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Italian Travels 6

Wonderful meal with a wonderful bottle of Lambrusco
Day
6, 7 & 8
Forgive me TV Father for I have tasted heaven!

Statue celebrating Dom Camillo
Thanking a variety of deities, I leave the awful hotel, but not before they've handed me the final insult: cold scrambled eggs and a machine that promises a full cup of coffee, but delivers only a quarter. Everything is cold, which now includes my heart!
It's the worst place I have ever stayed, and I get out as fast as my speeding legs can take me, and soon I'm heading north and feel as though I'm on the home leg. Each drive is now a short hop, and before I know it I'm arriving at Lambrusco producer Medici Ermete.
Unfortunately, I get directions wrong and end up at the warehouse while the interview is supposed to take place at the tasting rooms a few kilometres away. I speed like Lewis Hamilton, only faster.
'I speed like Lewis Hamilton, only faster.'
Alessandro, my guide and member of the family, is an enthusiastic soul who lives for his wine, and his balsamic, and he loves to discuss them in great detail.
When listening to somebody this passionate it makes things easy. As we chat (more in the accompanying interview) he tells me that they are indeed Medicis, but that the records of proof were lost in a fire during World War Two.
The last time I tried Lambrusco it was little more than fizzy pop with a limp kick. This Lambrusco is nothing like those insipid pourings and it seems to be a wine that has finally grown up and is ready to be accepted amongst the big boys.
Before we continue down the wine road, he gives me a tasting of his balsamic vinegar, and this too is infused with a multitude of interesting tastes.
It's complex, like the Lambrusco, and could almost be a meal on its own. He patiently answers my questions and the mood seems easy. At the end he gives me a restaurant recommendation that is fortunately near to where I'll be staying. Before I leave I decide to take one more sip of the lovely 'Concerto' he has opened for my visit. I don't know what happens, but I spill the whole glass down the front of my white shirt!
'You now have a memory of Emilia,' he tells me. I smile at his nonchalance. The shirt can be replaced, the memory will be savoured in the retelling.

In Parma you walk around a corner and just stare open mouthed
'...the wine I'd spilt down my shirt.'
I head to his restaurant recommendation which is an inviting leafy osteria on the banks of the River Po, near the small town of Brescello, and allows me to easily lose a couple of hours eating a tasty dish of spaghetti with pesto and pistachio. All is accompanied by a bottle of Medici Concerto; the wine I'd spilt down my shirt (not a drop is missed this time).
My hotel is on the other side of the River Po, so I've had lunch in Lombardy and I'm rooming in Emilia. It is a simple, honest place (my hotel, not Emilia) with a host who grunts for speech and a dog that stares at you with hunger in its eyes. I pacify the dog, but the host seems a tad more difficult. This might need the sort of wine writer magic I don't possess.
I take a few wines, mostly to forget the terrible hotel from the previous night, and as I muse what a day it has been, a woman who works in the bar and who watches her clients suspiciously stares in my direction. Her mother also gives me the evil eye. I move seats but can feel her staring into the back of my skull like a laser. I'm sure she's uttering dark Latin incantations. She disappears behind the bar and is so short I forget she's there and start to relax. Then the muttering starts up again from somewhere beneath the counter, or perhaps it's coming from Hell and I shake a little.
Looking at these owners, I'm not sure they're at their best when serving the public. Each request is met with a stony stare and suspicions akin to them thinking I've kidnapped the Pope! Muttering Mama meanwhile puts in another appearance and waddles about as though she's in charge, which she probably is. She actually looks as though she's searching for her broom!
I've also noticed the return of an alarming event that seems to happen in a lot of Italian bars. I wasn't going to mention it, but it occurs so often I have to: A man enters, pauses and subtlety rearranges himself as though checking his 'goodies' haven't been stolen before ordering a drink. When he has received his drink, he stands at the bar, takes a drink, and openly (almost brazenly) checks his down below area again. All this is done without the aid of a safety pocket!
A group of French tourists arrive. There's about six of them and not one can speak Italian. The owner can't speak French and they try to converse in English. I offer to help, but am ignored. I shut up, smile and smugly sip my wine knowing that Muttering Mama will get them!
'I offer to help, but am ignored. I shut up, smile and smugly sip my wine.'

