Romeo & Juliet 4.i
And so from one historical town to another (they’re ten-a-penny out here) it’s on to Lake Garda and Peschiera del Garda, nestling down in the south-east of the lake. From Roman origins as a trading port at the head of the Mincio River to 18th century Venetian rule, it’s been a bit of an alright place to hang out, situated as it is in the fertile wine-making lands of Lombardy-Venetia with the dolomites to the north. I must confess that the first I knew of Lake Garda wasn’t through its history, wine or stunning natural beauty, but through the travel supplement in the Saturday Guardian, where there always seems to be an advert for middle-class, middle-aged sorts to take a tour there for several thousand pounds. You’ll probably find it just inside the back cover, across from the cheap 4 star hotels in Malta and just above the 14-day trip (flights inclusive) to Machu Picchu.
But why pay when you can be paid to go? There are several answers to that, notably that you don’t have to work, but we’ll gloss over that for now. Arriving on the Saturday afternoon from Verona (a mere 15 minutes away on the train) I checked into my hotel, conveniently on the waterfront and went to meet a friend and colleague, who was coming down from Milan for lunch for the day (about a 1hour 50 minute journey). Such is the joy at having examiners you know and like within a three-hour travel radius, it’s a quick decision to meet up, especially when there’s water involved. And so a fine Saturday afternoon was spent drinking sprizt, eating fish things and chatting. With not a great deal to do until the Monday, Sunday was spent meandering round the small, castled town (the castle is of the popular Mediterranean ‘5-point’ design, that you’ll find in Napoli, Malta and countless other towns) in the morning and then taking to the water in the afternoon.
But how to take to the water? Eschewing the speed boat option, I opted for a pedalo, something I haven’t used is a very, very long time. Of course, when doing this Trinity examining, there are many things that you would normally do with others that you end up doing by yourself (calm yourselves if you’re getting excited here), for example, going for dinner. Another such thing is taking a pedalo out. Not really designed for one - they tend to list a bit; but then that could just be because of the amount of pasta I’ve been eating.
So, giddy as a kid in a sandpit, I set off for a couple of hours in my very own pedalo, paddling past the detritus of ducks and flora and into the clearer waters 100 metres of so out, where I could happily take a dip. It was whilst drying off post-dip that I heard and felt a knock at the bow. Not the kind of ‘knock’ that suggests you’ve run over a swimmer but more a ‘who’s that at the door?’ kind of knock. Looking up from my reclined position, I saw two 14 year old urchins (the street kind rather than the sea kind) clinging onto the hull – Riccardo was one and I forget the other’s name. Well, after a brief bit of language confusion it seemed that they wanted ‘two seconds’ to rest before heading back from whence they came. Feeling safe in the awareness that they did ‘knock’ and didn’t forcibly board, I acquiesced and let them up. Barely a minute where they rested before, as they suggested, they slipped back into the water and disappeared off. Just as well really, as I was hardly dressed for entertaining strangers; in fact, I was hardly dressed at all – safe-guarding right out the window [one for the FE readers].
While bobbing about in the sun, it occurred to me that if you’re on holiday with your parents in some euro-camper van, of which there were lots up above the town, and spending days on end jumping in and out of the lake, slowly growing feral, the idea of hiring a pedalo for two hours at 18 euros for two hours must seem like something close to a king’s ransom. Well, I think that’s how it seemed to me when last on a pedalo aged 6 in Ibiza. Still an awful lot of fun, whether 6, 14 or 34.
Plenty food and wine being had and more of the local stuff. All very good. Examining generally sound, too. The next stop on the tour is the final one – the countryside town of Castiglione della Steviere.
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