10 days in Italy, taking in the Torino Slow Food festival
I've been wanting an excuse to go back to Torino ever since I went there with my mate "the other" Pete Taylor to see a concert by Grigory Sokolov in 2007. My niece Christine told me about the Slow Food festival which happens every second year, and so I have been turning over the idea of going to Torino at "Slow Food festival time" for a couple of years now, and finally October 2014 was the time to do it.After staring at possible routes and flights for some time, I gave up trying to be clever, and went for a simple approach, flying to where we could go easily, and let Trenitalia take the strain at the other end. This meant flying from Manchester to Bergamo - a well trodden path, but Bergamo is such a lovely place, it's always nice to visit again. And the daily flights are at civilised times in both directions.
As I am now a silver fox, I decided to wave my massive retired person's chequebook around a bit, and booked us in to a lovely place on the main drag in the middle of the old town, the Citta Alta. In Bergamo terms, this is equivalent to staying on the promenade in Arnside: 95% of all feet in the Citta Alta are walking up and down Via Gombito and its continuation, Via Bartolomeo Colleoni, where we stayed at the Botton d'Oro. Somebody has been sleeping in our bed, by the looks of things -
This is not my picture, but I included it because the wooden framework is interesting.The original wooden beams are so old in the house that new metal beams have been installed, running at 90 degrees to the original beams. This new wooden frame supports the metal beams.
No sooner had we been very warmly greeted by our charming hostess at the Botton D'Oro and settled in to our very comfortable room than it was time to go out and eat. My two Bergamasque friends, Antonio and Stefano, had both made time to come out and join us at Da Mimmo's, a very nice restaurant chosen by Antonio Carluccio when he visited Bergamo for the Guardian, which just happened to be across the road from where we were staying. Stefano was on his motorbike, which I think means he came straight from work. Antonio arrived a little later, as he was teaching a yoga class. It was really nice to see them both again. Last time we met in Bergamo I was a bit under the weather, and couldn't really manage much conversation, so we had plenty of catching up to do.
Da Mimmo's has a special line in "proper" DOC pizzas, wood fired of course, as well as the traditional Bergamasque dishes. Naturally, we had a local Valcalepio red wine - a real local product, and deliciously fruity and aromatic. While Angie went for a Napoletana, with really strong anchovies, I opted for a "Mimi", partly, I have to admit, because it reminded me of Montalbano's deputy, but also because I was intrigued to see what they would do with aubergine on a pizza. It turned out to be splodges of baked aubergine pulp on a tomato base. It was such a good way of using aubergine, and turned up again elsewhere as part of a pasta sauce, that I logged it down for trial at home, and in fact I have baked one today with my bread to try it out tomorrow.
Having chewed the fat about various pianists and concerts we had all seen recently, and the recital we were invited to the next day, of which more later, we came out just in time to hear the 10 p.m. bells, of which more later. Antonio was just explaining the etymology of the word bankrupt. Apparently the Italian for a counter is "banca", and trade disputes used to be settled by someone who had the authority to put a trader out of business by breaking his counter. Antonio also provided the fascinating piece of Bergamo trivia that Colleoni (as in the street we were on) means balls, and Bartolomeo of that name was reputed to have a 50% bonus in that department, unlike Hitler, who was allegedly 50% short.
After a long day I rather disappointed our Bergamo guides by being completely ready to turn in for an early night, so we split up and went our separate ways rather than taking an atmospheric evening walk round the old town.
The Botton D'Oro really comes into its own at breakfast time. Forget what an English B&B would call a "continental breakfast" - this is a real feast that John Jorrocks on a hunting day. or even John Falstaff would rejoice in. As well as really zingy goat's milk yogurt, fresh boiled eggs and warm croissants and coffee, we got a super plate with two local cheeses, excellent salami and really good cured pork. Top notch!
After a general meander round the old town, we went to the local Co-Op for lunch. As well as very reasonable à la carte offerings, this popular place had a 14 euro set lunch consisting of bread, wine, water, coffee, a pasta dish and a main course. Try doing that in the UK.
These were our excellent pasta dishes - courgette and tomato spaghetti, and Bergamasque speciality casoncelli with pancetta and lashings of sage butter. Angie is washing hers down with more of the local Valcalepio wine.
The main course (aubergine and cheese pie) looked promising, but had way too much cheese. It was like a lasagne where all the pasta and meat was replaced with cheese! Someone had lost the plot.
After lunch we waddled back to the Piazza Vecchia and said hello to the horse-tying rings.
Towards the end of the afternoon, we decided to have a ride on the funicolare. The nice thing about Bergamo's reasonably joined up transport system is that if you buy a ticket, you can keep using it for 75 minutes, or 90 minutes for a multi-zone ticket. So a 1 euro 30 ticket took us down from the Citta Alta to the Citta Bassa... and back up again. We then walked through the old town and got the upper funicolare to San Vigilio for views like these. All on the same ticket!
Logically enough there is an old castle at the top -
This commands the very best views, and you can walk up inside it to look out from the summit. There were a couple of bike-riding break-dancers practising their moves round the water features when we were there. A bit like walking onto a film set between takes.
Walking down from the top seemed like a much better idea than walking up, but there were plenty of people going the other way, walking, running, even cycling. Now that really is ambitious.
Back in the centre of the Citta Alta, we had a quick early evening meal at this place under the sunshades in the Piazza Vecchia. This picture is taken from the "interesting" end of the piazza, where the Duomo and Basilica are, and all the bell action happens, of which more later.
The B&B recommended it as being run by their friends, and we got a mezzo of vino rosso on the strength of that, but honestly, I think I do rabbit and polenta better than they do. Tough rabbit and hard, salty polenta is not what it's all about.
However, the conversation at the next table was altogether more interesting. It's amazing how much you learn about the people sitting next to you at a restaurant. These two were clearly both trying to get off with each other, and not being too subtle about it. Ho hum!
From this point on, the evening changed dramatically for the better. We were invited to a piano recital by Mariangela Vacatello, as Stefano's guests. This was part of the season of concerts that Stefano runs at Sala Greppi. Antonio had kindly offered to pick us up in the Citta Bassa and give us a lift to the concert hall.
