Soave

I regretfully I packed the tent and headed Southeast out of Lake Iseo. Skirting the Italian alps on my right, through Brescia and then Verona. That night I camped out past the town in a field. Up feeling chippery I saw on the map a challenge path I could take with the extra time I had before Venice. I cut up to my right, Northeast into the hills toward Vicenza. No country for old men were those climbs. Then I broke into Soave.

Today Italy lives amid the ruins of a once great superpower state. So many breathtaking ancient and near ancient buildings stand around without purpose or attention. These tattered structures aren’t in the big league of tourist attractions. Busses of foreigners never come. They seem to just sit by the road waiting like a dog waits for its master to pull into the driveway.

Not so Soave. Inside the medieval castle walls was a full on bazaar or souk. Startled, I rode right into the crowd thrilled with my afternoon discovery that everybody else seemed to already know about. There too were the tourist busses. The stalls were as long as trailers modified with a display side open, end to end, one after the other. Fish next to women’s fashion dresses next to handbags next to brioche and baguettes.

Back out on the road the rural countryside repeats. A well groomed olive grove, trimmed grape vineyard and a shimmering field of barley. Again and again, just that.Weiterlesen