“That’s Amore”

A cool morning breeze welcomed us as we packed up and set off South after a fabulously cosy warm night in our super-heated tent. With no particular route in mind, except to hug the coast and ride South, we breezed through Naples and stopped 44 kms later in Pompei. What a lovely town, coffee bars everywhere. The tourist shop at the station gave us maps and instructions and we ignored them all, waved to the ruins and the queue outside and carried on. The sun is shining, bike perfectly balanced, B enjoying the roads and we’re singing my favourite song: “oh, what a beautiful morning ….“ as loud as we can inside our helmets. We really can belt it out within our own echo chambers.  

 We take the inland back road around Mount Vesuvius viewing it from all angles until we are back on the coast road. 71 kms from our start we are at Sorrento which is a bit tricky with tourist buses, but B gets past them all with calculated ease. The roads are twisty, jam-packed with just about every vehicle imaginable, luxury sports cars, silly little 3-wheeled pickups, ridiculous Ferrarris stuck in first gear, bicycles and buses. It’s manic but exhilarating. I lean back against the bedding pack and snap away. We ride beyond the tourist route almost to the end of the peninsula and wave to the ships sailing to the island of Capri. The sea and sky are glistening blue, eye-burning beautiful blue. There is no discernible horizon, the view is all a big blur of blue. I think I’ll paint a big canvas of blue when I get home. We find a little triangle of green grass in one of the villages and have a picnic. The houses are perched scarily on the side of the cliffs ready to fall into the sea. And then we get back on the road to Amalfi. At least 10 movies have had the Amalfi coast as their background* and it is easy to see why.

The Drama is in the domineering mountains and plunging cliffs. The Plots follow the twists and turns of the road, disappearing into tunnels and taking your breath away with the beauty when you emerge the other side. The traffic squeezes everybody like a toothpaste tube along this sinuous road, with dare-devil boy racers testing their nerve as they overtake into oncoming traffic around blind corners. It’s terrifying to watch. We hang back and try to take a rest in Ravello. Only for a second though as parking is at a premium and we are ushered to move on just as I’ve climbed off the bike. B really needs to take a break, but on we go through this crazy gorgeous funnel lined on the left by lemon groves and sheer drops on the right. We are in Limoncello Land. And then the fuel gauge flashes. At a stretch our limit is 300kms and we calculated we were at 289kms. Oops, according to the GPS the next big town, Salerno, is 30kms away. Not going to make it! Typing in ‘petrol’ on the GPS (leaning over B’s shoulder and on the move) we hairpin up left into these monstrous rocks along a very narrow road. The road repair taffic lights take forever, using our precious fuel as we wait and wait. Another bike pulls up and ignores the lights, so we follow suite. At the top of the climb there a convergence of roads, help, we don’t know which one to take. We ask a chap in a car, nonchalantly parked in the shade, such a contrast to our near panic in the sun. No petrol = panic. He shrugs, and points hesitantly “that way, I think”. We are riding on fumes as we spot a lonely pump in a layby. Oh dear, it doesn’t take credit cards, CASH ONLY. We haven’t been to an ATM since visiting Rome 4 days ago and Lidl’s and coffee bars had consumed most of it. We have just one 5 euro note left. We feed the note into the mouth of the machine, and it promptly spits it out. Again and again , we try turning the note over, turning it around. Nope, not going to take it! And then a very nice Italian pulls up in his van. Luckily, he can't put fuel in his van until we move on. We did a bit of 5euro note swopping until eventually one of his worked. Many ‘Grazias’ later we took another hazardous road back to the coast. With 10kms of fuel left we had ridden from Ravello to petrol stop in Pietre (11kms). Pietre down to Maiori was a spectacularly stunning and dangerous 9.5kms. I say dangerous because we had a close one. I had been taking photos with my right hand but decided that the steep S-bends required more than just a balancing act. I really should be holding on to B. In one simultaneous moment as I leant left to tuck the camera away, B swung around a right bend, I straightened up and we over balanced skimming into a retaining wall, bouncing on the right-side pannier which threw us sharply left again. The next S-bend was immediately upon us but fortunately a small pull-off area allowed us to right ourselves and stop, next to a low wall below with a heavenly view of thousands of dangling lemons. Without thinking too much that we could have been dangling amongst them we unpacked the lunch bag and munched on last night’s left-over spaghetti pesto.  Time and space for a break, indeed. B was puzzled as to why the bike had veered into the wall for no apparent reason. I then realised the critical part that the pillion plays in the whole riding and cornering pattern and confessed that I'd been fiddling around at the back putting my camera away, which changed the balance of the bike. Not so good on a hairpin bend on a cliff face.