The programme largely consisted of well known repertoire - Chopin Ballades and Rachmaninov's Second Sonata. In between were some short and very agreeable short pieces by Ginastera. Given a nice piano, a beautiful hall, a fine pianist and a nice programme, this was a sure fire hit. It was also quite interesting to experience an Italian audience at first hand, after years of listening to live recordings of Italian concerts. In the interval I mentioned to Antonio that whereas the Italian audience did a lot of talking during the concert, English audiences tend to cough more. He assured me that as the weather got colder, all that would change! I have certainly never seen such a concerted handbag-rummaging exercise as the lady in front of me carried out immediately the concert started. It was quite impressive! It put me in mind of my mate who turned round in a concert to ask the noisy person behind him "is your name Russell?".
The other quite amazing thing about this concert was the way hundreds of people all rolled up a few minutes before the concert, and dumped their cars in a tiny car park, in what appeared to me to be a random fashion, with no regard whatsoever for anybody being able to get out if they needed to. And then at the end of the concert, with no aggravation at all, the whole process unwound itself, and everybody calmly got out of the car park with no trouble at all. In England there would have been road rage left and right, and the entire place would have been declared to be in total gridlock. And I thought the Italians were supposed to be volatile! Not a bit of it - they are what Anatole, Aunt Dahlia's French chef in the Jeeves stories, would have called "as cool as some cucumbers".
That was about it for our short stay in Bergamo, except for a quick dip into a half bottle of local wine from the mini bar for 4 euros 50 - that's what I call a mini bar - and another sumptuous breakfast the next morning. Now it was time for the most challenging day of the holiday - the long journey to Alba via Milan and Torino.
The whole thing got off on entirely the wrong foot when I confidently got on the 1A bus expecting it to take us to the airport, where we were going to catch the Milan coach. This seemed quite reasonable to me, as the bus stop at the airport clearly shows the 1A bus going to the Citta Alta. So why would the 1A from the Citta Alta not go to the airport?
But no - life is not that simple. In their infinite wisdom the bus company runs buses 1, 1A and 1C, only some of which go to the airport. This seems completely bonkers to me, given the dire problems it could cause if somebody missed a plane as a result. Fortunately we - I - made this mistake when we weren't flying. It could have been much worse, but in the end it just put us back an hour. Anyway, the 1A bus driver dropped us at a stop and told us to catch a 1C back to somewhere near the airport. A nice local man at the 1C stop, who worked "in the egg industry" and had been to Edinburgh on business, made sure we didn't get lost again by accompanying us to the airport.
We made up some time by getting straight into the last two seats on the Milan bus, and then arriving at Milan Centrale with about two minutes to wait for the Torino train. The train onwards towards Alba was a regular cattle truck heading for Savona, and we had to stand like sardines in a tin - nay, even worse than that - like anchovies in a jar all the way to Cavallermaggiore, where we finally caught our breath and got on a nice train to Alba. By the time we got there we were really pooped, and lurched across the road to the nearest gelateria, where we got a fantastic two scooper for a very reasonable 2 euros, and then set off to our B&B - Cascina Baresane, Localita Santa Rosalia 32.
This seemed a strange type of address to me when I booked, but the B&B's website says it is surrounded by vines, and Google maps shows it clearly surrounded by vines -
You can see we walked a way down the road and then threw a right. That was a road called Via Santa Rosalia, so we went to number 32 there. After setting off about a dozen barking dogs, we finally raised a friendly old boy who had no English at all, so we had a very full and frank exchange of views about where we were and where we wanted to be. He opened the conversation, unbidden. with "Cascina Baresane?" so I thought we were home and dry. Not a bit of it. He then went a few rounds with "portare?" and "mia machina", and finally the light came on and I managed a Catarelli-esque "ho capisco! - grazie!". He then went and got the machina out of the garage and with fantastic kindness took us all the way to the red dot above, the actual location of Cascina Baresane. As we approached, we got signs saying "Localita Santa Rosalia" which appears to mean in effect a hamlet as opposed to a street. And I thought the Bergamo bus numbers were confusing!
When we arrived, the old boy went to have a good laugh with the B&B lady, and it seemed to me that he was saying he had a fairly regular stream of visitors looking for the B&B, but never on foot before. That would explain why he knew we wanted Cascina Baresane without being told, but maybe that is just in my imagination. In any case, I thanked him fulsomely before he left, and assured him he was well placed when he got to the pearly gates, even unto half my kingdom.
And there we were - Cascina Baresane: simples. There was absolutely no way we were going to complete plan A, which was to walk back into town for a meal. But as it happened, there was a cooker, and enough in the fridge for a meal. In true Goodness Gracious Me style, I knocked up a meal with a jar of passata and two small aubergines out of the garden. We finished off the half bottle from the Bergamo minibar, and that was it - time for bed.
The place itself is, it has to be said, rather fabulous. Sunshades in the garden looking over the valley.
Pomegranate trees in the garden -
Vines all round -
And the views!
Herbs and nut trees by the wood pile -
Needless to say, there is not much traffic three miles beyond the back of beyond.
This is now in use as the breakfast room. A couple of saintly statues look down benignly on the breakfast congregation, and the saintly man of the house proudly presides over an amazing spread of proper local cheese, ham, salami, cured meat, coffee, fruit, and outstanding home made cakes.
Guido and Vania had kindly offered to take us out into the country for lunch. This was really very big of them: not only did we get the benefit of their expert local knowledge, but they also took us to places we could never have reached on our own with no car. What's more, they were coming from Genova, which really made it a long journey for them. As they drove into the middle of nowhere, Vania asked Guido "how can they have got here from England? It's impossible!" - and she had a point!
I had pushed my luck by asking them if they could come earlier and take us to Alba for the Saturday market. As it turned out, this was a really happy idea, because as well as the normal market, there was the annual white truffle fair. Alba is the centre of the white truffle world, and the place goes crazy at truffle time.
The truffle fair was a very concentrated, specialised and exciting market, very proudly local and heaving with foody enthusiasts. There were excellent cheese and charcuterie offerings and naturally truffles galore.
Look at that Blu di capra on the left! Given that capra is goat, that is going to have one heck of a kick. Fighting cheese!
The cheese I bought is called "Castelmagno", a DOP, it goes without saying. Wikipedia says -
"Castelmagno is a semi-hard, half-fat cheese produced from whole cows milk, obtained from cattle of the Piedmontese breed fed on fresh forage or hay from mixed meadows or pasture. On occasion some milk from sheep or goats may be added to the cows’ milk. Production is permitted today within the boundaries of the communes of Castelmagno, Pradleves and Monterosso Grana. "
This is me buying it -
Look at that crust on the cheese on top, third pile from the front, looks like my bread when it is turned out of the bowl after spongeing for 12 hours.
We had a short walk round town, and visited an interesting old church that turned out not to be the Duomo. You win some, you lose some. And then we headed off into the country again for lunch.
