the local para-medic ambulance teams have a base here, too. There are a couple of vans on stand-by, the orange-clad crew members lounging around with their mobile phones seemingly glued to their ears.
.
Saturday.
.
The hunt for paint.
Would anyone believe that getting a tin of vehicle spray paint is an impossibility in Italy?
Garages, motor specialists, hardware shops and supermarkets all without even a suggestion of vehicle type spray cans. Indeed, the idea that one can actually buy such a thing seemed strange to all we asked.
If you want your car sprayed, you take it to a repair shop and they will do it.
D.I.Y. in this field is seemingly unknown hereabouts.


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