The coastal ride from Maiori to Salerno was 31 kms, where we filled the tank to the top and more. Including the miracle 5 euro pump’s input; we calculated we had done 326 kms on a 300km tank!

The ferocious wind and sand flying around down the coast after Amalfi drove us inland to Pontecagna, where we found a lovely sheltered empty grassy campsite. We tied the tarpaulin to 3 trees, scrounged a rickety table and looked forward to a peaceful recuperative night. The disco next door started up at 11pm, the dogs joined in with the party, yowling and barking, the rain came down in a big whoosh, the firecrakers went off until 5 am together with the disco and the pine trees left a sticky residue all over the tarpaulin.

But the best thing was the sweet smell of Star Jasmine as night fell. "That’s Amore."

 * movies

·         1950’s La Macchino Ammazzacattivi, Beat the Devil

·         1990’s Only You

·         2000’s Under the Tuscan Sun, A Good Woman, Scandal in Sorrento, Talented Mr Ripley

 2010’s Love is all you Need

This Tent comes with Underfloor Heating

This Tent comes with Underfloor Heating

The ride to Anzio, where we stopped for a picnic break, was pleasant. We asked at a restaurant for coffee, and found out that mid-morning coffee is provided by a bar not a restaurant.  So we settled for a delicious Italian ice cream instead. After the hectic ride through Rome city centre it was really good to just sit in the sun, look at the waves and watch a mum with her little boy having great fun and success with a kite. Perfect windy conditions. In fact, almost a little too windy.  We really need to hang on to keep upright and after 250kms of urbanisations and highways and sand dunes we called it a day. Normally we start looking for a campsite at about 4pm, but the wind today caused us to start searching by 2pm. We probably pulled in at about 5 different sites. "Sorry, only opening June 1^st". "That’s a pity ‘cos its only May 19^th."
 We passed huge plantations of apricots, fields of corn and polytunnels of tomatoes. The flat agricultural lands went on forever, occasionally interrupted by round-abouts. To break the tedium we branched off randomly left at one round-about and there in front of us was a gigantic Roman columned colossus. It was startling in its size and completeness and took us quite by surprise. I had studied Latin at school and our Latin teacher was as bored as we were doing all the grammar and conjugations. Whenever we got the chance we would ask him about Roman life and culture and then his eyes would light up and he would tell us great tales of wars and architecture and road-building. This is what we saw in front of us, a fantastic relic. I was thrilled.

 Its almost 4 pm and we have been searching for a campsite for 2 hours, travelling ever South, being bombarded by the buffeting wind. On the 6th^th attempt, following the GPS ‘places to camp’ category, we turned into an arched gateway down a narrow road into a vast courtyard. Oops, this looks like a private house. But no, a very enthusiastic Guiseppe rushed to meet and greet and welcome us to his family owned campsite. How could we resist?  “Please, Go anywhere, Camp anywhere, Hot showers, Moonlight walk, Bread and Coffee at the café, spare tables to use, Enjoy, Enjoy, Enjoy. “ And we did. After setting up camp, (no tarpaulin tonight), and cooking up a batch of spaghetti and pesto, we took Guiseppe’s advice.  We had a sunset stroll around the well-lit paths of Volcano Sulfata, peering into bubbling steam-filled holes and smelling wafting sulphur. It soon got dark and as we crept into our homely little red tent we cosied up in the warmth. Warmth! Soon we were shedding sleeping bags and opening up the vents. Why are we so hot?  For under floor heating in a tent we can seriously recommend camping in a volcano.

Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears

The ferry price from Olba to Civitavecchia included a cabin which we filled up quickly with helmets, jackets, bike pants and panniers. It’s the middle of May and at 6o’clock in the morning when the ferry docked we were welcomed with a warm hot wind. We took the back roads to Rome through the hilltop town of Bracciano where already at 7am the cafes were filled with noisy people drinking coffee and chomping on cheesy breads for breakfast. We couldn’t resist. Our camping discount-guide deal took us to a huge campsite 12kms outside of Rome city centre. The traffic was nose to tail which increases the pleasure of motorbike riding as B overtakes and ducks back in slowly getting ahead of the queue. Alarmingly, some motorists also thought they were on bikes and tried the same tricks until stopped on the wrong side of the road head-on into a police car. B mentioned that every country has its own driving style and he is constantly adapting his to suit. Rome scored low on the list of careful and considerate.

