Italy 105 Grado , a watch battery, a pretty box and a trip up on Liberation Day

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Buon Giorno from Grado, from Camping Villagio Europa an enormous campsite the sort that we really don’t like. It took an age to check in. We were issued with wrist bands, with wifi paperwork at a cost of 3 euros, a map of the campsite and details of where we could park up. There were few people there but at the height of summer you would not be able to put a cigarette paper between the happy campers. We purchased tickets for the bus into Grado and picked up a timetable. The lovely receptionist marked up the bus timetable for us. She showed us the bus stop across the road within spitting distance of the campsite. It’s Monday just remember that fact.

We waited for the bus. Without a watch I had little idea how long we waited . The journey into Grado took about 12 minutes and the bus was fairly empty. Strange for a Monday. We arrived at the bus station which was a tad shabby and closed. Grado is not a big place but we found it hard to find the centro. Sometimes this happens. Glenn could not remember where it was and we could see no signs nor any landmarks like the church. In the end I had to ask and after deciphering a number of sinestras and destras we found our way to the shopping streets. Priorities were to buy a fridge magnet, to find a jewellers and to get a well earned cup of coffee. Both the magnet and the watch battery were easy. The shops were directly opposite each other. As I entered the shop the young lady at the counter who was packaging a present shouted a cheery good morning. I fingered my watch wondering how to ask for a new battery when her male friend smiled, shouted buon giorno and followed up with the words battery. Before I got the watch off he knew what I wanted. As he prised open the back I watched the young assistant get a pretty silver box and place the gift inside it. The box was lovingly fastened with silver ribbon cut neatly into shape. The box was then placed inside a silver and white bag and fastened with a gold tag and a length of deep purple ribbon. All done before he handed me my watch back. Ticking away I felt like I had an old friend back on my wrist . What style too. Only an Italian or the French could wrap something up so beautifully.

The front in Grado has been done up with long, clean and tidy promenades perfect for a passagiata or long linger over an espresso and a caffe latte people watching or sea watching. Life is wonderfully slow as folks of all ages sauntered slowly, stopping awhile to watch the sea or the fountains along the front. For a Monday it was relatively quiet .

We then went hunting for the church. Should be easy to find as it will have a belltower towering above everything else. Not quite true here . There was a tower and it was tall. We should have been able to see it above all else but if front were modern but stylish seaside appartments and these obscured anything behind them. We did though find the church and what a lovely thing. Old and ancient and steeped in history the church and the city were conquered in 568 by the Lombards. The seat of the Patriarchate of Aquileia was transferred here. . After a schism two different patriarchs were elected. One at Grado influenced the Latin-origin people living in the coast and in the Venetian Lagoon whilst the other held Old Acquileia . The basilica of Sant'Eufemia the cathedral was quite beautiful and none too ornate inside. It began life in the 4th and 5th centuries. It was renovated in the 6th century and later restored in the 1640 . Thankfully it was not baroqued too much and retained much of its character.

Before we got there thought I found the pavement. I am a clumsy thing and if there is something to fall over, fall up or fall down then I will find it. The pavement here in the old medieval piazza had one small step. Not more than a couple of inches high but enough for me to catch my foot and fall flat on my face. Or to be more precise my hands both of them hit the ground first . These were followed up by my right knee and then my left . I felt an idiot as the few people around looked when they heard the thud. I wished the ground would swallow me up but made a valiant attempt at trying to look as if nothing had happened. What had happened though was I had two black bruises coming out on both my hands and boy did they sting. My ego was bruised as was my right knee. Lifting my trouser leg I had cut my knee and ripped my left trouser knee. I crawled embarrassed in to the church. I must have fallen in every country in Europe so why not Italy as well.

The church was dark and dismal inside . It took a while for our eyes to adjust to the lack of light. High windows did not let in much light but what we could see was amazing. An old church. A very old one . The columns holding the roof up were reused Roman columns of all kinds of marble and stone. The capitals had been used to hold the roof up. The font was a hollowed out Roman capital. The altar made up of whatever bits of Roman stone that lay around. A higgledy piggledy mixed up mess but it looked fantastic. The floor whilst not in the Acquilea league was made up of mosaics. Frescoes were painted on the walls and the finishing touches were golden mosaics. Next door was a Roman basilica similar to ones at Ravenna and roman tombstone and sarcophagi. Beyond that another old church less ornate than the main church but full of roman bits and pieces and a complete baptismal bath used by early Christians for full immersion baptisms. It was another one of those wow wow wow moments that come along every now and again. Funny how you forget your aching bones after a fall when you see such beauty as this.



The next plan was to head for the bus. Checking the timetable there was one at 11.40 which would get us back to the campsite. Arriving at the bus station we sat and waited. 11.40 came and went . We didn’t worry Italian bus drivers can be a bit late at times. 11.50 I checked the timetable and the bus should have arrived . I even went to double check the one on the bus wall. Where was the bus? It came. It disgorged its passengers. We tried to get on and were shooed off . This bus is going nowhere and he drove off. I followed him, showed him the timetable and asked where is the bus? He grimaced between sucking on his cigarette and pointed to Sunday service . It is Monday I wailed . No it is a Bank Holiday so the service is Sunday and there is no bus until gone 3pm. Now that explained a lot. It was Liberation Day and no-one had told us. Had we seen the airforce doing the Italian version of the Red Arrows or seen a parade we might have twigged. Answer to problem find a taxi. Easier said than done when there is no train station where they accumulate. In the end we found a taxi stop with a phone number to ring. We did get home and it cost 16 euros for the short trip plus two unused bus tickets. Lesson to be learned here . I know our festivals and bank holidays at home. How about knowing them abroad ?



Tomorrow we go back to Trieste. The last time we were there was five years ago. The first holiday in Suzy Should be fine if my knee doesn’t stiffen up.

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