In the morning there wasn’t a lot of room beside the bed to do my 15 minute yoga. But I found by opening the bathroom door and the wardrobe I could just about fit!
Back on the road after a late start. Refilled my water bottles and placed them behind the makeshift bungy cords I’d tied around the passenger seat. Pedro’s interior being all hard plastic was like being the pilot in an Airfix kit. Nowhere to put nuttin and anything you did – say a pair of sunglasses – would immediately end up on the floor and usually under your brake pedal. Hence the bungy cords keeping water and emergency wine gums to hand.
Driving styles were getting more lax the further I travelled south. The slow lane was evidently considered Lorries Only. No one was to be seen dead in that lane on point of principal. And also, another strange behaviour which I’d only encountered way down south in Italy, driving while straddling two lanes. Was it some half-hearted attempt to use the slow lane or to show intention that you were on that side of the motorway? Not sure. Very erratic driving with almost all male drivers using their mobile phones. At one point there was a big BMW so close to my rear bumper that I was momentarily unnerved. I moved to the right just as traffic was joining from a junction. I looked to the left but the beemer had closed me out. Three lanes of cars into two. Everyone held their breath and somehow we all slithered onwards without touching.
Outside Ferrara a terrible smell. Truly awful like an unflushed toilet that lingered for almost 20 miles and had me mouthbreathing while wondering if I was imbibling farticles of human excrement. Certainly not anything of animal origin. Perhaps it actually was nightsoil? The rest of the motorway sat in air conditioned comfort, presumably with their vents on recirc., oblivious or used to it? I couldn’t be sure, but shutting the windows was not an option for me.
Around this time I noticed a slight but high pitched whine from the front left wheel. Hmmm, bearing perhaps?
After three hours the road dropped down with lovely views onto the beaches of the Adriatic. I had passed the famous resort of Rimini and was now on the single lane road into Ancona. Just me and very large trucks negotiating the many roundabouts.
On the right and up the hilllside was a lot of earthmoving activity where they were putting in massive foundations for the SS21 Adriatic coast road. Obviously it was to be an elevated section of some kind. A big undertaking on that steep hillside.
Naturally, with the cost of this new road, they had stopped maintaining the one that was actually the only arterial connection with the north. This meant some dodging around to skip the potholes, some of them crater-like. Even the trucks were treating them like roundabouts.
Not the prettiest drive in with stockyards and train freight with overhead power. But what a great place. I immediately liked it. An honest port town with obvious strategic importance on the Adriatic and the deep integrity of knowing its value. What a contrast to Modena. Open and breezy.
Got parked and met the charming owner of the airbnb. It was a brilliantly converted room of an old palazzo. Airbnb is always worth the effort, even if it’s just for one night. You get to stay in places of such charm, rather than a faceless hotel room.
The owner was wearing a translucent silk shift against the heat. Showing me around I asked about air conditioning. She said no AC because the building had a conservation order on it, but pointed to an industrially sized fan which she then turned on. Unfortunately this blew her dress up and over her head. I scrabbled to turn it off while she emerged with flushed cheeks!
My Italian was not up to apologizing for what had been a schoolgirl error on her part. But we had a good laugh about it together.
So then, Ancona. The first thing that strikes you is the size of the churches. They are monumental and rise up the steep hill out of the port. Obviously this hints to great wealth at one stage. Emperor Trajan made it his main port with trade from the East and there is still an arch to him standing amidst all the cranes and paraphenalia of the docks.
Ancona is one of the largest natural harbours in Italy and is in the shape of an elbow, hence the name from the ancient Greek, Arkon – elbow. Independent until it merged with the Papal states it had successfully fought off attacks and sieges from the Venetians, Turks and Austrians.
Stamira, a local heroine who escaped through a gate one night to set fire to the beseiging Venetian camp is commemorated with a statue in the main square.
On the night I was in that piazza half the town had turned out to listen to a local politician, Sr. Paragone make a speech. I picked up one of his leaflets which read ‘Io Non Dimentico’ or ‘I’m not barmy’. Personally I couldn’t really tell, but he was certainly impassioned and the crowd were loving his energy.
Ancona then a really civilised town with lovely shops and some stylish restaurants. A very liveable place I thought. I could easily spend a week here. I was a bit guilty that I hadn’t visited Ravenna on the way down.
Once the Western capital of the Byzantine world it would have to wait for another time. Or as a stop on the way back. I had no plans but knew that I had to take this opportunity to stay away from the temptress that is Italy. The place I always feel so at home.
I met some nice people over a few whiskies at a restaurant near my apartment and then retired for a dream-filled sleep.