Campervan Therapy

Seán finds a camper stop, 3 kilometres from the centre of Bergamo, Area Camper Citta’ dei Mille, with shade, grass, and full facilities. When we bowl up to the tarmac clad, bleak stop, we’re parked up by a woman who seems confused when we say we’ve booked and paid – that’s because we haven’t. We’re in the wrong site – the excitement of the A4 around Milan has obviously messed with our brains. Eventually we camp up at the correct one.

It’s apparently only 15 minutes cycle ride along dedicated paths through the lively lower town, where the bars and fun happens, to the historic centre, perched on its high hill looking down on the plain below. Backed by mountains, it’s a stunning site. But this pair of random cyclists end up losing the track so many times that it takes us an hour.

We finally park the bikes between the two art galleries, the contemporary one housing an exhibition called ‘Thinking like a Mountain’.

We climb up the cobbled lane to one of the many entrances to the old town, under the tall ramparts, the 3-mile circuit designed to keep out western marauders, by the Venetians in the 16^th Century. Within the curtain walls there’s powder tanks, gunboats, stalactite studded passages.

We wander around the ramparts, because I do love a rampart, staring down into the grand mansions in the lower town.

Next we wander along the beautiful mile, past graceful churches, bars, the old washhouse, water-spouting-lion fountains, through narrow alleys, to Piazza del Duomo.

And the gloriously theatrical Basilica Santa Maria Maggiore, dedicated to the Madonna to ask for protection from the plague in 12^th Century. Internally it is wildly 17^th Century Baroque.

The venetian lions at the door guard it to this day.

The mark of the Venetians is everywhere in the glorious columnated arcades and loggias.

We mooch around the Delle Storie di Bergamo museum, with its multi-media history of Bergamo, but the best bit is climbing its bell tower.

Underneath the giant bells we look out over the lower town, the plain below lost in mist, and over the pantile roofs and spires to the mountains.

Lo and Behold our return cycle takes a mere 15 minutes because Seán checks with Google, reigning me in when I start tearing off in random directions. An evening meal in the local tennis club, Citta’ dei Mille, is like something out of an Italian film. The young, very serious waiter will not allow us to have red wine with fish, he shakes his head in utter pain, and says that it will drown the taste of the fish, insisting on a white of his choice to accompany chargrilled octopus and potato salad.

Coffee in a local café and the elderly man is so delighted with my mangling of the Italian language he thanks me for making the attempt and blesses me with ‘Tanti Auguri’ or ‘All best wishes’.

We return to the camper-stop to find the air full of Blues singing. Following the dulcet tones, we find ourselves in a fairy-lit recreation space, Into the Woods, complete with fountains, restaurant, reclining chairs and picnic benches, chalets selling Franciacorta fizz and cocktails as well as the wonderful guitarist and female Blues singer. One thing is for sure, we’ll be back to visit Bergamo.