Salve Italia! Palmanova, Lido di Jesolo,Venice, Verona

14th Sept – 24th Sept 2024

For all our talk about the excitement and anticipation of exploring some of the countries of Central and Eastern Europe, and our unexpected fandom of Southern Germany and Austria, we had a sneaking suspicion that the real jewel in the crown of this trip would be ‘Autumn in Italy’. Neither of us had spent any longer than a childhood lunch within its borders, we speak no Italian, and many of the Italian tourists that we have come across in other countries have been decidedly irritating, but we were confident that it was going to seduce us. As I write this we have been here for just over two weeks and we were right, we are already a little bit in love.

Our blind date with Italy started well. The hideous weather that had stamped our last few days in Austria had cleared and the sun shone as we crossed another non-existant border into La Bella Italia. The motorway was magnificent and wound through the Adria Alps, diving into countless tunnels and over a myriad of bridges and viaducts. The landscape was arresting with the recently snow capped mountains looming over us, and then we left them behind and swept into Italy, not really knowing what to expect.

Our first port of call was at a supermarket for provisions. This was chosen at random, based mainly on its proximity to the motorway and the fact that it had a big car park. We didn’t know whether it was a lucky strike, or whether the quality of the supermarkets was generally going to be fantastic, but compared to the offerings in the other countries we had been through it was amazing. Close to the lofty standards of the French hypermarkets. There was a huge selection of products, masses of interesting ingredients with lots of different types of fresh meat and fish, shelves groaning with more boxes of pasta and jars of olives than you could shake a stick at, AND it was considerably cheaper than anywhere we had shopped yet on this trip. This was when our Italy crush began.

We had no prior chosen specific destination for this first night’s stop, just the knowledge that we had a some days to kill before our next booked campsite near Venice. We had looked at a map in the vague area that we wanted to get to and had come across an unusual shaped town on the map called Palmanova. Further investigation had revealed this to be a rather magnificent example of a fortified town built by the Venetian Republic in 1593, now a UNESCO World Heritage Site and one of I Borghi più belli d’Italia (‘The most beautiful villages of Italy’). We headed there and found a place to stop for the night. This was a grassy area just inside the town’s walls where we joined a small collection of other campers. Unfortunately the rain had returned but it did not stop us from heading out for an explore. The military architectural genius of the design and construction of Palmanova is not best appretiated from street level. Its brilliance can only be demonstrated using ariel photography or by being a bird, neither of which I had in my repertoire,so here is a photo from the interweb so you can see how amazing this place is.

The town itself is arranged in a very ordered design of concentric streets with a large, central, hexagonal square (which I know is an oxymoron.) This bit was quite impressive, and I can imagine that on a balmy summer’s evening this would be alive with people and the buzz of restaurants and cafes. The original town is entirely enclosed by a tall wall with two further rings of battlements and a deep trench between them. Today it was quiet as the rain had returned and all the Italians had retreated inside in disgust. It was just the tourists wandering the streets and seemingly just us and a couple of dog walkers on the battlements. Our conclusion was that this slightly tired town was far less impressive at ground level. Onwards we go.

From here we continued south through the region of Friuli-Venizia Giuli to Veneta and finally hit the coast again. The Gulf of Venice. We were still a few days ahead of our booked site for our Venice visit, so opted for a couple of nights on the Lido di Jesolo. This was so close to Venice, yet a million miles removed from its historical and classy magnificence. Here there is a 15km beach stretching the length of a spit of land that forms the eastern barrier of the Venice lagoon. It is hugely popular as a holiday resort, especially with the Central and Eastern Europeans and is essentially a 15-20 km long tourist resort. 95% of the beach is given over to private beach clubs, complete with THOUSANDS of loungers with parasols for hire. I have an awful sneaking suspicion that these will all be occupied on a summer’s day (making this a fairly horrendous place to be) but during our 36 hours here, when it was slightly cooler and off peak season, they were empty and tidy and it was as if they were part of a colourful art installation. No photo can do the impressive acreage of loungers any justice.

