Day 41: Chioggia to Porto Viro

August 31, 2015

The albergo owner had told us that there was both a market down the street and also a bakery. In a classic example of wishful thinking, we interpreted "market" to mean a long line of stalls, with baked goods, cheese, BBQ chicken, sandwiches, and suchlike. What we got was a little store, closed of course. Ok, then, how about the bakery. We could not spot it, so I asked a man standing by a cafe. Amazingly, after a week in a region where Italian has taken over from German I still do not know how to say bakery, or at least pronounce it: PANICIFIO!

Actually, the man and I agreed that what I was asking for was a paneteria. He then revealed that I was standing right in front of it, beside the cafe.It's not as if they would mark it with a sign, or anything, after all - everyone in the neighbourhood knows where it is.

Dodie came out of the paneteria with two chocolate croissants I took mine in hand and it was so light that I whined "There is no way I can stay alive on just this!". Ït's just to get you going, don't freak, we'll find something else too". Sure enough, before long we came to an officially marked panicifio. I got sent in this time, presumably to limit any whining. I came out with .. two chocolate croissants. They really have little to choose from in these places.This time, though, the items had a little more heft, and for 37 cents each they were worth it. It must have been ok, because whining from the back did die down.

Our canal in Chioggia. There was supposed to be market and a bakery just down here

Chioggia is famous for fish, but not sure what this gear is all about.

The area south of Chioggia contains the deltas of at lest three rivers, including our old friend the Adige and our new river, the Po. This warm, marshy, delta area is much like the Camargue, where the Rhone enters the Mediterranean. For us, though, it also means many channels, and with that twisty roads and places you can't go until you cross a bridge.

We had two sources of guidance for this section. There was a GPS track and maps that we had printed from an Italian cycle route web site, and there was the maps shown in the Bikeline-like book Dodie had picked up at the airport in Venice.Finally, there was the actual maps and gpx for the Po river (to and past Milan) from Bikeline. Naturally, none of these sources entirely agreed with each other. In some cases, one or other seemed to helpfully wander off, to show us a swamp or beach or Flamingos, or something. So we found ourselves often trying to cut and paste the routes, charging off this way and that to try to make some (approximate) forward progress.

In the delta area just south of Chioggia there is a region of heavy raddichio cultivation.

Here is hand weeding of raddichio - in the blazing sun.

We passed a pomegranate tree - the first time we have seen one ever.

This is where we ran into problems. We might start by assuming that the various marked routes describe safe bikeways. This may sort of be true, but cycle maps that show only one one very short dedicated bikeway, and the rest a choice of on road -busy road, on road- less busy road, on road - gravel road, and so forth, do not inspire a lot of confidence. It does seem that unless you are on a really spiffed up dedicated cycle thing, Italy does not have enough of a bicycle mentality to offer a good chance of making it through most places safely.

So we found ourselves working the GPS to find back ways around. Sometimes this worked, often - trouble! Part of that is the poor driving behaviour of 98 percent of Italian drivers we have encountered. The first rule is never, ever, slow down. Oh, I guess the first rule is to go as fast as your little engine possibly can. Then, never slow down. If there is an obstruction, swerve around it. If swerving puts you in face of another obstruction - double swerve! The second problem about having to rely on the GPS a lot was the super bright sun and heat. It meant pulling over to find shade to see the display. Shade is not that plentiful in a swampy river delta!

At the risk of over dramatising, the 45-50 degree temperatures and lack of cover, also produced a bit of a risky situation. In fact by mid day we were both really feeling it. Dodie says she was considering collapsing, but could not find a convenient place. So it was great when we came to a covered table, whet the shade was actually just right. We spent 1 1/2 hours there, and felt much better.

The temperature touched 50 but usually remained a cool 45!

We briefly say hello to our old friend the Adige.

This bridge is passable, but only by squeezing by on the narrow walkway. Clearly Italy does not always think about cyclists (or pedestrians)

A n all to beirief stretch of good path by the Adige

Though we are carrying quite a lot of water (about 9 litres total) we were going through it very fast. We decided to detour a little into the village of Rosolina to refill. The first thing we came to was an Albergo/Restaurant/Bar. We rolled up beside it and parked our bikes. Immediately a door opened an a man poked his head out. "This is a bar, not a restaurant!" he snapped, and slammed the door. Dodie took her water bottle and knocked at the door. No response. Dodie kept knocking. Finally the man opened up again and Dodie said all she wanted was some water. The man then launched into a diatribe about how, at mid afternoon, one should not be cycling. Rather than ask him to part with his precious tap water, we gathered, we should go sit somewhere until we could cycle without his water. And besides, he seemed to say, what were we doing here - didn't we own a map or smartphone?

I am not sure how this discourse evolved, but the man did eventually fill one bottle. For the record, this was Hotel Cappello, in Rosolina, Italy. They had a TripAdvisor sticker on the door. So anyone who wants to go and give them a thumbs down should feel free. We certainly will! Anyway, we went down the road and filled up all bottles at a nice outdoor tap at a service station. The lady there just said "Buon Journo".

The GPS showed us a usable track by a canal, but to reach it we would have to cross on a bridge. The bridge had no shoulder and lots of traffic. We were forced to implement the desperation ploy of walking against the traffic, so we could see the onrushing, never slow down, vehicles and presumably let them hit our bikes before us. We made it somehow and went fairly happily down the gravel track until we clearly had to cross, on a deadly bridge that was the twin of the first one.

This path took us part of the way, until we had to recross the canal.

We must have survived that one too, because here I am telling the tale! What more, we reached a main channel of the Po. This does not quite yet mean we reached the presumed safety of the main Bikeline route. That is still running a bit south of us. But along with that main channel we also found a marina. For 10 euros we have a large grassed area to ourselves. As a special bonus, there is a fig tree behind our tent, and the figs are ripe.

I am reminded of David Attenborough who in The Living Planet observed that there is always a fig tree ripe somewhere in the forest for the monkeys to take advantage of. Right now, these monkeys are ok!

Bonus story - the Shower

The marina where we are now is not really set up for camping. They did have some grass for us, but a sanitary block or water source not so much. The lady in the office spoke moderately good English, but we have noticed that with English, Italians sometimes have trouble with left and right, before and after, in fornt of and behind - all quite critical for giving directions. We took ur bikes to go find the showers, but had to return three times for clarification. Finally, we did find the little building. It had two toilet stalls and one shower stall. The toilets had doors but the shower was just a stall in the middle of the single main room.

The whole affair had a lock on its main door, so we closed that and got on with showering. After a while came a knock on the door. "This is not a private room" said a man's voice. "There are naked people in here", Dodie called out. "This is not a private room!" the man insisted, you can't lock the door!"

While we were still thinking as Canadians, what to do with this claim, the man left. "We can't lock the door?" Would the main have said the same of a locked toilet stall? This after all was an open shower stall, with a lady in it. Weird guy, or weird country - or out of line Canadians?

Today's ride: 50 km (31 miles)
Total: 1,921 km (1,193 miles)

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