I say "lunch", but really! This was more like a meal that Gargantua might have dreamed of. It's all becoming a bit of a hazy dream now, as dish after dish arrived, lit up the table, and slowly melted into the next, and the next. It was a very leisurely affair, which was great as everything deserved to be savoured and really enjoyed. It was heavenly! To the best of my recollection, allowing for it all being gloriously washed down by a couple of local red wines, one of which I think was a Barbera, and the other definitely a Nebbiolo, the Barolo grape, this was our lunch -
Some sort of vegetabley-eggy delight that I can't even begin to describe,
A home made noodley pasta and ragu
A rich, dark meat dish which we decided was wild boar
A many-faceted dessert - chocolate, really cold ice cream leaning on top, and peaches
Finally we went outside for coffee on the verandah, looking out across the vines and hills. Absolutely heavenly! Guido seems to think so too -
The restaurant was a little way outside the village of Monforte, and we next drove to the village itself, and had a good walk round. It was a hilly little village, and at the top was a church with a little grass-covered amphitheatre below it, creating a cosy little outdoor performance space.
It's named after the pianist Horszowski, and is used for al fresco jazz, which I should imagine would be great fun.
This is the view from the church, by the clock tower -
After Monforte, we made one more visit, to the lovely village of Barolo, home of the wine, surrounded by the vines. Again this was a hilly little place, with an imposing castle.
Next door to the castle, we went in a little place with a large collection of corkscrews.
In deference to the lunch, we took the leisurely path round the village rather than bashing straight up the hill via the direct route.
Then, at the end of a glorious day, it was time for us to head back to the peace and quiet of the B&B and for our kind and lovely hosts, to head back south to Genova and the bustle of the big city.
Despite having bought the cheese and some gnocchi, in the naive belief that I would be cooking in the evening, there was no way any more food was on the agenda for the rest of the day. Phew - was I full! And happy!
The next day was Sunday, and after another excellent breakfast at Cascina Baresane, we took a taxi to Alba, and then a leisurely train ride to Torino. Unlike the train on Friday, we weren't crammed in with a couple of hundred people from Savona, a town I only know as a venue for an excellent Richter concert in 1990. It was a very pleasant journey, in fact.
We arrived at Torino Porta Nuova and strolled round the corner to our hotel, the very convenient Hotel Urbani, and checked in with plenty of time to head off to the Roman Quarter, in search of the fantastic place the other Pete Taylor and I ate at. It wasn't there, sadly, and we finished up in a disappointing place with a waiter that really didn't do the thing right at all. Ho hum.
Cutting our losses in the Roman Quarter (for now) we ambled down to the Teatro Regio to get some tickets for the matinee performance of Verdi's Otello. As Angie said, there is nothing quite like hearing Italian sung by Italians in Italy. The swoosh and oomph of it all! Great fun. And the theatre was quite grand too. Spot the chandelier -
Unusually posh seats for us, though they were quite a long way back. Fortunately Verdi doesn't exactly hold back on the volume. Even the overture starts with a blaze of noise, so we knew we were in for a lively show. Iago was a big lad, and he had plenty of volume. And Desdemona was rather charming. Otello himself did a very pale impersonation of a Moor, but he could certainly sing.
The audience, in true Italian fashion, was very selective about who they cheered for at the end. Most of the smaller parts hardly got any applause at all, but when each of the three main singers took their bows, the audience went mad. Definitely not how it would have been in England. But great fun.
After the show, we walked down to the river along the Via Verdi, which seemed appropriate. This route took us a little further north than the Via Po would have done. The Via Po is one of the few roads in Torino which is not "on the grid". Instead, it aligns itself with the river, and meets it nicely at 90 degrees.
We walked south west along the Po, in the general direction of the hotel, and soon reached the bridge near the weir which marks the end of the navigable part of the river. This is clearly a place of interest for the wildlife, as there were 2 herons a' fishin' by the riverside.
After that reminder of Arnside, we took a turn round the north end of the Parco del Valentino in the twilight before heading back to the hotel, and a light evening meal in a surprisingly nice little place across the road -
The food here was simple, but nice. Angie had pasta tubes and a good, rich, oily, sweet tomato sauce, and I had good ravioli in (too much) sage butter, plus the obligatory mezzo di rosso, a Barbera. While this was all very pleasant, the bill of 30 euros was a bit fanciful.
On Monday most of Torino is closed, so it is not a great day to buy a Torino card. However, a 3 day card is very little more than a 2 day card, and there are some touristy things you can do on a Monday with the card. For a very few extra euros you can get full coverage on the transport system, so we took that option as well, and went for a gold card. Good choice.
In the morning we took a tram and a bus to Italia 66, the southern most of the three boat stops on the Po, and sailed majestically (if a little uneventfully) up to Murrazzi, the northern most stop, and then back to the reconstruction of a medieval village, the Borgo, which is the middle stop. It all feels a bit like going down the Thames past the Globe!
From the Borgo we headed home and took the simple option of going back to the place across the road that had made a good impression the night before. They had a simple lunch menu which offered us wine, water, coffee and a single dish for 10 euros each. This was much more competitive than the Sunday night offering. It was basically a bit of whatever was going on in the kitchen, but frankly that is exactly what you want for lunch isn't it? And I am always happy to take pot luck in an Italian kitchen. In the event the single dish turned out to be a half portion of a pasta dish and a half portion of a meat or vegetable dish. The Torino equivalent of Manchester's famous curry, chips and rice!
After lunch we set off in search of another Monday activity, a tram ride out east to the Superga, a massive basilica on top of a steep hill, with great views across the city.
You catch the tram from the Sassi station. This is near a bridge across the Po, but of course I managed to get us onto a bus to the wrong bridge, so we needed to catch a tram as well to get there. All covered by the gold card, however, so that was fine.
When we arrived at the station, the tram was just about to leave, but the driver kindly waited for us to collect our free tickets from the booking office. Now can you imagine an English Jobsworth doing the same for Italian tourists? I think not. The service is hourly, and we would have been gutted if we'd just missed it.
Anyway, up, up, up we went. The views really are fantastic, and the ride is great fun. The tram runs on teeth because the gradient is so steep. Google translate informed me that it ran "on dentures" which is rather a charming idea. Elsewhere I read that it runs on prosthetics. The mind boggles. Anyway, teeth it certainly runs on. And the gradient is so steep that you find yourself trying to adjust for the houses on the way up which look like they are about to topple over. At a couple of points along the way the driver slowed down so we could fully appreciate the views as they opened up between the trees. Little things, that make all the difference.