In the 50s/60s they filmed Don Camilo here. Brescello celebrates it's moment of fame
I've wangled a day of rest before heading north to Franciacorta country and decide that it would be great to explore the local environs. The first village I stop at is so small that it's a one-horse town without a horse! There is little to keep a visitor interested, and I pass quickly through.
The next place is called Brescello and is of interest because of its link to a series that took place in the 50s/60s entitled, 'The Little World of Don Camilo'. It is a fitting setting because of the large church that dominates the main square and casts a very long shadow.
I don't remember the show, but my father-in-law mentioned it a few years ago. There is a souvenir shop, signs indicating where locations were used, and a couple of statues of the central characters to see.
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On a whim I head to Parma. I must be mad because it will involve driving in an Italian city, which can normally destroy the nerves! Surprisingly, this place is manageable and the parking easier than I would have imagined. I'm warming to it. I stroll about taking pictures and enjoying city life while pondering if I should buy a huge wheel of parmesan, and wondering if it will keep until I get it back home.
Parma is all you could want from an Italian city, and monuments and architectural beauties lie around every corner. The cathedral is impressive, as are the towers that stand guard nearby. Go ahead and sample it yourself and then send me your thanks.
I decide a drink is needed, so I sit down and wait, and wait. Nobody comes to serve and I feel that I'm either deemed not worthy, or have broken some sort of city ordinance. Finally, enough is enough and I exit stage left pursued by nothing but the echoes of my own footsteps.
'I exit stage left pursued by nobody but the echoes of my own footsteps.'
I end my trip in the nearest town to my hotel; a place called Viadana. The heat is simmering, walking becomes a challenge and I'm a little light-headed. Time to sit and enjoy a drink. It's lunchtime so there's not much else to do. Nothing gets in the way of an Italian at lunch!
I find out that the town is big in the rugby world, but I can't find the stadium for a possible look around, and assume that a tour at this time of day would be out of the question anyway!
Back in my hotel room I have a befuddled look on my face as I try to understand Italian television; not the overseas dubbed stuff, but the high-pitched ranting attached to sport. I didn't know men could talk this high-pitched!
A couple of mosquitos cling to the curtains as they hope I'll fall asleep and become their version of a hog roast, or the Italian equivalent!

A bottle from the wine museum at Lake Garda
It's day eight and the penultimate day before I'm back on the wine trail. I'm taking life easy as I bake in a sunshine that is causing damage all over the Europe!
I've only got about an hours drive until my next destination, and with plenty of time until check-in I decide that Lake Garda might be a destination worth visiting. They make a great wine called Bardolino and it would be great to try it in its natural home.
I should have heeded the mammoth queue of traffic at the Garda turn-off, because when I arrive I just cannot find a parking space, and when I do the machine is not playing ball. This, plus the multitudes, leads to a quick exit. Fortunately, as I'm leaving I see a sign for a wine museum and my interest is piqued.
It's run by a producer called Zeni and is not too demanding because its purpose is to lead you gently into the large shop where you can taste, and hopefully buy six or seven cases. The Zeni Cruino I try is full-bodied, made in the passiamento style and quite tasty for a mass-produced number.

Lake Iseo. I might challenge myself to find a dreadful Italian view
I'm still too early to check in and decide that Lake Iseo might be more fruitful for a stop. It's a beautiful find, and a lot smaller than it's neighbours (Como and Garda) with less visitors and is easier to find parking, except for a conman who tries to make out he owns the carpark.
The town of Iseo is a picture postcard kind of a place with a pleasant hum about it, and views of the lake that are stunning and captivating, and much picture taking is done. I retire for a beer and a glass of Franciacorta (to acclimatise of course). The wine is refreshing on such a hot day, but not top-notch and I leave half the glass.
My hotel would be called 'boutique' in England, and it exudes a welcome, a charm and an attitude that begs you to find fault. I give up after thirty seconds!
It's run by a lovely couple with a helper who speaks English and French. French becomes our language of choice (whoever said that learning Spanish for Europe adventures, and not French, should take note).
In the evening I open a bottle of Zeni (I bought six different ones). 'Custom 2021' was tasty but lacking in depth and is once again accompanied with strange Italian television shows.
One shows a gang of careworn acts singing off-key while pensioners ballroom dance around them. It all seems pure Terry Gilliam to me.
The other show features an Alan Carr (famous English comedian) lookalike playing an accordion and singing while another gaggle of pensioners, either in rapture, or too infirm, smile like proud grandparents. I wonder if I'm drinking something stronger than wine.
Can there ever be an average day in Italy!

Italian wine travels
For More Information
if you'd like more information, why not try the following
Brescello
https://web.archive.org/web/20060905192707/http://www.comune.brescello.re.it/
Parma
https://www.visit-parma.com/fr/que-voir-et-que-faire-a-parme#google_vignette
Zeni Wines
Lake Iseo
https://visitlakeiseo.info/en/
Il Glicine B & B (the hotel where I stayed)