Having finished our cycling tour of Puglia and Basilicata, we arrived back into the coastal resort of Monopoli where we loaded the bikes onto the back of Bob and, moving with slightly more speed, headed north.  It didn’t take long before we crossed into Abruzzo, proudly known as the “Green Region of Europe” due to almost half of its territory having been set aside as national parks.  This region is predominantly mountainous and, despite its western border being a mere 50km from Rome, it is one of the least populated regions of Italy.  Overlooking the Adriatic Sea, the 130 km long coastline includes a number of Blue Flag Status beaches – the international quality mark for beaches that are among the finest not only in the country, but globally.  Having overloaded on Vitamin D whilst on the bikes, we were more focussed on getting back up into the mountains and, after a couple of false starts, we found a small campsite so perfect that it would have been easy to stay for the entire summer.  Just a short walk from the tiny mountain village of Sant’Eufemia, where the local taberna doubled as the community centre, it was rural Italy at its best.   Situated at the foot of the Majella, a massif within the Appennine chain, the surrounding peaks hid deep valleys, caves, gorges and high-altitude plains which according to the numerous signs around, were home to the Marsican brown bear.  With numbers currently around 60 individuals, lack of a sighting was unsurprising. 

It was hard to drag ourselves away from such a lush, green idyll but we were on a bit of a schedule.  Crazy isn’t it, that even when living our nomadic lifestyle, we are still shaping our timeline and invariably have somewhere to be on a particular date.  In the short term we had an appointment at the Baci chocolate factory in Perugia and so, for the second time, we crossed over the top of the Appennines and into Umbria.  This central region is the only one within Italy that borders neither the sea nor another country and along with Abruzzo and Marche remains relatively undiscovered by touristic masses.  The scenery remained the same, mountains, forests and beautiful villages either built into the side of the mountain or sat on top of one of the surrounding hills. 

Perugia is the capital city of Umbria, the historic centre a true fourteenth-century village with a bustling energy, due in part to the large number of university students in residence.  We had considered a chocolate making course at the huge Perugina factory but after being quoted €600 for an hour and a half’s tuition we figured the €10 tour was the way to go.  Like most things Italian, the story of Baci is a romantic one.  Around 100 years ago, a young chocolatier named Luisa Spagnoli fell in love with Giovanni Buitoni, who was a founder of the Perugina chocolate company.  Ordinarily, this wouldn’t have been an issue but somewhat inconveniently, she was already married to his co-founder.  In order to communicate with her lover, she placed notes inside the wrapped chocolates that were then sent for his inspection.  These love tokens inspired a tradition that continues to this day, albeit now under the leadership of Nestle.   The story was interesting, but the free chocolate was better, and with pockets bulging we drove over the Apennines for a third time, this time heading for San Marino.  

Founded in 301 by Saint Marinus, a Christian stonemason, San Marino is the fifth smallest country in the world covering just 61 square kilometres in the mountains of Italy.  Fully independent and with its own army, it is the only country in the world where the cars outnumber the population.  With a population of around 34,000 there works out to be 1.6 cars per person (including children) which could have something to do with the lack of VAT or, more likely, the lack of a MacDonalds which means driving 30km down the hill to the seaside resort of Rimini for a fast-food fix.  Despite, or perhaps due to, this lack of infrastructure, San Marino boasts a unique status in that it has no national debt. 

As always, within any historic centre of Europe, parking is near impossible and shunning the available lower level parking lots which would have required us to walk up the hill, we eventually found ourselves just outside the city walls where there was a tiny parking area for about 30 vehicles.  With no room to turn Bob around we had no choice but to drive up to the parking barrier and wait for a space to come free.  At last, a car exited and we waited for our ticket to appear.  Five minutes later the ticket was still absent and we were getting hooted by the car behind because they’re Italians and that’s what they do.  Eventually the passenger of the tooting car got out and started up a rapid conversation with the invisible lady inside the ticket dispenser.  For a simple issue the conversation was an extremely lengthy one but eventually resolved in a ticket being produced and the barrier opening to let us in.  Parking accomplished, we walked under the cute stone arch and into the city.  It didn’t take long to have a look round, we have been in shopping malls that are larger, but it is a pretty place.  Aside from the usual tourist souvenirs, the main offering was BB guns, hunting equipment and fishing gear – yet another reason to own a car – and after purchasing a pair of binoculars to replace the ones stolen in Tangiers, we once again drove over the Apennines, this time to Florence.