Finally, It was Venice time. We drove to the end of the spit of land of the Lido di Jesolo and here found our campsite. It was a hour’s drive to Venice from here but only a 30 minute Vaporetto/ferry journey into San Marco, the heart of the city, from the nearby ferry terminal and our campsite was only €30 per night. It was a no-brainer staying on this side. We had given ourselves four nights here. Two days to explore Venice itself and a day to take a trip out to the island of Burano.

That first afternoon we stayed local and I decided to see if I could procure a haircut. I found a nearby salon on Apple Maps, and reviewed its Facebook page. All looked fine and dandy. It was a 2km walk away, so we strolled to it, hoping to combine making an appointment in person with some exercise. On arrival it transpired that the salon was situated on a massive, deluxe campsite. We walked through the site entrance, asked at the information desk for directions and found it on the central plaza area. It was closed for lunch for another half an hour so we killed time by walking through the site to the beach. On the way back into the site from the beach we were apprehended by a security guard. Were we guests? No. What were we doing? Waiting for the hair salon to open. How did we get in? We walked through the main entrance. Were we not stopped? Nope. After a walkie-talkie coversation with someone more important than himself he escorted us back to the main entrance where we had a short and curt conversation with a person who I think thought that they were more important than they actually were, but in actuality was just a bit embarrassed by the fact that we had managed to get as far as we had without being challenged,all on their watch. Apparently the salon was ONLY for guests and so we were politely ejected. We had a mild euphoria from being caught in the accidental act of middle aged delinquency and continued our perambulation home. I think your Facebook page needs updating ‘Hair and Beauty Tommy’. I remain a Sasquatch.

The next day we embarked on Day One of Venice exploration. Our nearby ferry terminal, Punto Sabbioni, is a popular place to catch the vaporetto into the city for many coach tours, people on buses from along Jesolo, cyclists and people in private cars. It was a busy old place and there were lots of people everywhere. The tickets are not cheap and it made sense to get a 72 hour ferry pass. Tickets purchased we joined the long queue for the next boat, which after arrival was was packed to the gunnels with tourist flesh, and then we were on our way. The locals had there own ‘VIP’ lane to board the ferry and were loaded first. This seemed very fair.

There is a weird, distorted familiarity on seeing a very famous place in the flesh for the first time. Many of the images match up with those gleaned over the years from photos and screens and stored in one’s brain recesses, but just like a stage set, building facade or a drag queen’s costume, there is so much more behind the scenes that make up it’s whole reality. This was our Venice experience. We arrived expecting it to be busy, but planning to avoid the crowds if possible. As it happened, it was incredibly easy. We just gave a wide berth to St Mark’s Square, The Doge’s Palace, The Basillica and Rialto Bridge, and the streets that connect these places.

We got lost in back streets, crossed countless small canals, had a coffee in an out of the way place, walked to a lookout point, puddle-jumped high tide floods, sipped wine and ate ciccheti (like Spanish pintxos) in a wine bar and compulsively took photos of houses, boats and canals, and a pigeon. This place is incredibly photogenic and it is very hard to put the camera away. Then it was time to search our first Anthony Bourdain haunt to visit.

Trattoria Borghi is a simple, family run restaurant bar looking out onto the main waterway in the Dorsoduro district of the city. Bourdain had loved it for its no-frills basics of seafood and pasta, catering to the seafaring workers. We arrived mid-afternoon to find it empty and ostensibly closed. The lone front-of-house person welcomed us in and went to check with his Dad in the kitchen. It was fine, he would cook us lunch. Amazing! We stuck to the script and had seafood and clam pasta, keeping it easy for him. It arrived, beautifully al dente, served with the shells, coated with simple sauces. It was perfect, as was the 500ml carafe of house wine lubricant and the private dining experience. We chatted with the son, who was third generation, his Dad’s father having started the restaurant in the 50s. Business had been slow that day as lunchtime had coincided with high tide, which increasingly causes flooding around their premises. The harsh truth is that rubber boots, or the rather ridiculous neon coloured, knee-high waterproof overshoes flogged to the visitors, are becoming more of a must-have accessory in these modern Venetian times.

We finished our day with a Grand Canal ‘cruise’. This is taking the No.1 Vaporetto ferry from the Piazzale Roma at its western end all the way down to St Marks Square and was covered by our 3 day ferry pass. We left this until later in the afternoon and did it in the opposite direction from the main flow of people now heading home. It was a great way to see all the impressive buildings along the Grand Canal which can otherwise be a bit hidden from view.

