Day 26 – Troglodytes

Bit of a sleep in this morning and a walk down to Duchi again for breakfast. They only do coffee and pastries so by the time we get to the Arena (our first goal for today), I’m famished – all this cold, clear-air street walking requires something that can stick to your ribs (my eyes well up at the thought of German sausage)

Italy is good for GF and they have GF pizza (even GF breadsticks for the table – although they’re kind’ve like elongated cheezles). We go for a breakfast pizza (garlic, tomato, basil and cheese) and two Aperol Spritz. I (Jeff) had an Aperol Spritz last night and I’m a little concerned that my natural macho broo-ha-ha may have taken something of a hit as I’ve not seen another bloke drinking the large fruity orange beverage since (but they taste so good). Actually there were two blokes, the first had a handbag and the second, one of those small studded leather caps commonly worn by the village people or patrons of the ‘blue oyster bar’. Either way my mojo is taking a hit as Di enjoys identifying (considerable numbers of) female Aperol Spritz quaffers.

We soak up the morning sun munching pizza and quaffing spritz’s, (Jeff, in a very manly way; being sure to barf occasionally, engage in loud affected laughter and yell out ‘yeh!’ randomly), just long enough for the Arena entrance queue to grow to its maximum length.

The arena is fabulous; 8th biggest in the Roman empire fourth biggest in Italy, built in the first century and massive, seating 30, 000 – they still use it for the opera today. It used to be used for killing people – and equestrian events. From the top you can see across the whole town and over to the Alps.

We take some pickies then tramp it to the garden, nestled into the hillside beneath the old town wall not far from the theatre we visited yesterday. The garden, verdant and lush is a tonic to the soul, smells of damp earth and pine with views out over the town. Visitors walk through an iron gate in a stone wall onto a white gravel path lined with ancient cyprus (one is 500 years old – visited and written about by Goethe).

Off the main path, little tracks run into hedge mazes until the ground slopes up steeper and steeper, the path zig-zagging through dense green thicket – Verona’s numerous towers can be glimpsed through the brush. There’s a secret path through a lush green tunnel then a stone stairway past an old chapel cut deep into the rock in the hillside. The view from the top is stunning and as we ‘summit’ the bells from the nearby tower ring out across the city.

We decide to go for the free ‘tapas’ dinner option at Osteria GG but find it’s a no-go on Sunday (notwithstanding, the back up hot pork sausage from the bain-marie is outstanding). The bar girls give us directions to a couple of other dinner possibilities and we head out into the now substantially cooler evening.

The first place is a little wine bar and we grab a couple of drinks but decide the sausage from GG’s will tide us over for awhile. We talk to two older Veronese gents and manage to charade our way through some simple conversations – they were born here and ask ‘where u go?’, ‘the gardens’, ‘Ahhh! I giardini – bellissimi!’

We struggled to find the second place, Le Cantina Del l’Arena, obviously near the arena , but hidden somewhere behind the pizzerias and fridge magnet shops. Well, while stilettoed shoppers carrying Hermes bags stride the cobbles ‘neath the moonlit arena walls, beret’d jazz loving troglodytes tap their toes to the beat deep down underground in Le Cantina Del l’Arena – and we’re so glad the GG girls gave us the hot tip (and Di was determined to find out where the place actually was).

The place was throbbing when we found the door and followed the stairs down and down to the 2000 year old cavern where gladiators once prepared to battle (though it probably wasn’t a cavern then – rebuilt in 1300s). We had to wait a bit for a table but it was worthwhile. A double bass, drum, guitar trio, old blokes (except the bassist) pumped out jazz standards as we dined on yummy Italian cuisine with breathtaking ambience – a night to remember. When we left, the drummer was outside having a smoke and we thanked him. He said, “Gratsi. Jazz. ‘It is in all the world” (and he sounds and looks just like the guy who says ‘ it is written in the stars’ in the movie only you). The waiter gets an honourable mention here to – he was a lovely bloke from Milano who was so keen to tell us about the place and the food.