Of Italian style and highways

Italians have a deep understanding of style. Or at least that's the way it appears.
They've had centuries of learning so the secret they have is very, very old.
And it shows. Everywhere; particularly in their buildings.

For a building to be stylish, it must be old. How does it show it is old? Well it's got bits of plaster missing (the look of bare brick in places is strangely appealing here) and the paint is stained with the ages; there are water marks everywhere.

Even the freshly painted buildings have these water marks. I think the pain comes old, with water-stains worked in. More of a kind of wash than a paint really. Or maybe they through in a bit of black paint amongst the yellow, and then don't stir it too vigorously - everyone here thinks he's a Michelangelo. Maybe they even chisel in a few cracks or chip off the plaster, just for the effect of it.

And when they do happen to fill in and cover over the bricks where the plaster has come off, they don't bother painting over it; just leave it all cement like, for a while.

It all seems to work. It makes Venice and other places all the more beautiful.

They also don't bother too much about graffiti. "It happens; move on," you suspect is their attitutde.

I have difficulty moving on. I hate graffiti. If graffiti happens then it should take the form of Banksy, or whatever his name is; that's art that is.

But somehow the graffiti in Italy is better than that of the likes of Serbia and the rest of Eastern European countries which, while it was good to have experienced these countries, I'm quite pleased to say I'm no longer in them and don't plan on going back any time soon. "They exist, move on," is my view.

From Venice, it was a leisurely drive down to Rome for the first two hours. This was my fault entirely because I missed the turn Lilith wanted to take and we were forced to drive at 40mph for almost a hundred miles through various little towns on a narrow, single lane road that allowed few overtaking opportunities. Even when there were, it was almost impossible to overtake when driving a right-hand-drive vehicle.

Eventually we hit a motorway and it took us through the central part of Italy which is all just glorious mountains and forests. The road is winding with tunnels and twists and turns, ascends and descents. We buzzed through there. Absolutely fabulous.

Inevitably, we hit a toll road. I got my first experience of European tollroads in Serbia and they are difficult, sensible in the way they give you a card, but difficult if you're in a right-hand drive vehicle.

They work such: you arrive at the toll booth and take a card, much as you do when you arrive at a multi-storey parking garage and you pay the fare when you exit the highway and it determines how much of the highway you've used and charges you accordingly. This proves difficult when in a right-hand drive vehicle because it means undoing the seat belt, rolling down the passenger side window, putting the vehicle in park, and then climbing over the handbrake and gear shift to grab the ticket. By then, the drivers behind you are getting impatient and the less considerate ones are likely to honk their horn. Honking horns is something Italians, I have found, are quite fond of doing.

What makes the whole system so clever is that there aren't toll roads every few hundred kilometres down the road, you only hit another one when you exit the freeway; but this is yet another challenge and a decidedly more nerve-wracking because it takes just a little longer than getting onto the freeway and, invariably, involves inserting your credit card into the slot just after you've rammed your ticket into it. If you do this too slow, there's a mechanical female Italian voice that shouts at you, quite loudly, and offers advice. The advice is quite useless if you don't know Italian.

But you know you've got it right when she screeches "A-River-Derchy," at you. I have no idea what it means (I know it's not 'thank you' because that's 'Gratsy') but suspect it means 'everything's okay' because the boom opens and, with relief, you fumble the car back into drive and pull off. You wind up the passenger side wind after you've pulled off, less time it takes to do so forces the honking horns to become all the more voluminous.

There are a lot of speed cameras on the roads in Italy; but those were never a bother since Lilith is so pedantic about us doing the correct speed.

I suspect I may have broken some or other obscure traffic local law, but so far, I seem to have gotten away with it.

We arrived in Rome many, many hours later and while it was still light; I thought it better to get an early night because the following day would involve a lot of walking.

My host at the hotel was wonderful and he provided me with two maps; one of the centre of Rome and the Vatican City, the other with a larger view of Rome and exactly where the hotel is. This is a brilliant idea, I got one from the hotel in Venice too, it saves so much effort and you needn't worry about getting lost, because you map shows you exactly where to go back to.

He pointed out that there were two buses I could take; the one would take me near Rome centre, the other to the Vatican. He also explained exactly how long each trip take. I thought that very kind of him, but paid not much mind to the times, only glad that he marked, on the maps he had provided, exactly where to get on and off the various buses.

Excellent; all prepared for the next day, I retired to the room and hoped to watch England play against Poland. No such luck, there wasn't an English Channel to be had amongst the 322 on offer. I went through them all, every single one in Italian.

I went to bed. Tomorrow, we would see Rome! We would see true Italian style; in all of its ancient glory... All bricks, plaster and water-stained paint.