Back at St Marks we hunted out the famous ‘Harry’s Bar’ for a final refreshment stop of the day. We found it but so had everyone else so the €40 Bellinis will have to wait.

The next day we took a ferry to Burano, a small island to the north of Venice. This was worth a visit in its own right with the island’s homes all being painted in colourful liveries. It was very picturesque. The island’s history is that of lace making with the skill being imported in the 16th century from Venician-ruled Cyprus. There is still a small school of traditional lacemakers on Burano today, but there is also a large amount of cheap China-derived lace that is more affordable for the visitors.

Our main reason for coming here was again Bourdain inspired. We watched him sample a fish risotto made here to the same receipe for over 75 years in a restaurant called Trattoria da Romano, which has been run by the same family for all that time. The broth is simply made by simmering a small, spikey, bony lagoon fish called a Go,or Goby, in water then carefully removing the flesh and carcass so as to not contaminate the broth. This, coupled with white wine, aborio rice and seasonings are the only ingredients in the risotto which is mixed by tossing it high in the air and catching it in the pan again. It is bright white and served with no extras, looking for all intents and purposes like a dish of rice pudding when it arrives. We had come for this. We were not disappointed. It was delicious and bizarrely filling. The restaurant walls were lined with old photos of some past customers and a few celebrities (although none of Bourdain) but the bulk of them were obviously locals and the family itself. The place oozed history and permenance without any of the naff kitchness that this can foster. A fine lunch. A very sweet place to spend a few hours.

The next day there was a 24-hour public transport strike that included the vaporetti. There was only going to be a skeleton service in place after 9am until 4.30pm. The service was making sure that the local workers could get into Venice, saving the dispruption for the visitors. Also seemed very fair. Forewarned, we did a very ‘un-Hampson’ thing and got up early, making sure we were at the front of the queue for the last ferry of the morning. I wonder how many people had their day-tripping plans completely stymied, not having heard about the situation. This meant that we were in St Mark’s Square before 9.30am and I thought that this might put us ahead of the crowds. Nope. There were already long, snaking queues for the Doge’s Palace and The Basillica. I am sure that they are very impressive on the insides, but we saved our money and time and just appreciated them from the outsides.

Our early start had set us up perfectly to partake in brunch in Venice, which is entirely not a thing generally in Italy. But luckily, tourists demand it, so of course we found it. All the cool places were chok-a-block, but Nick’s prior research had identified an uncool place, so we headed there. It was so uncool that it was empty. The two ladies working there jumped up from their seats, one disappearing to the kitchen, the other enthusiastically delivering menus to us once we had made a decision where to sit – the choice having been a bit overwhelming. We had a micro-moment of wondering if this was going to deliver us what we hoped, shared a look, and in synchrony decided that we were too hungry to continue the brunch quest. Our expectations, which were low at this point, were wildly exceded, which is a marvellous state of affairs. We were delivered enormous portions of egg/salmon/avocado/toast based plates in record quick time, which were utterly delicious. A score for taking a chance on a Venetian version of a greasy spoon cafe.

Fortified by food we embarked on Day Two of ‘wandering around Venice’. We headed off in a different direction towards the very un-touristed northern suburbs. Apart from the limited bridge crossings across the Grand Canal it is easy to wend one’s way in a vague trajectory, cutting through back streets, along canals and over small bridges without actually having to actively navigate. Getting lost is both reasonably impossible and highly desireable. 11am found us having a canal side beer outside a small craft brewery. The early hour didn’t feel so early after our early start and we were already foot weary and throat parched from our explorations.

It was interesting to see the normal life of Venetians play out entirely devoid of wheeled vehicles and roads. The logistics of existence relies on the canals. There were courier boats laden with Amazon parcels, delivery boats with kegs and crates keeping the bars and hotels stocked up, chiller boats with fresh produce for the restaurants, police, fire and ambulance boats, hearse boats, boy racers in small boats going too fast, old men and their dogs out for a ‘drive’, taxi boats in lieu of Uber, vaporetti instead of buses, and the gondolas…well, they are probably the equivalent of taking a carriage ride. It was fascinating. We had a vague plan get a vaporetto to Murano, the glass making island, but the transport stike put an end to that, so we continued our mooching and headed back towards the San Marco area and the fray.

