by Janni Oldham

Janni and Ali meander around northern Italy for a few more days, immersing themselves in its sights, sounds, and FOOD.

DAY 4.   San Remo.
It's incredible what a few slugs of brandy do for exhausted sprits. We eventually collapse on our beds around 5.30pm in a lovely little 1 star hotel, up a winding narrow lane, not only driving around in circles, but also stumbling around the little lanes by foot. I lie horizontal with a cold damp flannel under my eye mask saved from the plane.

Before we leave our room we munch on our regular snack of split baguette bread loaf, branch tomato slices, basil and yummy wild hot rocket with hot salami.

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Much revived, we lurch out at around 8pm with plenty of light for sight seeing. 

We discover a lovely old fishing port with heavenly boutiques. Next morning we wander along the wharf and I draw the fish in the little stalls by the bobbing fishing boats, so fresh it's still gasping and flapping. Spatola, burnished silver swirls of molten silver and iridescent eels.

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DAY 5. Still San Remo.
We discover a wonderful undercover market, and much money later we are laden down like a pack horse, meandering down cobblestoned alleys, window shopping. We buy a serrated knife and chopping board and a few lidded plastic containers for our tucker.

I fall under the spell of an elegant turquoise Swatch watch.

Tomatoes, deeply ridged and bulbous and delicious. The bitter wild greens my body craves - one thin and dark green, another with curly white bitter leaves. A bite with every bite. Lovely cheeses, strong smelly, crumbly pungent blue. Softly melting little round nuggets of ricotta, then we see even better, the same little cheeses speckled with chilli and smothered with olive oil. 

Salami to die for and lovely green peppery olive oil, grown and made by the lovely woman selling it and probably crushed by her own fair feet. Also lusciously slithery preserved capsicum, curled around tuna or vegetable filling. We choose pepperoni picante.

CELLE LIGURIA
Hot and bothered and driving in circles we stop early this time to avoid 5pm traffic chaos. I wander down to the minuscule public beach that is little more than a dull grey drain outlet with wide side ramp and matching dull, grey pebbles and rocks they call a beach. 

I perch against the ramp and draw a mum and her kids. A great way to gain trust so I can then ask her to guard my vest, while I take a dip in the matching greasy, greyish Limpopo River. Oh no, it's the Mediterranean out there! Grey black pebbles don't reflect back turquoise hereabouts, more resembling the washing up water after a party.

I reckon you can trust a mum and kids. (Later Franco adds that even some mothers are also criminals. Not this one!!)

The corso boulevard is deserted at 8.30pm in this sleepy seaside town at the unfashionable end of Liguria. The post card is prettier than the non-existent view of the beach or sea. Instead all you see are the shabby, cracked and peeling backs of the lines of little change sheds that stretch either side of the drainage outlet they call the public beach.

Later it seems that the joint does wake up a little, at least the shouting and yelling words that drift up through our window are enough to keep Ali awake most of the night!

A lovely coffee brekkie at Bar Milano early next morning turns this rather boring, sleepy hamlet into a bubbling adventure with 2 little old ladies who speak some English, even if Carmello the waiter doesn't.

We meet when I attempt to sketch the elegant old woman and her dog, standing sipping at the bar, which turns into a magic interchange and chatter, with two rather ancient women out for their morning coffee. Celle Liguria is not for the beautiful people.

Janni has turned out to be a true Freebooter tourist. One more episode and we'll reach France.

Have fun. 

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