We had arranged to stay at an old villa on the south side of the River Arno, simply because it had a small courtyard where we would be able to park.  As it turned out, the owners were charming, the room was huge, and it was only a 15-minute walk into the centre.  Having visited this beautiful city before, we were looking forward to getting re-acquainted, but the excessive scaffolding, barriers and cranes dotted about the centre presented a very different Florence to the one we remembered.  Even the leather markets failed to inspire, with the same items on display from one end of the street to the other, without the choice of colours and textures that we had seen in Morocco.   A trip to the Outlet Mall also proved to be a waste of diesel and so with funds relatively intact we continued north. 

Our plan whilst in Italy was always to spend time in the most southern and most northern regions and less than a couple of hours after leaving Florence, road signs started appearing in German, Bratwurst was back on the menu and Lederhosen was being sported in the bars and cafes.  We had arrived in Alto Adige.  Sitting just below Austria, this region is also referred to as South Tyrol and you could be forgiven for thinking that you had crossed the border leaving Italy behind.  This part of Italy has been heavily influenced by Central Europe, as evidenced by the improved infrastructure, increased industry and a preference for butter and cream over olive oil.  There also seemed to be a fascination with grass cutting which was taking place almost as if it was a community event.  No slope was too large nor too steep resulting in the feeling that one had been dropped into a perfect toy farm.  But WOW, what a stunning natural landscape, huge green valleys lined with dense forests and surrounded by the pale jagged peaks of the Dolomites.

To put the Dolomiti into perspective, they are a mountain range in the northern Italian Alps covering the regions of Belluno, South Tyrol and Trentino.  The Alps themselves extend in a 1,200 km arch from Nice on the western Mediterranean to Trieste on the Adriatic and cross the countries of Monaco, France, Switzerland, Italy, Liechtenstein, Germany, Austria and Slovenia.  The Dolomites cover an area of roughly 90 km north to south and 100 km east to west which constitutes less than 1% of the entire range.  However, despite this small contribution they are definitely one of the most beautiful places I have ever visited and our two-week stay has been a highlight of our travels so far.

The first week we spent just outside Brunico, South Tyrol, in a chalet that we had booked way back in February as we were concerned that the short hiking season of late June to early September would place a heavy demand on accommodation.  As well as the typical wooden alpine chalet accommodation, there are more than 1,000 mountain huts that are a huge part of what makes hiking and climbing in this region such a unique and accessible experience.  The extensive network of ski lifts stay open throughout the summer giving easy access to the peaks, higher pastures and seemingly limitless walking trails.  Our explorations extended to the Valley of Gardena which was definitely “Sound of Music” stuff and the beautiful and diverse Fanes-Senes Nature Park, home to Lake Braie.

Our first week was up all too quickly and not having any further accommodation sorted out we drove 60km east to the mountain resort of Cortina in Belluno.  Arriving late morning we were able to secure a week-long pitch at Camping Rocchetta which turned out to be an idyllic spot just a 20-minute walk from the centre of town.  Our second week was even better than the first and for anyone that loves hiking and has yet to visit this part of Italy, please put it on your to-do list.  The only negative for us was the difficulty in booking into the mountain huts which prevented us from being able to put together a multi-day tour.  Without exception, and despite contacting many huts back in February, the majority of beds had been block booked by the tour companies.  Most of the walkers we came across had organised their trip through a company and in most cases had booked over 12 months ahead.  In theory, no mountain hut should turn a walker away (even if you end up sleeping in a cupboard) but we didn’t test this so can’t comment.  Logistical difficulties aside, the walking was spectacular and the location and quality of the mountain huts, where we often stopped for lunch, couldn’t be faulted.  Lake Sorapis and the area around Mount Lagazuoi provided some of the best trails that we have ever walked making us love Italy just a little bit more.

Whether you are a hiker, cyclist, mountaineer, paraglider or skier, this area is paradise but these Italian Alps also hold a lot of history that tells of a very different mountain experience. 

On our last day, we drove up to Falzarego Pass from where we would hike up Mount Lazagoui through the extensive tunnels that had been carved out of the mountain by the Italian Alpini soldiers during WWI.  The First World War, so different from any previous war given the magnitude of military equipment and number of men involved “hit the Dolomite valleys like a furious gust of wind that uprooted, swept away and changed everything” (L. Palla).  The war began in August 1914, at a time when the Tyrol valleys belonged to the Austro-Hungarian Empire, but it wasn’t until May 1915 when the Italian Army advanced into the valley town of Cortina that the Austrians were forced to retreat to the high passes of the Dolomites, a natural border between the two countries.  The fighting that then ensured at altitudes near 3,000 m was known as the White War, an arduous and fruitless battle not only between the two armies but against nature itself and the challenge of warfare in such a hostile environment.   This bitterly fought conflict continued for three years during which time kilometres of trenches, tunnels and galleries were excavated.  More soldiers died of hunger, cold, avalanches and rockfalls than from the battles themselves and remnants of this gruesome chapter are now part of the Open-Air Museum found at the top of the mountain.