Here, with the touristing energy levels slipping into the red we took our final pitstop, another Bourdain inspired establishment, Cantina do Mori. This tiny, dark, back street tavern, allegedly the oldest in Venice having been founded in 1442, served up wine and chicceti. These two-bite Venetian snacks are perfect to take the edge off a hunger, depending on how hungry you are, and how many you have. Bourdain had sampled the hard boiled eggs draped in salty anchovies and spicy copa sausage wrapped around a hot pepper, and so did we. We take our fandom seriously. By now we were exhausted and ready for home. It was 1.30pm. The limited vaporetti schedule included a boat at 2pm and we were on it.

Our time in Venice had been short but epic. I felt that we had seen a big chunk of it and had a good sense of the reality of life here. We had spread some money around a variety of food and drink providers, and enjoyed every mouthful. The weather had been a bit gloomy, but rather that than the hideous heat of summer, and we had mostly avoided the dreaded crowds. We agreed that this would be one of the places that we would love to come back to. To fly in for a winter weekend, stay in a cozy, central hotel, wrap up warm and do it all again.

From here we headed to Verona, city of Romance. The setting for the ‘greatest love story of all time’, as long as you define a love story as two probably underaged teenagers having a one night stand after a party then who, due to some very dysfunctional family politics and an awful mix-up, both end up unecessarily committing suicide. Très romantique, or molto romanitco as they say here.

Our route to Verona took us past a random, but pre-selected Amazon drop box to collect a small parcel. Working out how to use these has been a bit of a revelation as purchasing slightly esoteric or specific items can be a bit tricky when on the road. There are just the small matters of navigating Amazon in the appropriate language, gauging where on earth we may be a few days in the future and selecting a drop box. Easy peasey.

There has been a Roman trading settlement in Verona since 3rd century BC and one of Verona’s major sights is its amazingly well preserved 1st century amphitheatre which survived the major 12th century earthquake, Where once were gladiators are now singers and the open air arena is now one of the world’s finest opera venues with apparently sublime acoustics and seating for 15,000.

The summer season sees performances from many internationally aclaimed performers. Obviously we missed that. The old town is mostly nestled within a large meander of the River Adige with an impressive amount of towers, churches, squares, palaces and historic bridges. All these things make Verona a really interesting and impressive place to visit without the added need of the of the Romeo and Juliet connection, but Verona has wholehearted exploited its Shakespearian setting.

Despite the characters being entirely fictional (although the feuding families where based in reality), Romeo and Juliet branding has leached into all aspects of the tourist industry here from hotel and restaurant names to themed souvenirs. The pinnacle of this is of course is ‘Juliet’s House’ with its balcony. In the 1930s the city authorities chose a residence on Via Capello (sounds a bit like Capulet) and bolted a 14th century style balcony to one of the first floor windows. This is now a place of pilgrimage for the masses, who queue to inch slowly down an alley into a small court yard to take photos of the balcony (and then some vandals write love notes on the walls despite being told not to.) Some of these photos will include the backs of the people who have actually paid good money to go inside the fake home of a fictional character and have a photo taken of themselves actually on the counterfeit balcony. Maddness! I did have a moment of insanity and joined the throng to get a quick snap of the balcony. I am not immune.

Our camp here was on a small farm stay complete with donkeys, goats, chickens, and randomly an enclosure containing a collection of rabbits, a few tatty looking peacocks and a few guinea fowl. It felt very rural despite being an easy 2km from the centre of the old town. We had a couple of days in town, seeing the sights and taking the photos.

We landed on a lovely lunch in a randomly selected spot that included a mountain of smoked salmon for a shared starter and pasta dishes of hare and octopus. Seperately, not together. That is a surf and turf that doen’t exist for a reason.

Our time here was rounded off with twelve hours of stormy rain, but aside from the noise it mattered not as we were home and dry and had plenty to watch on Netflix and earplugs to help us sleep. Next stop, Lake Garda to await an influx of Hampsons.