The Flaminio campsite is perfect if you are in a camper van: level grassy ground next to the ablutions. Tents are relegated to a rocky slope 500 paces away from all amenities. Well we pay less so they don’t care. Using B’s age as a feeler for any compassion we explained about middle of the night pee-trips. Not interested. Never mind there is a hedge in Flaminio Campsite that is well irrigated. After clearing some stones and tucking ourselves behind said hedge we set up camp for a 2 night (3 day) stay. This time the tarpaulin was tied to the fence and a tree, and we stomped the pegs in with a boot. A thought came to mind:  We need to buy triangular duralium pegs as recommended by George, and a lightweight mallet.

There’s a pool. We wander up to the top of the hill, carrying our superlightweight black ‘crushable to nothing’ costumes which we had been required to buy before entering a thermal spa on a previous trip around France. They fit into the front panniers along with other wet-wear gear. This pool requires the compulsory purchase of a bathing cap each; cost 4 euros, so both looking like we are training for the Olympics we don cap and cozzie. The water is freezing but we had to do it. We met a charming English couple at the poolside who sold their house in ‘Blighty’ 3 years ago, bought a caravan (not a camper) and live permanently in Spain on a campsite. Because of ferry costs they had come to Rome by car only and a luxury tent for their 2 week Roman adventure. They tour around Europe and do the grandparents’ bit in the UK when required. As an ex-Army chap, this semi-nomadic lifestyle suits him and his wife perfectly until such time as they will move back to the UK and live with their grown up children. We are fascinated by their lifestyle change and good spirit. They also supplied us with heaps of information about trains, buses and must-see sights.

Suitably cooled down and refreshed we walk to the metro and arrive in Rome, popping out in the centre. The Leonardo da Vinci Museum of Working Things catches our eye and we spend a pleasant cool 2 hours handling large wooden workable replicas of the machines he invented. What a brilliant place. We had two return trips into Rome city centre by Metro and eventually worked out that the maximum change at the ticket machine is 3 euros, so if you put a 10 euro note in for tickets totalling 6 euros, you will not be issued tickets as it cannot give you change! Tip of the day: keep your coins.

The Coliseum was filled with people, the Trevi fountains were filled with people, the Spanish steps were filled with people, the Vatican was filled with people and the Pantheon was filled with people. We wiggled our way around and through them glimpsing the historic sights and tried to capture the feel of the ancient empire. Army trucks blocked main roads and the presence of security forces dominated the area. We found a shady courtyard with benches and trees to eat our picnic and chatted to a couple from Finland. Over 2 days we walked our sandaled feet off, drank lots of water and took masses of photos. The only Romans we saw were Gladiators selling their tours. Tick that box, time to move on.

So why are we exploring Europe? Primarily to meet the locals, sample their cuisine and understand modern day Europe, pre-Brexit and the migrant crisis. Back at the campsite we started to rethink our riding Route. Yes, we would try and ride through every capital city. No, we would not just ride from campsite to campsite. We repacked the bike so the thermals are now buried far away and the rain gear is quickly accessible.

Another glorious day, our last one here, and we brave the traffic once more and ride straight through the city centre with a fully loaded bike, and proceed South along the coast with the sea on our right.  The wind almost blew us inland again. We were a bit disappointed to see the laybyes filled with old furniture and black rubbish bags. Actually the dilapidated and neglected state of the countryside confirms to us that Southern Italy is in trouble.

Rome need more than ears.

By George, he's got it.

By George, He’s Got It.

A sunrise arrival in Porte Torre welcomes us to the North West tip of Sardinia. The warm air is a pleasant early morning surprise at 8am and so are the colourful shrubs that lie between the mountain road and the brightest blue sea. I am in art-palette heaven: pink, blue, lime green and purple set against a backdrop of red and grey rocks. B concentrates on the curving pass that takes us into Alghero. En route we notice pink-painted bicycle statues planted at gateposts and round-abouts. We pass natural arrangements of cacti, aloe, bottle brush and eucalyptus. It’s so like home (South Africa) we feel a wave of relaxation take over. This is good. This is what ‘motorcycle backpacking’ is all about. 

