Lake Bolsena
10.11.2010 Bolsena
“That was surreal, “ says R, leaning out of the window. It has been three days straight out of the 1950s. We have pretty much had the Hotel Royal to ourselves – one night there were two other people there, the other two nights there was one other couple, in the huge old-fashioned resort hotel.
I have rested my foot by lounging around in the salon, reading. It is a real period piece. There are lamps and side tables and persian rugs. There is a soundtrack playing softly all the time, sort of Perry Como favourites, with a little bit of Elvis and Frank Sinatra. And, most hilarious of all, some books in English, just a few: a couple of thrillers, some vicarage romances with heroines named Joyce and Sheila and (I'm honestly not making this up) a Nevil Shute hardback novel.
It could be a film set. If Viven Leigh was to jump out of a vintage sports car and come running in, bumping into Marcello Mastroianni in the foyer, it just wouldn't have surprised me. It would come out in a few months called “Italian Escapade”.
It was all very restful, and rather like having a mansion and staff. Buon Giorno Signora. Full breakfast buffet laid out just for madam and sir. Coffee in the salon? Is there anything else you would like? The weather was perfect for my purposes, wild squalls of rain, lashing wind. Great weather to be on the couch. R went out one day to do some sightseeing, and came back drenched to the skin and very miserable, but I just stayed put, going to look out the window every now and again at the wild scenes on the lake.
We ventured out to dinner one night. Ah Tuscany, hillsides bathed in sunlight. Lazy afternoons eating pears and persimmons warm from the tree. We laugh about the picture as we scuttle back in the icy driving rain, through deserted streets and past shops shut and shuttered for the winter.
But after having lazed around, slept, stared out the window for long periods and read two books, I have given my foot every chance to get better and it is time to get going.
11.11.2010 Bolsena to Montefiascone
Any place that has fiasco as part of its name has my attention.
We follow the lake around, and over a few hills. It is very pretty. The lake has two private islands in it which catch the eye, and the hills all around are wreathed in mist. People have been interested in what we are doing all the way along this journey, but now they say “Give my regards to Il Papa.” We don't expect to be sent an invite to meet him, actually, but we say Si Si just the same.
It's a lovely walk most of the way, until we reach the outskirts of Fiasco as we have taken to calling it.The streets leading into the town are standard issue ugly, nasty blocks of flats, rubbish- strewn vacant blocks, traffic.We trudge up the hill (they sure did love putting these towns on hills)and find our little hotel just outside the city gate.
When we go to have a look around, it is getting very cold, the streets are empty. Fiasco has not had the tourist trade and the loving care that lots of other places have. Its claim to fame is its huge dome on the big church at the top of the hill – second in size only to the dome of St Peter's in Rome, so they say. But the town is all very run-down, grey , grim and quiet. Where are all the people? Sitting in front of the heater, I guess, smart move.
We go to dinner in the only place we can find that is open, it is quite nice, with cheerful murals on the wall, but we are the only people eating. We scuttle back to our hotel and spend the evening moving our socks around on heaters up and down the hall outside out room as they go on and off, to get them dry.
Bella Italia. Well, it is, but not tonight.
12.11.2010 Montefiascone to Viterbo.
We can see Viterbo from our hotel window, across a wide plain, a big town, which is likely to have a lot of traffic and a busy entry.
The farmland is flat, we are just walking across the valley floor to get to Viterbo, and it is scruffy, daggy farmland. The lush rolling hills of Tuscany seem to have fallen away, and it is just Hoxton Park as far as the eye can see. Not quite, actually in the distance there are hills, and pretty soon we will be able to see the hills of Rome, it is getting very close now.
But for now we just have to get through this dreary market garden coutnryside. We do come across one surprising thing – some thermal ponds, steaming hot and smelling of sulphur, just out in some fields. They have been concreted into ugly little pools with broken orange piping.
There is a ring of campervans circling them, with terry robes hanging from the trees around about. Lolling about in the pools is a pod of whales, sorry, large Italian ladies and men of retirement age. I take off my boots and sit with my feet in one of the pools. Nowhere to change into swimmers so more than that was impossible. In fact, no facilities at all, just these ugly tacky little pools as if someone had made a set of amateur concrete fishponds in their backyard and never really got around to finishing them, let alone landscaping around them.
All that is left of the day is to get to Viterbo. The route is across country, so we don't strike traffic until we are almost in the town, the first sign is a massive cemetery, then a few blocks of dreary offices and shops, then through the mediaeval gate and into a spacious old town. This was the base for the Pope for a long time, when the papacy lost control of Rome, so there is a fine set of grand buildings right at the top of the hill and parks, piazzas with fountains, lots of churches and very graceful towers.
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