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The city of Verona was as lovely as I remembered, when Dale and I arrived with my parents in tow. It had been a long day of travel, from dropping the rental car back in Florence to catching two trains to get to Verona, but after dropping off the bags at our hotel mum and dad were eager to start exploring. It was fun to watch their delight at the ancient Roman amphitheatre and their interest in the more recent historic buildings. Crowds of Italians meandered up the glossy Shop-lined streets and sat drinking aperitifs in the table filled squares. Feeling thirsty ourselves, we stumbled upon a side-street cafe where we ordered wine and Italian tapas. The waitress brought out our 2 euro glasses of white wine and a plate of assorted bruschetta. The wine was particularly good and the food quickly disappeared. Near us was an old man with his grandson (aged about 8), they too ordered some snacks from the cabinet at the bar and then sat with their drinks (fizzy drink for the young one) chatting. It made me realise how much more apparent cross-generational interactions are in Italy compared with at home. We have frequently seen grandparents pushing pushchairs or eating gelato with grandkids.
By the time we had finished our drinks, the grey skies had turned to rain. With no cover offered by the shop frontages (which were all without canopies), we dashed up the street and round the corner to the nearest umbrella shop. There we chose two of the cheapest brollies on offer - so cheap that when the shop attendant opened one with gusto, the handle came off and we had to choose another! Walking arm in arm with Dale huddled under one umbrella, while mum and dad followed us huddled under a second umbrella, we made our way through the square which was once the Roman forum and down to one of the old city gateways. By the time we made our way back to our hotel we all had wet feet and one wet sleeve (where the cheap umbrellas hadn't quite protected from the rain!)
Fortunately the sun came out the next morning and so Dale and I were able to take mum and dad on our tour of our favourite places in Verona. We began with the Castelvecchio and the impressive battlement studded bridge. After crossing the river, we made our way down the other side, and crossed back over near the cathedral. As we approached the cathedral we could hear the organ start and saw members of the congregation exiting the main doors. As Dale sat outside in the sun to make a phone call to his family in New Zealand, my parents and I slipped inside to listen to the Sunday service recessional reverberating around the building.
Later we lined up for tickets at the Roman arena. Once again on our travels, Dale and I were treated to the European experience of queue jumpers!! Eventually we made it into the arena ourselves, the third largest in Italy, and climbed up the terraces to take in the view over the centre floor area which once witnessed gladiatorial fights to the death. A stage had been set up and sound technicians were in the process of setting up equipment for a concert scheduled the following week. As we sat there trying to guess at the seating capacity for spectators, a rain shower began which sent us scurrying beneath the seating to the corridor which once funnelled Romans in and out of the amphitheatre. From there we were sheltered from the rain and able to look out over Verona, where we could see people deserting outdoor cafe tables like ants pouring from an ant hill.
The rain shower did not last long and we were soon able to continue on our way and find our own outdoor restaurant. We ended up down a quiet side street osteria where Italian families sat indoors enjoying their sociable Sunday lunch and a few tables of tourists risked another rainfall at the outside tables. The manager, an older woman who spoke very good English, let us choose a table and then came over to explain the specials - ricotta and pine nut stuffed zucchini flowers and a porcini mushroom tagliatelle. All the pasta on the menu was handmade. Each of us made our selections and soon steaming plates of golden pasta smothered in sauce were delivered to our table. Afterwards we ordered coffee and the cheery waiter brought around a platter of biscotti which he presented to us with a flourish. When I tried to resist a second piece, he pushed the platter towards me insistently and I found myself accepting another one. (It's hard to say no to an Italian when he's offering authentic biscotti your way!)
Mum and I managed to ditch the menfolk (who took advantage of 'siesta' time) and pound the pavements in search of affordable shopping. Alas, there was none (except for Zara which was crowded with people and felt like 35 degrees). I spotted a gorgeous black leather handbag with gold clasp in a window, which on closer inspection turned out to be Dolce and Gabbana costing 1200 euros - oh well, dreams are free! The best we could manage was finding mum a new bottle of perfume, before we trudged back to the hotel to reunite with the boys. Our Verona experience finished with another Italian meal (of course!) - pizza at Dale's favourite restaurant (Liston). Then it was farewell Italy, and guten tag Austria!
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