    

Sardinia boasts a large concentration of people over 100 years of age. It must be the beautiful surroundings. Alghero has embraced this achievement by exhibiting huge photographs on their street walls of these centenarians. The photographs show these amazing people doing various activities, even cycling. I am intrigued and whilst B enjoys a coffee and does bike-guard duty , I venture off by foot along the narrow stony streets doing a bit of photograph spotting. It strikes me that I might not find B and the bike again as I wind my way around this lovely town, complete with an enchanting display of pink washing strung across an alleyway. 

An hour later, when I get back to the town square and see the Mediterranean on my left, I spot the bike route we took to enter the town. I took short walk down another alley and there he was, getting a bit worried. Note to self: it’s very easy to get lost in these old towns, so in future when I wander off, I must take the GPS and mark the begin/end point, and a time limit. 

 Continuing on in a Southerly direction we keep the mountains on our left and the sea on our right, riding on good roads around one curve after another. We stop off and inspect a few campsites, which we find disappointing. Their facilities are more suited to camper vans.  For tent camping, they offer sloping ground, sand and pine needles and allocated spaces that are far away from the ablutions, really not suitable at all.  It’s a glorious day; we had an early start and are happy to keep riding until we find a suitable campground. Halfway down Sardinia on the West coast we find what we are looking for: a level campsite, ground good enough to knock pegs into and sheltered from the intense wind coming off the sea that has blown us about a bit.  There is no-one at reception until 4pm, but instructions are posted on the door to find a site and report back at 6pm. We spot another biker with tent and ride up. George is very welcoming and is happy for us to be neighbours. George is a veteran of Round-the-World by motorbike, having circumnavigated the globe 5 times as illustrated on his hard panniers.  He watches as we struggle to put up the 4 x 4 metre tarpaulin in the relentless wind. We tie it to trees, we fix the poles with guy ropes and tent pegs into the sandy earth, we raise one side against the wind, we do more combinations and angles ever dreamt of to get it to stay up and eventually even with Georges help we abandon the ta idea and pack it away. George tells us that he can put up his tarpaulin single-handed. Next we haul out the tent and quick as a flash I put it up, unpack bedding, lay out bike gear, whilst B organises the ‘kitchen’ on a handy bench arrangement nearby. George shows us his tent, his bedding , his tent pegs , his kitchen and cooking facilities and offers a multitude of advice and tips on ways we could do better. Certainly helpful, and certainly demoralising. We were quite happy with our lot before we met George. Any way we have stored and written and photographed all that George  had and will use his expert information another time.

No Route is planned, but we aim to get to the southern tip of Sardinia, catch a ferry and go to Sicily. Except the that the ferry to Sicily is 5 days away, Sardinia is too small to occupy us for that long and George who spent 8 days there the week before says the roads are very slippery.

 Forget Sicily then. 

We head east across the mountainous range that fills the middle of Sardinia, twisting and turning, up, up, up with fabulous vistas and down, down, down into villages and valleys. We stop to watch a Patrimonie festival in Allai, where the tractors are decorated with an abundance of flowers, ribbons and lace cloths to match the town folk as they walk in procession through the pebbled streets. 

Their devoutness and simplicity is reflected in a beautiful painting of three old men sitting on the pavement contemplating/praying/mourning whilst being watched over by a female in black. A bit too sad on such a lovely sunny day, so we ride on. 

 We stop in Teodora for a beer and chips where a 60year old Wisteria provides a vast canopy of shade. Its hot here. The lunchtime entertainment is provided by a smartly dressed man in a blue linen suit on his mobile phone. The earplugs are in and with one hand holding the phone he gesticulates enthusiastically with the other. The one-sided conversation goes on and on, the hand movements get wilder and wilder, the pacing up and down the street gets more vigorous. And now he’s using both hands and big arm movements to get his point of view across. It’s not even a video call.  We leave and he’s still at it.








Now the plan is to catch the ferry to Civitivechhia (aka Rome) from the north eastern point at Olba. The wind is pushing us around rather a lot as we ride northwards so it’s a relief to get to the port, buy the ticket and wait for the ferry.




This crossing costs 157 euros and the one to Sardinia from Marseille was 132 euros. For just under 300 euros we can get to Rome. Our original question was “I s it cheaper to ride to Rome or to go by ferry? “ Its taken 3 days riding, 2 nights on ferries, one night camping : total cost for fuel camp and ferry about cost 350 euros. Our budgeted allowance is up 50 euros per day, so the cost has outweighed the time. Something to bear in mind as well as all the future purchases we need to make. By George, he’s got it.