The basilica is a bit baffling: why build something like that miles away from anywhere? It's not the only place in Torino with views, and it's certainly not the only church in town.
A sobering thing was a memorial to the Torino football team who crashed into the hillside there in 1949, no survivors. Apart from that, lots of trees, lots of walks, lots of views.
In the tram on the way back down, I did chatting with a Finnish lady who was also on holiday, doing the sites.
In the evening we went back to the Roman Quarter again, this time armed with the name of a caffe that gets consistently good reviews on Trip Advisor - the Cianci Piola Caffe. This seems like the direct descendant of the place I remembered from the past, and is definitely in the same street. This is really fabulous and having found it we were sorted for eating for the rest of the week.
This was our mixed starter (for one) - a real snip at 5 euros -
There was an anchovy in the middle, rolled round a blob of salsa verde, but that got eaten before the camera came out. And yes, that is beef with tuna sauce, and yes, that is raw beef next to the beef. And yes, this is Pete Taylor the non-beef-eater speaking. I make no apology for suspending anti-beef activities on this holiday, because I remember how gorgeous the carne cruda was last time I was in Torino. Antonio in Bergamo is vegetarian, and even he said he missed the taste of carne cruda, so who am I to argue? It really is delicious. Angie was somewhat sceptical, but I think the sight of me tucking lustily into raw beef was enough to convince her it simply had to be tried. We both loved it so much we repeated this starter on the next two days as well. That's me all beefed out for about a decade, I think, but it really was fantastic.
Despite having eaten and drunk (me) at lunchtime, we went for the full Monty - starter, primo, secondo and lashings of rosso (me). After all, it's later than you think! I had ravioli (with a sensible amount of sage butter) and Angie had gnocchi, both smile-inducing.
Having tumbled off my lofty beefless pedestal, I went for it with my main course as well - two hearty tranches of beef with a sublime cheesy potato bake. Utter heaven! I am ashamed to admit that I had so much to drink that I can't remember what Angie had to eat! Still, I paid the price next day, by feeling a little tired in the morning. This complete blow out came in at 40 euros, and I think would probably have fed a family of 4 for a couple of days quite happily.
On Tuesday we headed for the GAM - the modern art gallery. The main show here was Roy Lichtenstein, who basically does comic strip stuff. It was quite an interesting show, however, and there was plenty of other stuff of interest in the gallery.
One pleasant surprise was to bump into an interesting piece by the Glaswegian Jim Lambie, whose excellent show we saw in Edinburgh. This was basically a load of metal squares, one on top of another. Each square was painted a different colour, and the corners were turned over like dog ears, showing the colour beneath. Like everything of his that we have seen, this was a simple idea that somehow worked.
Later on, we went to the Cinema Museum, which is much more interesting than it sounds, especially the early stuff, which is full of lantern shows, articulated models and pre-cinema stuff. It gets slightly less interesting as you work your way forward through time. We watched a bit of a Jaques Tati film, and by an amazing coincidence the Saturday Guardian when we got home had a still from the same scene.
The other big attraction in the Cinema Museum is the glass lift, which goes up 85 metres in 59 seconds, with no walls round the lift - just a cable. The lift drops you off at the top of this building -
or rather, at the bottom of the top bit. As you can see, you get some great views of the city.
After this, there was only one thing to do - head off to the Roman Quarter again for another great blow out. There was talk of tightening the belt a notch this time, by leaving out the secondi, but when we got there our resolution weakened, and we (I) just left out the second mezzo di rosso. I mean, how can you resist when the pasta course is a choice between Italian sausage meat and spaghetti, or minced rabbit and gnocchi? You just can't. Or at least I can't. And I can't see the point either, frankly, because it was absolutely spot on - again!
Angie has asked me to point out that her picture of me is nice and sharp whereas mine of her is what I like to think of as more softly focused, a warm and affectionate study. I think she is trying to read something else into this - you can decide. My last word on the subject is "Pshaw!".
In for a penny, in for a pound or should that be a euro. Angie's secondo was stinco: pork shin on the bone -
I went for - you guessed it - beef cheeks. I've done pork cheeks myself at home (£5.27 a kilo at Morrison's) and really enjoyed them, so I was interested to see what the bovine equivalent was like. It was succulent, falling apart, and absolutely delicious served with very creamy creamed potatoes. A cheeky little number in fact.
This meal was another great bargain at 34 euros, from which the sharper readers among you will have concluded that a mezzo di rosso came in at 6 euros. But ha! You have jumped to a conclusion too quickly, dear Watson. As well as leaving out the second half litre of wine, I also forewent the coffee, which was 1 euro. So it was 5 euros for half a litre of perfectly good red wine. Again - try doing that in England.
Angie was particularly taken with the way the wine was served up. Starting from a 1.5 litre bottle, the waiter decanted into half litre carafes, always filling generously above the line. If only English pubs took the same approach to beer. Only gems like the Woody in Silverdale consistently give good measure like this. But the customer cannot help enjoying it more for knowing there is a smidgeon more than he's nominally paid for - it's just human nature, what Jeeves would call "the psychology of the individual" and most importantly generosity of spirit. The Italians have completely got it - in spades - and they take it for granted. We miserable English souls have lost our way somewhere. Here's to generosity!
Wednesday dawned for me with less of a throbbing head than Tuesday, but by now red wine fever was taking over and I have to admit to a degree of lassitude. I felt the need of porcine company, like Lord Emsworth. He knew a thing or two and would certainly have taken a turn round the Empress' sty before breakfast. I had to wait till after breakfast, but I did manage to find pigs. They are in the Prince's garden at the Palazza Madama.
Having got that off my chest, I was ready to catch up in the Madama, which was just closing when I came here on my last visit to Torino. It is a very ancient building, built on the site of a Roman gate, and very stately and magnificent - and probably draughty.
Being a castle, it has commanding views in all directions.
And lookout towers on all four corners.
The square below is built on suitably generous lines.
And the Mole Antonelliana (the Cinema Museum) is just round the corner, vying for the best views.
The cellar rooms in the Madama contain a fascinating collection of really old pottery, mostly medieval, and most of it looking as fresh as the day it was made. They seem to be making a big effort to digitize their collection so you may find plenty of pictures online. The great exhibition hall is breathtaking: look at the height of the ceiling!
All this culture needed washing down with a coffee, so we headed off to the Piazza San Carlo and the cafe of the same name where Angie had a cup of hot chocolate that really tasted like a bar of chocolate, melted. Amazing.
