Italy 81 - Bergamo the city of a thousand Garibaldi volunteers

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Motorhoming is a strange creature. On the one hand you have everything you could need from the television to the kitchen sink and can move about dependent on the weather and if you like or hate the place you are staying at. On other hand you need to be very careful where you choose to stay. We were in a bit of a limbo. Our last few days on the lake had gone and we had about 10 days left before we needed to get to Calais for the train home. Leave too soon and you find yourself out of the sunny weather and with nothing to fill the time. Leave too late and you risk not getting back for the train.

So what to do? Ideas and thoughts were going round and round our heads. The map was out. We didn’t want to head too far north. Just by luck and the internet search we found a sosta newly opened in the middle of Bergamo. Just right we thought. It had been inaugurated in March this year and we had little idea where exactly it was as the co-ordinates given on the site were wrong. We had the address via Corridonni and reckoned we would find it with that.

We set Sally Sat Nav who had been misbehaving for via Corridonni and as we arrived in Bergamo she told us to take the second exit off the roundabout. Well as always just out of the corner of my eye as we passed the first exit i saw a sign for motorhome parking. Small , blue shaped like a motorhome it is distinct but too late for us as we were heading down the wrong road. Instinct told us that if we went left, left again and left it should take us back to where we started and we could follow the signs instead of Sally silly head Sat Nav which was obviously having a bad day.

Easier said than done. One way systems, bus lanes and no through roads blocked our way and it took a while to get back where we had come from. Once back forget Sally follow the signs which seemed to go on for ever. Eventually we saw the site over a barrier. The flags of all nations gave the clue. Passed it we drove, up to the next roundabout, an about turn and finally through the gates where we were greeted by Barbara. Half Spanish, half Italian she talked fast and gestured wildly. We worked out she wanted us to park in what we called Brits Corner. She seemed to park all Italians together and all the other single nationalities together. We had a bit of a communication problem with her and she shouted an elderly man over who spoke perfect English with a strange accent. He told us 18 euros a night, toilets and showers over there, buses outside on the road and trams just across the hedge. We struggled to find out times of buses but there were not many on a Sunday and certainly not the 11, 11A or 11B that Barbara told us would take us to the citta basso, the railway station and the funicular to the citta alto.

What can we say about Bergamo? We Sion our travelling companion decided that as it was something to do with Garibaldi it must have something to do with biscuits. We sent him off to consult his Sheep Book of Facts and he came up a better version on Bergamo. And this is what he found. Italy had always been a country made up of all different provinces with different leaders and kings. In 1859, motivated by the resurgence of Italian patriotism Garibaldi formed the Hunters of the Alps to fight the Austrians. . On 3 May in Turin he formed a unit of volunteers. Bergamo provided many of the volunteers and were proud and still are to be called the City of the Thousand. They wore red shirts and became known as red shirts. Sion found the following that was written in the Book of Honour of Bergamos volunteers. I am proud to belong to the ranks of the valiant sons of Bergamo who adorn the pages of this book of honor and to see my name alongside those of many brothers in arms. Even the campsite boasted a huge banner proclaiming it was part of the citta dei mille.

After hooking up and having a cup of tea we decided to hunt the bus. No joy there seemed none running. How about a tram? We found the station and one was due but we found nowhere to buy a ticket. We tried the first shop recommended to sell them. Out of them. We walked further and by this time decided that we had walked so far we might as well continue and walk into Bergamo. Not a particularly pleasant walk, not a particularly picturesque one but eventually we arrived in town.

The place was heaving. Perhaps it was because it was a Sunday and everyone was out enjoying the late summer sun. Or perhaps it was because there was something going on. Many people were dressed in yellow T shirts and looked as if they were taking part in a walk or cycle ride. And the centre of the town was covered in pink astroturf. It hurt your eyes to look at it as it was so lurid. Flowers everywhere and most linked with medicinal use and healing. And a carcophony of noise, wall to wall sound bouncing off the narrow streets and the high buildings. Dogs barked feroucously as they vieed for their owners attentions. We sat and ordered lunch. Aperol of course and a margarita pizza and a Bergamashe board which seemed to be a board full of local hams, meats and cheeses. Half way down the drinks we thought they had forgotten us as the food still hadn’t arrived. Three quarters the way down and still nothing. As we got to the end the waitress came out rather sour faced and picked my glass up . With no smile she pronounced loudly Finished!!!! As if to say what are you still sitting here for with an empty glass. I pointed to the clean knives and forks. Food we ordered some. Not had it and with that she looked at our bill and flounced back in again. The time passed with still no food so by this time you really have to take the bull by the horns and inside I went. We don’t want the food thankyou . We have waited too long. She looked at me and scowled “So you don’t want the Bergamashe board!”..No thankyou – can I pay please? She struck it off the bill with vengeance and tried to charge me for the drinks and the pizza we had not had. After much discussion I eventually got through to her that we had had nothing in the way of food and were going elsewhere where the service hopefully would be better.

And so it was. Another Aperol and a gnocci in sauce with pesto. Served with a smile and with aplomb in a overlarge dish. After eating up we headed for the church which was closed until later that afternoon. Into the Chapel next door . As we are now churched out and were feeling very tired we decided to head home. We knew we would have a long walk to the funicular and an even longer walk back to the campsite. On the way we picked up bread and panforte. Have you tried Panforte? If not you don’t know what you are missing. Expensive, sickly if you eat too much it is a sweet but not as we know it. Thick and chock full of candied peel, fruit and almonds it is the most yummy sweet you can eat. I bought a huge chunk of it to treat ourselves.

The journey down wasn’t as bad as the one up but the walk was awful and we were glad to get to our little oasis outside of town.

The showers are Ok and it had everything we could have wanted. We even sat out in the evening sunshine talking to four English visitors. The English man with the strange accent was born in Bergamo and had served in the war. He came to England after the war ended and intended staying a year but never went home. Understandably as Italy at the time and even up to the 80’s was relatively poor in parts. You needed a pocket large enough to carry the millions of liras you would be given. And petrol coupons were needed by visitors to buy essential fuel. He said England held great hope, a place where you could get on and he had never left. He was father to the football player Marco Gabbiadani who started his professional career for York City and afterwards drafted into the England under 18 team. His playing career took him to Sunderland where he bacame a crowd favourite. From Sunderland he moved to Crystal Palace. Odd how we have met so many ex footballers or people with connections to footballers. After he retired he joined his parents in buying and running a hotel in York. We found out that they were travelling as a group as their son had married their friends daughter.

We slept well after the awful night before where we had to put up with the ever so out of tune Italian kaoroke team. At least the only noise from this site was the gentle rumble of the trams and the noise of the traffic on the road which at times was busy. I even found a Conad supermarket. Not my favourite but at least was able to top up on essentials.

Tomorrow we take on Milan. We are not driving in. You need to plain mad to do that. We intend trying to catch the tram into Bergamo and the train into Milan.

We had both been to Milan before. Glenn about 4 times and me only once. And that once didn’t give me much of a view of the city as we were travelling home from Venice. Well trying to travel home as our plane was grounded due to the Icelandic volcanic ash cloud and most of Europe was trying to do the same. My view of Milan was of the station, of huge queues for food and for the toilets and sitting on the floor waiting for the train to Paris. This time would be different.

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Comments

[D MJ Binkley]

Italy
Reading your blogs is making me want to book another trip to Italy.