Despite adverse weather requiring full waterproofs to make an appearance, the start of the walk was ok - the only disconcerting factor was that we were the only people going up; anyone else mad enough to be on the mountain with a storm brewing was wisely making their way down.  Within half an hour we had turned off the wide shale track onto a steep, narrow ledge-like affair where the placement of metal cables was much appreciated as we pushed forward trying to ignore the alarming drop-off and the horrible sense of being somewhat exposed clinging to the side of the mountain.  We were understandably relieved when the first of the tunnels started to appear as the rain was getting heavier and well equipped, with one headlight between us, we ventured into the pitch blackness.  We progressed through a series of short, low tunnels before reaching the main tunnel system.  Always climbing, some of the tunnels had steep wooden steps, often with a steel cable fasted to one side of the walls and every now and then a lookout hole would appear which was literally a tiny platform overlooking the mountainside.  Eventually we emerged onto a larger platform, where there was a small stone-built shelter which purported to be a kitchen, before entering the next section of tunnels.  We could hear the thunder directly above us as we went deeper into the mountain, disappointingly in the wrong direction as we found ourselves in a section that was clearly not part of the official route.  The appearance of another couple was somewhat reassuring except for the fact that they were also lost and after a bit of random exploring which resulted in a series of dead ends, there was no other option than to retrace our steps back down through the dark, steep and slippery interior of the mountain.   Once again reaching the kitchen, we left our new companions taking shelter whilst we started along a tiny path that Ian had spotted curving its way around the side.  The heavy rain and wind was not helping our efforts as we attempted to gain more height and when the path abruptly finished, further ascent was only possible by scrambling – which we did – until an inner voice of reason kicked in and we agreed to head back.  We must have been in the eye of the storm as we clung to the face of the mountain with the wind howling around us.  Inching back along the exposed, narrow ledges it was with huge relief that we once again arrived at the kitchen where the other couple popped out having decided the worst of the weather was over.   

Back into the tunnels again we descended for what seemed an age but was probably only 30 minutes or so, when a guy appeared at a previously missed crossroad and pointed us in another direction.  It took us almost an hour of dark, unrelenting ascent before we eventually exited through a wooden door just a few hundred metres from the cable car station.   The storm had now passed, the sky was bright blue and the mountain rifugio was still serving food.  It was as if we had walked through a portal from one world into another and we had been provided with a tiny glimpse and huge appreciation of the hardships that would have been endured by the soldiers fighting for ownership of these mountains.  The White War: Life and Death by Mark Thompson is a compelling account of this little-known campaign.

Our 90-day stay in Europe was once again due to expire and so it was time to make another visa run back to the UK.  Designating Venice airport as our gateway we booked into Fusina campground, a 20-minute ferry ride from the centre and an excellent option for anyone with a camper wanting to visit Venice.  Venice is the capital of Italy’s Veneto region and is built on more than 100 islands in a lagoon in the Adriatic Sea.  Canals within and around the islands act as roads and the Grand Canal, Venice’s own Autobahn, traces a reverse-S course through the middle.  Considered to have been the first real international financial centre, the city came into being when hordes of Germanic marauders drove great numbers of mainlanders onto the islands of the lagoon.  Over time, the city was built by driving millions of wooden poles, sourced mainly from Slovenia and Croatia, deep into the clay beneath the marshes.  Platforms were then constructed on top of the poles upon which buildings were constructed.  Its strategic position between Europe and traders from the East enabled the Merchants of Venice to accumulate great wealth evidenced by the grandiose and ornate architecture of its many palaces, churches and bridges. 

Unfortunately for us, Venice was in the throes of a heatwave when we arrived which sapped our energy and enthusiasm for exploration.  We didn’t even part with the €90 required for a ride on a Gondola, preferring to peruse the Peggy Guggenheim art collection, conveniently housed in a state-of-the-art air-con environment.  Despite the heat, the occasional unpleasant whiff and the number of tourists that swell the normal population from 55,000 to 175,000 on any busy day, Venice has an undeniable charm.

Just before we left Italy we were notified by HSBC AU that the final outstanding fraudulent transaction had been recredited to our account, a mere 5 months after we first notified them of the issue.  By way of an apology for their tardy response they did issue us with a $50 dollar voucher for a well-known Australian supermarket but, better yet, a couple of weeks later they refunded the same transaction again!!