The chandelier was more impressive than the cake.
The final culture fix for the day was the incredible Egypt museum. This really is unmissable, and you could easily spend all day in there. I was quite interested to find that there was a lot about bread in the collection. This bowl was heated in the oven and then the poor dough thrown in to the hot pot. Quite a violent approach.
These barley and spelt loaves were left in the burial chamber for the dead to eat when they got a bit peckish. A bit of a problem there, as all their internal organs were removed when they were mummified.
These are all slaves, of course, doing the hard work.
This ghostly picture of Angie through the mummy's glass was a surprise.
There are lots of mummies in the collection, wrapped, coffined and boxed up. Really quite amazing cossetting they gave them.
The male dead were expected to keep up the good work of trampling on all enemies -
And they looked after the cats as well.
This kilted lad, complete with ceremonial false beard, inspired a bit of schoolboy tittering in the kids in front of me. They fell prey to the same morbid curiosity that took hold of Bloom in Ulysses chapter 8, when he wondered about the naked statues in the library museum -
Just to fill in time, we tried three other museums nearby, all of which were shut for one reason or another. So we finished up going back into the Egyptian museum for the last half hour before hitting the road for the Roman Quarter - again.
This time, after the amazing mixed starter, we just went for a pasta dish. Angie had ravioli for a change, and I had a long noodley pasta with slices of Jerusalem artichoke in it, which was an interesting idea, and just goes to show that you can pretty much use up whatever needs using by putting it in a pasta dish. Together with the traditional mezzo di rosso, this was enough food already, but I couldn't resist a final panna cotta and coffee for the road. After all, who knows when or if I will ever get the chance to glutz out in Torino again? It's been great fun, I must say.
Thursday was the last full day of holiday, and took us to the Slow Food festival at the Lingotto conference centre. Last time I came here was for Sokolov's piano recital in 2007. A lot has changed since then. There's a tube station for one thing, so instead of going to Lingotto overground station and not really being much closer to the conference centre than we started at Porta Nuova, now we could get right there in 10 minutes flat. Progress. And as our 3 day pass was bought at 10:30 on Monday, it was still valid at 10:00 on Thursday, to take us to the festival.
Lingotto is huge. There were thousands of stalls, mostly dealing with hams, salami, cheese, olive oil and so on. Surprisingly little in the bread line, I have to say.
I went along a row of Sardinian cheese makers, and each was outstanding in its own way. I was really impressed with that.
There were a few places demonstrating traditional skills, like these girls plaiting tomatoes -
But these fierce looking Corsican cheeses took the biscuit for me -
We left the Slow Food festival when we felt we had got the measure of it, and before the ever increasing crowds got properly stuck into the beer that was in evidence everywhere, and made our way back to the metro, past the overenthusiastic volunteer fund raisers, one of whom called me a liar to my face when I (quite truly) told him I had already donated, and set off back to Milan, Bergamo and the Botton D'Oro.
Our final meal out in Bergamo was at Da Mimmo's again. Angie had some really great sea bass and I had a super porcini mushroom risotto. We tried the white Valcalepio for a change, and weren't disappointed. The people at the next table were clearly out to spend as much money as possible, and sent back several half eaten dishes. This was a real shame as they had opted for the white truffle menu. Still, that's people for you. There wasn't much food sent back from our table during this holiday, I can tell you.
The waiter explained to me about their bread, which is wood fired and slow risen. I couldn't get him to be explicit about whether they were using a sourdough culture, but what he described was a 24 cycle, where they made the dough up in a big batch, in a trough, and then cut it up and shaped it on the day, before going in the oven. The result was a very good body, crust and flavour, though I personally would have given it a little longer in the oven. He was rightly proud of it though, and this is what they describe as their daily bread. Hats off to that!
This waiter could have been a tenor at the opera. He really showed his emotions - his heart was on his sleeve the whole time. When we ordered a single course, no truffles, he bore it with resignation. When the people next to us ordered lavishly and from the white truffle menu, he bristled with pride for the honour of the house, like the wild boar might have bristled in Monforte before we ate him. When I asked about the bread, he puffed up with choking emotion, the tears all but trickling into my Valcalepio as he showed how much the dough expanded during the slow rising. I felt his pride and embraced him inwardly for it.
The last and in some ways the crowning glory of our time in Bergamo was at 10 p.m. on the last night. We made our way down to the Piazza Vecchia and stood quietly, soaking up the atmosphere, and waiting for the creak and clank of the bell mechanism starting up for the 100 bongs of the curfew bell. This was a sort of formal ceremony marking the end of our 10 day jaunt in northern Italy.
There is nothing so exciting as hearing a big heavy ancient bell getting into its stride. It is so irregular, and sounds so effortful. But as it gets going it sounds so commanding and so important! It is really thrilling. And there are so many harmonics going on around the main note. Standing in the square, the sound was captured round us, and bounced from wall to wall in the most thrilling way. There was a real nobility to this ancient bell that has stood there angrily bonging and demanding to be heard and obeyed for all these hundreds of years. Fantastic!
I enjoyed this so much I am going to offer you two ways of listening to it for yourself. The first is a video taken in the Piazza, so you can see what the buildings look like. There is quite a lot of background noise and other bells in this, but it catches the atmosphere very well.
The second is a video taken in the bell tower itself, so you can see the bells. This is really nice sound, and not much background (obvious reasons).
The last morning's breakfast in Botton D'Oro was as wonderful as before, and the goat's yogurt is something I will remember for a long time. The people on the next table were of the "dripping with money" variety, and too posh to say good morning, so we left them to it and tucked in to our final plate of cheese, ham and salami before taking a last walk down Via Gobito and buying some polenta taragna for use at home.
Then off to Colle Aperto for the bus. Despite the near catastrophe the other day, when I got on the 1A bus, I nearly fell for it again this time, and got on a bus that said "Orio e Serio" but did not say "Airport Bus". Angie later pointed out that the bus I nearly got on would probably have dropped us "near the airport" like the 1C had done. Moral: if you want to go to the airport from Bergamo Citta Alta, don't get on a bus that does not say "Airport bus" all over the sides.
We had a good flight home, arrived on time, and took the local train to Piccadily station. We had not booked all the way home to Arnside, because there was a mid-afternoon train that we could catch from Piccadily which would get us home for £3.95 each. This gave us plenty of time to stroll to the Northern Quarter and have a good curry at our usual plave - the unsurpassed Al Faisal curry house.
