9 May

Today started out with me forgetting to set the alarm and laying there waiting for it to go off, then hearing mine host preparing things and me wondering why he was up so early, then looking and finding it was 7:50. I had the quickest shower I’ve had (except for at THAT motel) and was ready for just after 8. Breakfast was a slice of cold pizza, a confection pastry which had custard in the middle, a cup of milk coffee (just milk!) and orange and carrot juice. Different, but filling. I settled up, packed up and left. Starting out was okay as I went against the traffic flow and things went smoothly, even if I was overtaken by a number of drivers who had a death wish.
Once on the tollway, things were going really well until … disaster struck!
Dear reader, at this time you will note that I have become dependent on my SatNav. It has taken me all through the US, parts of Canada, the south of England, all of France, into and out of Spain and through Andorra and now to the south of Italy and part-way back. But I looked at it and saw a red light blinking – the battery was flat! Incredible, as it is plugged into the cigarette lighter through a three-way socket and its own lead. All the more incredible, as the iPod was charging from the same socket set. I stopped, changed sockets (the iPod still worked but the SatNav still did not) and then looked at the lead for the SatNav. There was a fuse on the side, so I pulled that out. It looked okay, but I know that miniature blade fuses can be deceptive. Being a resourceful person, I found my spare bar of chocolate, had some and took some of the aluminium foil, wrapped it and placed it between the blades. After replacing the fuse, now it all worked. Temporary success! And so, dear reader, I went on my merry way, assured that I could overcome all that adversity was to offer me! Alas, I was to be proved not quite correct, but only partially so.
I continued along the Autostrade. For those of you unfamiliar with them (and I hope that is and remains all of you), when you enter you take a ticket, which tells where and when you joined the tollway. You can then proceed (almost) along the length and breadth of Italy without leaving this system. There are service stops (fuel, toilets, food, souvenirs) along the way. When you leave, you slide your ticket in, then your credit card and you leave considerably poorer. So I thought that I could purchase a miniature blade fuse in one of the service stations along the way. The first one I stopped at because I needed a comfort stop (all right, I was bursting and had to go). I tried there – barrel fuses, bulb fuses but no blades – miniature or large.
On I went. Eventually I needed fuel so I stopped at another. I pulled up at the furthest pump from the office and was able to fill the car myself. Where the pump clicked off at 46 litres, the car was full at just under 54 litres – a two hundred kilometre difference in range! I tried again – still only barrel fuses and bulb fuses but no blades. I thought I would try the Pizzeria – but no pizzas in the Pizzarea, just self-serve sit down meals. Again I inspected the plumbing and then ended up getting an ice-cream and drink before heading off.
The weather was warm – between 20°C and 26°C – and the views of the Mediterranean were very pleasant, with blue sea and white beaches indispersed with houses and apartment blocks, some coloured brightly as I expected, but a lot just plain concrete.
And so I went on.
Just before Foggia (which is where, coincidentally, there were a lot of warning signs about slowing down for fog) there was a rubbish hill being made. I had heard of them in France and seen at least one there, but this was the first I saw in operation. In a flat area, concrete walls are put up (about four metres high) and rubbish trucks just drive in and dump their loads. When the pile reaches the top of the walls, a ramp is built on the outside and the trucks then deposit the rubbish on top. Every so often, it is covered with fill, so that layers are visible if you look closely enough. I presume that they will do the same as France, where a dirt road then is made to a lookout on the top (and you get a good view because the surroundings are so flat). When the pile sinks or subsides, the top is either just rolled flat again with a little fill, or if it is large enough, rubbish is again dumped and the process repeated.
Around this point the land was a lot flatter and more agricultural – the sweet odour of newly-cut grass and a mixture of fertilizer and manure were in the air.
Quite a bit north, at the 174 kilometre post, there was an accident. We had been warned about it on the overhead signs – the first useful piece of information I had seen on them. Other pieces of information included to not speed so the mortality rate could be dropped by twenty per cent (faint chance, given driving here) and the Autostrade Internet site address, so you could check the state of the Autostrade in real time (and don’t worry, I’m sure some drivers would have taken it up and be reading on a laptop screen what was happening in front of them – another distraction!). At the accident site was a Porche, backwards into the centre concrete barrier, immediately after about a hundred metres of scraped barrier. It looks as though he scraped the barrier and then managed to spin the car backwards into it, as there was no other vehicle there and no signs another had been there. There was also no broken glass or bits of car on the roadway.
And so on I went, with these distractions having added to the travel time and caused my ETA of 5 to now become an ETA of 5:55. At this stage I realised, Friday night, traffic, shopping, all may extend my travel time in Trento, to the stage where, if the office closed at 6, I wouldn’t make it and have to choose a hotel to stay at – but not THAT motel chain, unless the hotel room was over €100 (that’s how passionate I am about NOT staying there). I managed to get the arrival time back to 5:50 when – roadworks! How they manage to have all these roadworks at once in Italy amazes me, unless they have commandeered all the roadbuilding machinery in Europe. I arrived at Trento to realise I would have to pay the toll – that nearly stopped me then, as the toll (€51.90) was more than the diesel I had burned in the last two days! I thought nothing else could slow me down as I approached the roundabout only to find – a traffic accident, with the drivers concerned stopped in the middle of the roundabout, checking the cars, swapping details, oblivious to the melee around them. However, lessons are learned and so I just pushed in and straight through. I was on my way and again nothing could stop me. After all, everything else had been met and overcome. I found a parking spot opposite the Tourist Centre, ran over at just before 6 to find – this was now an administrative centre and the Tourist Centre was two streets over. I set out again, only to see where it was and not be able to reach it. A policeman (none speak English) indicated, yes, it was there, but not reachable by car from where I was. I set out again, to get to the other end of the street, only to find that I couldn’t enter from there either. I went further along the street I was in, found a spot and just pulled up and backed in, oblivious of the traffic behind me. I walked (well, ran) to the Tourist Centre to find it was open (and would be for at least another hour. I got a list of B&Bs, then tried ringing one possibility. No English and no-one who could speak it at the other end, and I couldn’t get the message across, so I thought if I went there, I could. I went to program the address into the SatNav (see how vital it has become!) and no such street. I chose another and, yes, it did exist. I set out to there, only to find it wasn’t there, but a kindly gentleman opposite said it was about a hundred metres down and to the left (and yes, all in Italian, but I understood it – he understood me because I pointed out the address and shrugged my shoulders). I eventually found it, one of a few blocks around a delightful little square. Yes, there was room at the inn, €33 for the night, no problems. I settled in, was given some apple cider to drink (pleasant, but at room temperature), wrote this up in the dining area, processed the (few) photos and then retired to bed. Memo to self: set the alarm on the mobile if you expect it to ring.