I had heard it was only a tiny village.
I am pleasantly surprised.
This small town near Oderzo is only a few hours nor north east of Venezia has an active agricultural community.
On the first lap of the main street I see a fairly big farmers co-op for processing whatever.
Well I soon discovered what “ Whatever” really is. Its a sly grog shop, amateur vigernon collective, and heart throb of the town.
It turns out that the Co-Op building became unused. Now lot sizes are smaller and there are many small farms which grow various quantities of grapes in relatively small and commercially un-economic quantities. So now the co-op facilities are used to do hat tricky stuff of turning grapes into wine for those numerous small growers. Some day - with half a lifetime to spare- I might have a tasting of their products , purely for scientific purposed of course.
Then I see that the houses are substantial and fairly modern – say post 1950s
Buildings from the 17th
century are abundant and well maintained.
As with any buildings that I have seen in
both France and Italy, from that range of vintages , some are at different stages in the maintenance cycle to others. And invariably exterior paintwork is not a priority.
We search around the town for a likely spot to camp or at least park Skippy while we eat and kip.
We drive away from the main street and notice quite a number of areas signed as indudtriale . It turns out that there is a significant wooden furniture manufacturing industry in 21st
There are no campgrounds in Codogne.
Not much public land to park on overnight either.
We drive up and down the streets – and are becoming a bit disillusioned.
Fearful of not finding suitable place on a public holiday ( for the republic 2nd
June) we find one business open. Its a pub.
A pub in this part of the world differs from both traditional and modern Australian pubs. Pubs here are small. The offer Loto, tabac , wine tasting. Coffee and all sorts of other beverages including a range of biers.
We go into this pub. We are a curiosity. Just pulled up in a camping car.
Most of the cars are small in this region. Not only have these two turned up in a great big motor home, but to the damnation of their souls this vehicle is registered in France.
So its a bit like a circus just came to town. Except that its an enemy or rival circus.
They greet us. We greet them. We begin to talk . they all talk. We cant understand them. But they do understand that we are seeking a place to camp the night.
One of the men asks what is a French couple is doing here.
We advise that we are Australian.
Ok. That’s a relief. But if you are Australian, why drive a French registered car. The practicalities of floating an Australian car over here are difficult to explain.
But a couple of them enthusiastically get on our case.
They are explaining where to go – in a nice way. I understand the direction but not the specifics.
Then one of them comes with us and then goes to get his own car. And leads us to the spot at the car park for the Pergola night club.
It appears that the owner of this business is known for his hospitality to strangers and will allow us to park in his car park.
We later meet the gentleman and he is quite welcoming assuring us its ok. Then his cleaner caretaker calls on us and makes us welcome as well.
Its nice to be welcomed .
On the way out of town the following morning we visit a “dairy” which has been recommended. Its another significant employer in the town- operating out of a spacious facility with modern processing plant. Their retail section is a reassure trove of cheeses, yoghurts, locally made pasta and pastry, sausage and other goodies. We stock up. And head for Croatia via Slovenia.
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