Next door to the castle, we went in a little place with a large collection of corkscrews.
In deference to the lunch, we took the leisurely path round the village rather than bashing straight up the hill via the direct route.
Then, at the end of a glorious day, it was time for us to head back to the peace and quiet of the B&B and for our kind and lovely hosts, to head back south to Genova and the bustle of the big city.
Despite having bought the cheese and some gnocchi, in the naive belief that I would be cooking in the evening, there was no way any more food was on the agenda for the rest of the day. Phew - was I full! And happy!
The next day was Sunday, and after another excellent breakfast at Cascina Baresane, we took a taxi to Alba, and then a leisurely train ride to Torino. Unlike the train on Friday, we weren't crammed in with a couple of hundred people from Savona, a town I only know as a venue for an excellent Richter concert in 1990. It was a very pleasant journey, in fact.
We arrived at Torino Porta Nuova and strolled round the corner to our hotel, the very convenient Hotel Urbani, and checked in with plenty of time to head off to the Roman Quarter, in search of the fantastic place the other Pete Taylor and I ate at. It wasn't there, sadly, and we finished up in a disappointing place with a waiter that really didn't do the thing right at all. Ho hum.
Cutting our losses in the Roman Quarter (for now) we ambled down to the Teatro Regio to get some tickets for the matinee performance of Verdi's Otello. As Angie said, there is nothing quite like hearing Italian sung by Italians in Italy. The swoosh and oomph of it all! Great fun. And the theatre was quite grand too. Spot the chandelier -
Unusually posh seats for us, though they were quite a long way back. Fortunately Verdi doesn't exactly hold back on the volume. Even the overture starts with a blaze of noise, so we knew we were in for a lively show. Iago was a big lad, and he had plenty of volume. And Desdemona was rather charming. Otello himself did a very pale impersonation of a Moor, but he could certainly sing.
The audience, in true Italian fashion, was very selective about who they cheered for at the end. Most of the smaller parts hardly got any applause at all, but when each of the three main singers took their bows, the audience went mad. Definitely not how it would have been in England. But great fun.
After the show, we walked down to the river along the Via Verdi, which seemed appropriate. This route took us a little further north than the Via Po would have done. The Via Po is one of the few roads in Torino which is not "on the grid". Instead, it aligns itself with the river, and meets it nicely at 90 degrees.
We walked south west along the Po, in the general direction of the hotel, and soon reached the bridge near the weir which marks the end of the navigable part of the river. This is clearly a place of interest for the wildlife, as there were 2 herons a' fishin' by the riverside.
After that reminder of Arnside, we took a turn round the north end of the Parco del Valentino in the twilight before heading back to the hotel, and a light evening meal in a surprisingly nice little place across the road -
The food here was simple, but nice. Angie had pasta tubes and a good, rich, oily, sweet tomato sauce, and I had good ravioli in (too much) sage butter, plus the obligatory mezzo di rosso, a Barbera. While this was all very pleasant, the bill of 30 euros was a bit fanciful.
On Monday most of Torino is closed, so it is not a great day to buy a Torino card. However, a 3 day card is very little more than a 2 day card, and there are some touristy things you can do on a Monday with the card. For a very few extra euros you can get full coverage on the transport system, so we took that option as well, and went for a gold card. Good choice.
In the morning we took a tram and a bus to Italia 66, the southern most of the three boat stops on the Po, and sailed majestically (if a little uneventfully) up to Murrazzi, the northern most stop, and then back to the reconstruction of a medieval village, the Borgo, which is the middle stop. It all feels a bit like going down the Thames past the Globe!
From the Borgo we headed home and took the simple option of going back to the place across the road that had made a good impression the night before. They had a simple lunch menu which offered us wine, water, coffee and a single dish for 10 euros each. This was much more competitive than the Sunday night offering. It was basically a bit of whatever was going on in the kitchen, but frankly that is exactly what you want for lunch isn't it? And I am always happy to take pot luck in an Italian kitchen. In the event the single dish turned out to be a half portion of a pasta dish and a half portion of a meat or vegetable dish. The Torino equivalent of Manchester's famous curry, chips and rice!
After lunch we set off in search of another Monday activity, a tram ride out east to the Superga, a massive basilica on top of a steep hill, with great views across the city.
When we arrived at the station, the tram was just about to leave, but the driver kindly waited for us to collect our free tickets from the booking office. Now can you imagine an English Jobsworth doing the same for Italian tourists? I think not. The service is hourly, and we would have been gutted if we'd just missed it.
Anyway, up, up, up we went. The views really are fantastic, and the ride is great fun. The tram runs on teeth because the gradient is so steep. Google translate informed me that it ran "on dentures" which is rather a charming idea. Elsewhere I read that it runs on prosthetics. The mind boggles. Anyway, teeth it certainly runs on. And the gradient is so steep that you find yourself trying to adjust for the houses on the way up which look like they are about to topple over. At a couple of points along the way the driver slowed down so we could fully appreciate the views as they opened up between the trees. Little things, that make all the difference.
The basilica is a bit baffling: why build something like that miles away from anywhere? It's not the only place in Torino with views, and it's certainly not the only church in town.
A sobering thing was a memorial to the Torino football team who crashed into the hillside there in 1949, no survivors. Apart from that, lots of trees, lots of walks, lots of views.
In the tram on the way back down, I did chatting with a Finnish lady who was also on holiday, doing the sites.
In the evening we went back to the Roman Quarter again, this time armed with the name of a caffe that gets consistently good reviews on Trip Advisor - the Cianci Piola Caffe. This seems like the direct descendant of the place I remembered from the past, and is definitely in the same street. This is really fabulous and having found it we were sorted for eating for the rest of the week.
This was our mixed starter (for one) - a real snip at 5 euros -
Despite having eaten and drunk (me) at lunchtime, we went for the full Monty - starter, primo, secondo and lashings of rosso (me). After all, it's later than you think! I had ravioli (with a sensible amount of sage butter) and Angie had gnocchi, both smile-inducing.
On Tuesday we headed for the GAM - the modern art gallery. The main show here was Roy Lichtenstein, who basically does comic strip stuff. It was quite an interesting show, however, and there was plenty of other stuff of interest in the gallery.
One pleasant surprise was to bump into an interesting piece by the Glaswegian Jim Lambie, whose excellent show we saw in Edinburgh. This was basically a load of metal squares, one on top of another. Each square was painted a different colour, and the corners were turned over like dog ears, showing the colour beneath. Like everything of his that we have seen, this was a simple idea that somehow worked.
