July 13, 2012
Al fresco in Ravenna: Bosco Mesola - Ravenna
I HAVE NEVER claimed to be a man of learning and culture. Therefore when my friend Bill McGann urged me to visit Ravenna and see its ancient churches, I made only half an attempt to hide that I hadn't known there were any ancient churches and frescoes. And it didn't surprise me to find Steph knew all about them and also thought we should see them.
So we went. And they are wonderful. There are bits of church floors that date from the 5th century, but to be honest you wouldn't know if a sign didn't tell you and a lot of soft rope didn't discourage you from walking across them in cycling shoes. But the ceilings, the walls... As Bill says when he sees something extraordinary, "Oh my goodness!"
I'm not going to try to describe them. I'll just say there are five or six churches in a square kilometre and every one is as breathtaking as the one before. One, with a ceiling I could have gazed at for an hour but couldn't because the limit was five minutes (because too much breathing dampens the atmosphere and ruins things), twinkled in the darkness.
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I read somewhere that it inspired Cole Porter to write Night and Day
(As an irrelevant and lascivious aside, it's worth reading a candid history of Cole Porter. He wasn't a lisping poet putting tunes to words. He, er, lived life to the full...)
So we are on the Adriatic coast. I used to think it was swanky but it's downmarket in a way that any stereotype of Italy wouldn't have thought possible. We are hugger-mugger on a campground on which only self-preservation and a need to breathe separates us from our neighbours. They are all Italian. All those German, French and above all Dutch tourists we have been seeing for days have given the place a wide berth. Perhaps they don't need pizzas, candy floss and pink sunbeds.
Not that you'd need an inflatable bed. There'd be nowhere to put it. The beaches are as crowded as our campground. They are sun factories, lines of bright yellow beds in lines, alleys between blocks of them, each bed charged by the hour or the bed. From the shore, you can't see the sea for them. And yet folk love it. They wouldn't come otherwise, would they?
Chance encounter of the day: two Frenchmen with a Spanish friend, and a beaming, enthusiastic Japanese guy they picked up along the way, riding north and then east over the land route to the old Yugoslavia. It's a ride we dismissed because of the traffic. Instead, we will head for Ancona and the ferry to Split.
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