Day 25 – Wine, cheese and Romans

Too many more perfect weather days and we shall need a day off! Another cool, clear blue sky day.

Di fixes us a coffee with our little apartment’s coffee maker and we rug up and head out.

In Paris, dog wee leaves a wet mark where it’s soaked into the stone or concrete. In Italy, there’s a splash mark on the wall then a little pool in the worn center of the less porous white and caramel marble pavers. The pools shimmered gold in the morning sun.

The walk to the old town is maybe ten minutes from our home and we pull up at the first cafe across the river for breakfast as its enjoying full sun. My couple of GF phrases are not required here as the waiter, as with all so far, is bilingual. Coffee, croissant and orange juice and we’re off.

Exploration today, we just want to walk the streets and soak it all up. Problem is, its a weekend and still the post Christmas sales and the place is packed. Juliette’s balcony in the little square where lovers leave notes to their loved ones, is standing room only, with a big queue so we opt for some distance shots.

We see Juliette’s grave, Romeo’s house, and numerous other R & J inspired places but are more excited about the beautiful old streets and buildings and a little park with a statue of Gariboldi and a 230 year old tree.

A lot of dwellings in the back streets, away from the town’s center are in various stages of decay; render is falling off revealing old stone, window sills and walls are cracked and crumbling, timber shutters and external beams are rotting and their drab grey-brown walls look old and tired. In the city centre, many places have been done up and maintained, are colourful and bright and don’t have bits falling off them – every new street corner is a postcard and we take way too many photos.

We cross the old roman bridge (pont pietra) out of town to the theatre and, looking back, see a lovely little place by the river (we wonder how many thousands have done that). It’s a deli and wine shop with a little picnic area out back. We choose some mortadella, bresaola, slices of a couple of different cheeses, some olives and a bottle of red and they put it all in a little basket for us with some cups.

Pont Pietra reaches out across the river before us in full sun, drawing our eyes over to the roman theatre, cyprus pines, spruce and olive trees nestled amidst its great stone ruins. It’s a fabulous spot and we take our time, enjoying the wine and cheese and soaking it all up. We chat to an Italian couple from Milan who love the place and we clink cups over the Adige river, wishing each other a happy new year.

The theatre is wonderful, both for the stunning views it commands back over Verona’s roof tops and for its history and artefacts. Won’t bore you with the details, you can google it, but the Romans sure knew how and where to build theatre’s

There’s a path that takes you up above the theatre to the hill top and hundreds start to flock up here to see the sunset over the town. Over the hills behind you can see the snowy peaks of the alps and in front the spires, towers and terracotta rooves of the old town. The sunset is stunning as we wander back down and by the time we reach the main square (piazza delle erbe) there’s an evening blue streaked with pink, the moon rising up above torri dei umberti tower – beautiful.

We have a bit of fun window shopping and go into Louis Vouton. There’s a waiting list to get up stairs ( for the luggage section – we’re planning our next trip already) so we bail.

Eventually, weary of feet and a little peckish, we find this little bar with two euro wines and as much tapas-like food as you want free! Schooo tha wazz diNure Dun.

The good food and prices draws an eclectic bunch. A sixty-ish Robert Downey Jr look alike sways at the bar, his huge dog’s eyes glued to his masters snack hand as if its life depended on it, two young lovers, the boy cool and stand offish, the girl overly demonstrative of her desires (not likely to be achieved in here), a fifty-ish couple who set their five year old up colouring-in at someone else’s table then go outside with wine, tapis and cigarettes, a lady and gent, friends from the same table, who do six loops back to the free tapis, and a fifty-ish long-grey haired man who could be a grandchild of iggy-pop and pochahontas. Devo is playing “whip-it good”.

We wander home in the evening cool thinking perhaps we’ll just do it all again the same tomorrow.