Later on, we went to the Cinema Museum, which is much more interesting than it sounds, especially the early stuff, which is full of lantern shows, articulated models and pre-cinema stuff. It gets slightly less interesting as you work your way forward through time. We watched a bit of a Jaques Tati film, and by an amazing coincidence the Saturday Guardian when we got home had a still from the same scene.
The other big attraction in the Cinema Museum is the glass lift, which goes up 85 metres in 59 seconds, with no walls round the lift - just a cable. The lift drops you off at the top of this building -
or rather, at the bottom of the top bit. As you can see, you get some great views of the city.
After this, there was only one thing to do - head off to the Roman Quarter again for another great blow out. There was talk of tightening the belt a notch this time, by leaving out the secondi, but when we got there our resolution weakened, and we (I) just left out the second mezzo di rosso. I mean, how can you resist when the pasta course is a choice between Italian sausage meat and spaghetti, or minced rabbit and gnocchi? You just can't. Or at least I can't. And I can't see the point either, frankly, because it was absolutely spot on - again!
Angie has asked me to point out that her picture of me is nice and sharp whereas mine of her is what I like to think of as more softly focused, a warm and affectionate study. I think she is trying to read something else into this - you can decide. My last word on the subject is "Pshaw!".
In for a penny, in for a pound or should that be a euro. Angie's secondo was stinco: pork shin on the bone -
I went for - you guessed it - beef cheeks. I've done pork cheeks myself at home (£5.27 a kilo at Morrison's) and really enjoyed them, so I was interested to see what the bovine equivalent was like. It was succulent, falling apart, and absolutely delicious served with very creamy creamed potatoes. A cheeky little number in fact.
This meal was another great bargain at 34 euros, from which the sharper readers among you will have concluded that a mezzo di rosso came in at 6 euros. But ha! You have jumped to a conclusion too quickly, dear Watson. As well as leaving out the second half litre of wine, I also forewent the coffee, which was 1 euro. So it was 5 euros for half a litre of perfectly good red wine. Again - try doing that in England.
Angie was particularly taken with the way the wine was served up. Starting from a 1.5 litre bottle, the waiter decanted into half litre carafes, always filling generously above the line. If only English pubs took the same approach to beer. Only gems like the Woody in Silverdale consistently give good measure like this. But the customer cannot help enjoying it more for knowing there is a smidgeon more than he's nominally paid for - it's just human nature, what Jeeves would call "the psychology of the individual" and most importantly generosity of spirit. The Italians have completely got it - in spades - and they take it for granted. We miserable English souls have lost our way somewhere. Here's to generosity!
Wednesday dawned for me with less of a throbbing head than Tuesday, but by now red wine fever was taking over and I have to admit to a degree of lassitude. I felt the need of porcine company, like Lord Emsworth. He knew a thing or two and would certainly have taken a turn round the Empress' sty before breakfast. I had to wait till after breakfast, but I did manage to find pigs. They are in the Prince's garden at the Palazza Madama.
Having got that off my chest, I was ready to catch up in the Madama, which was just closing when I came here on my last visit to Torino. It is a very ancient building, built on the site of a Roman gate, and very stately and magnificent - and probably draughty.
Being a castle, it has commanding views in all directions.
And lookout towers on all four corners.
The square below is built on suitably generous lines.
And the Mole Antonelliana (the Cinema Museum) is just round the corner, vying for the best views.
The chandelier was more impressive than the cake.
The final culture fix for the day was the incredible Egypt museum. This really is unmissable, and you could easily spend all day in there. I was quite interested to find that there was a lot about bread in the collection. This bowl was heated in the oven and then the poor dough thrown in to the hot pot. Quite a violent approach.
These barley and spelt loaves were left in the burial chamber for the dead to eat when they got a bit peckish. A bit of a problem there, as all their internal organs were removed when they were mummified.
Some nicely decorated ones here - adorned rather than slashed by the looks of it.
The worms had been at these examples -
There was also a strand of symbolism running through the things that were left in the burial chambers. These are models of a granary, a cheap alternative to burying an actual granary, which is supposed to ensure that the deceased will magically have access to grain when needed.
There was also a model granary with men bringing in sacks of grain, and people working away inside. The bloke on top is recording the amounts of grain.
Outside, people are grinding corn the old fashioned way, and handling the bread -
While others are carrying in the harvest on their backs -
This one shows one person cutting the crops, two carrying it on their shoulders, and one grinding. A regular cottage industry. The grinding man has been made from a single piece of wood except for hands and feet. He is working on a curved stone, which he has propped up on stones at one end and on his leg at the other. This is 2000 BC!
There's a nice set of model-related pins here.
This next one is much later - only 350 BC - but it started life as an altar, and then was reused as a millstone.
The curved groove pattern is still around today.
Another theme is transport to the next life. A bit like leaving the Porsche in the tomb.
These are all slaves, of course, doing the hard work.
The Escher-like cube in this picture is a model house so the dead had somewhere to live when they arrived.
This one shows various bread and brewing activities. The lady on the right is fanning the fire for baking.
There are lots of mummies in the collection, wrapped, coffined and boxed up. Really quite amazing cossetting they gave them.
The male dead were expected to keep up the good work of trampling on all enemies -
The ladies on the other hand, were not expected to do the trampling -
And they looked after the cats as well.
This kilted lad, complete with ceremonial false beard, inspired a bit of schoolboy tittering in the kids in front of me. They fell prey to the same morbid curiosity that took hold of Bloom in Ulysses chapter 8, when he wondered about the naked statues in the library museum -
"They have no. Never looked. I'll look today. Keeper won't see. Bend down let something drop.
See if she."
The boys did the same, only to blush bright red when they saw me watching, and run off in their confusion. Nothing new in the world!
There are great slabs of various books of the dead, another Joycean obsession, which features widely in Finnegans Wake -
And there was a lot of this kind of thing -
All this only scratches the surface of this absolutely fantastic museum, which is worth a trip to Torino in its own right.
Outside the modern world moved on, with this crane swinging overhead. The museum has been having a major refurbishment, which is nearly finished now. The temple was not open when we went.
Google has been getting a bit overwrought with all my photos from this holiday. It just asked me -
There was very little left to say after the Egypt museum, so we just went for a slice of pizza from a place I went to last time I was in Torino - St Thomas Break. It was just as good as I remembered it.
Even Angie thought it was good.
Just to fill in time, we tried three other museums nearby, all of which were shut for one reason or another. So we finished up going back into the Egyptian museum for the last half hour before hitting the road for the Roman Quarter - again.
