Our first days in Italy

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We had been in Italy less than three hours before we ran foul of the ticket inspector for not validating our train tickets. Having asked specifically for tickets for a particular train and whether seats were assigned etc., it never occurred to us that they had to be validated in a small yellow machine tucked away in the corner of the station, and our salesman, who spoke good English, did not offer this information. The ticket inspector fined us 5 Euros each and, when we complained, pointed out that the maximum fine is 50 Euros, muttering about L'Anglais as he wrote out our fines and showed us a picture of the validation machine.

Perhaps this has coloured our view but, in general, we do not find the Italians as cheerful or helpful as the Croatians and even when we ask for something in Italian we are sometimes met with blank stares or non capisco. (How many ways could there be to pronounce Galleria Civica?) On the bright side, I haven't been teased once for carrying my Italian phrase book with me and we are rapidly learning essential words such as 'toilet' and 'how much'.

Bologna, the home of spaghetti Bolognesi and Bologna sausage or Baloney is a bustling and interesting place with many lovely old buildings. At one time every new building had to have porticos and many of these remain. Even so, it seems somehow lacking in charm.

This morning we moved on to Modena, making sure to validate our train tickets first, and found out that Monday was not a good day to visit. We managed to get into the cathedral at about 4 p.m. but every other place of interest was closed and when we decided to walk through the park to pass some time it began to pour with rain.
(Only an Italian woman could look elegant wearing a plastic grocery bag over her hair!) We resorted to a cup of tea that came with a plate of small biscuits: so much for our resolve to eat less now that we are off the boat.

The area around Modena produces the finest balsamic vinegar. Sadly we couldn't organize a trip to see where it is made but were able to sample some in a cafe where two drops of each vintage were carefully shaken out onto small silver spoons the way a Scot might dispense his finest single malt. We bought a small bottle of 20-year old vinegar and were warned not to waste it on salad but to place a drop on a slice of cheese or ham, a strawberry or icecream.

Tomorrow we'll move on to Parma, home of - you guessed it - parmesan cheese.

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