This time, after the amazing mixed starter, we just went for a pasta dish. Angie had ravioli for a change, and I had a long noodley pasta with slices of Jerusalem artichoke in it, which was an interesting idea, and just goes to show that you can pretty much use up whatever needs using by putting it in a pasta dish. Together with the traditional mezzo di rosso, this was enough food already, but I couldn't resist a final panna cotta and coffee for the road. After all, who knows when or if I will ever get the chance to glutz out in Torino again? It's been great fun, I must say.
Thursday was the last full day of holiday, and took us to the Slow Food festival at the Lingotto conference centre. Last time I came here was for Sokolov's piano recital in 2007. A lot has changed since then. There's a tube station for one thing, so instead of going to Lingotto overground station and not really being much closer to the conference centre than we started at Porta Nuova, now we could get right there in 10 minutes flat. Progress. And as our 3 day pass was bought at 10:30 on Monday, it was still valid at 10:00 on Thursday, to take us to the festival.
Lingotto is huge. There were thousands of stalls, mostly dealing with hams, salami, cheese, olive oil and so on. Surprisingly little in the bread line, I have to say.
I went along a row of Sardinian cheese makers, and each was outstanding in its own way. I was really impressed with that.
There were a few places demonstrating traditional skills, like these girls plaiting tomatoes -
and this guy making baskets -
I even came across my old friends Hodmedods promoting fava beans and peas -
But these fierce looking Corsican cheeses took the biscuit for me -
I think when that guy puts "FORTE" on his cheese, he means it!
We had a really delicious ice cream with wine, honey and god knows what kind of nectar in it. Quite remarkable. I gave the man on the stall a deep nod of approval, to which he responded with the obligatory "prego".
Angie was in nougat hunting mode, and I have established that if nougat is ever bought for her as a present, it should be "chewy" as opposed to "rockard". I'm a rockard man myself, but it's a matter of taste I suppose.
We left the Slow Food festival when we felt we had got the measure of it, and before the ever increasing crowds got properly stuck into the beer that was in evidence everywhere, and made our way back to the metro, past the overenthusiastic volunteer fund raisers, one of whom called me a liar to my face when I (quite truly) told him I had already donated, and set off back to Milan, Bergamo and the Botton D'Oro.
Our final meal out in Bergamo was at Da Mimmo's again. Angie had some really great sea bass and I had a super porcini mushroom risotto. We tried the white Valcalepio for a change, and weren't disappointed. The people at the next table were clearly out to spend as much money as possible, and sent back several half eaten dishes. This was a real shame as they had opted for the white truffle menu. Still, that's people for you. There wasn't much food sent back from our table during this holiday, I can tell you.
The waiter explained to me about their bread, which is wood fired and slow risen. I couldn't get him to be explicit about whether they were using a sourdough culture, but what he described was a 24 cycle, where they made the dough up in a big batch, in a trough, and then cut it up and shaped it on the day, before going in the oven. The result was a very good body, crust and flavour, though I personally would have given it a little longer in the oven. He was rightly proud of it though, and this is what they describe as their daily bread. Hats off to that!
This waiter could have been a tenor at the opera. He really showed his emotions - his heart was on his sleeve the whole time. When we ordered a single course, no truffles, he bore it with resignation. When the people next to us ordered lavishly and from the white truffle menu, he bristled with pride for the honour of the house, like the wild boar might have bristled in Monforte before we ate him. When I asked about the bread, he puffed up with choking emotion, the tears all but trickling into my Valcalepio as he showed how much the dough expanded during the slow rising. I felt his pride and embraced him inwardly for it.
The last and in some ways the crowning glory of our time in Bergamo was at 10 p.m. on the last night. We made our way down to the Piazza Vecchia and stood quietly, soaking up the atmosphere, and waiting for the creak and clank of the bell mechanism starting up for the 100 bongs of the curfew bell. This was a sort of formal ceremony marking the end of our 10 day jaunt in northern Italy.
There is nothing so exciting as hearing a big heavy ancient bell getting into its stride. It is so irregular, and sounds so effortful. But as it gets going it sounds so commanding and so important! It is really thrilling. And there are so many harmonics going on around the main note. Standing in the square, the sound was captured round us, and bounced from wall to wall in the most thrilling way. There was a real nobility to this ancient bell that has stood there angrily bonging and demanding to be heard and obeyed for all these hundreds of years. Fantastic!
I enjoyed this so much I am going to offer you two ways of listening to it for yourself. The first is a video taken in the Piazza, so you can see what the buildings look like. There is quite a lot of background noise and other bells in this, but it catches the atmosphere very well.
The second is a video taken in the bell tower itself, so you can see the bells. This is really nice sound, and not much background (obvious reasons).
The last morning's breakfast in Botton D'Oro was as wonderful as before, and the goat's yogurt is something I will remember for a long time. The people on the next table were of the "dripping with money" variety, and too posh to say good morning, so we left them to it and tucked in to our final plate of cheese, ham and salami before taking a last walk down Via Gobito and buying some polenta taragna for use at home.
Then off to Colle Aperto for the bus. Despite the near catastrophe the other day, when I got on the 1A bus, I nearly fell for it again this time, and got on a bus that said "Orio e Serio" but did not say "Airport Bus". Angie later pointed out that the bus I nearly got on would probably have dropped us "near the airport" like the 1C had done. Moral: if you want to go to the airport from Bergamo Citta Alta, don't get on a bus that does not say "Airport bus" all over the sides.
We had a good flight home, arrived on time, and took the local train to Piccadily station. We had not booked all the way home to Arnside, because there was a mid-afternoon train that we could catch from Piccadily which would get us home for £3.95 each. This gave us plenty of time to stroll to the Northern Quarter and have a good curry at our usual plave - the unsurpassed Al Faisal curry house.
This being a bit of a ritual, we secured our usual table -
Ah, the romance of it! The chicken tikka (their name for 7 large pieces of marinated meat on a skewer cooked over the grill) was sublime, as usual.
On the way from the curry shop to Piccadilly, we went past this George Taylor memorial door on Lever St. I think he would have liked it.
The bargain train from Manchester back to Arnside turned out to be a bit of a nightmare - not unlike the Milan to Savona sardine transporter. There were supposed to be 6 carriages, 3 for Blackpool, 3 for Barrow. But only 3 turned up. I have never seen such a squash since the time I stood all the way from London to Preston. But eventually we got home, put the kettle on and our feet up. And the new stretch of fence had been put up in the back garden while we were away. Fantastic!
The End
