VERONA

It is a truth universally acknowledged that in the hamlet of Verona, a lovestruck Romeo stood beneath the now tourist-trodden balcony of his beloved Juliet, while she called out in earnest "Where art thou Romeoooooo?" It's a nice story, and thanks to William Shakespeare, Verona is now on the map as a place to go for love and romance...

Love and romance wasn't on my agenda, but it was for the countless hundreds of couples paying homage to Romeo and Juliet. Walls were scribbled with love notes, and for those willing to pay a few euros, you could write a love message on a pink heart, and have it locked to a wire fence for posterity...well until next month at least. I got sucked into the whole romance thing and bought a hand embroidered apron with a picture of a boy and a girl on it, love hearts, and the words "Kevin and Patricia...9th July, 2013...Love Forever. Since it's our 30th Wedding Anniversary on that date, I thought it would be a cute reminder. Nothing is kitsch enough for me.

Verona is a half hour's train ride from Venice and the journey flew. At the train station we caught a bus into town. The driver should have been wearing a t-shirt that said 'Drive like hell and you'll get there'. People were herded into the bus like cattle, the door closed with the ferocity of a shark's jaws, before you were properly settled. I was surprised not to see any missing fingers on the ground. To add to our discomfort, the heat was sweltering. I honestly thought between the speed of the bus going over every bump on the road, and the heat, that I would pass out. Thankfully, I didn't.

Shattered, we arrived in the town centre. It was nothing like I had expected. In fact, I had no expectations. Suffice to say, it didn't move me like Venice did. All the movement was knocked out of me by the bus ride from hell. As I looked around, I saw before me lots of stone buildings, and a big amphitheatre under construction. Every place had a dark, heavy, ominous feel to it. Fellows dressed up in heavy armour stood around in the dry, sweltering heat. I don't know how they were able to stand the heat, and I'm sure their heavy armour was not air conditioned.

We opted for a photo shoot with a Roman Centurion in shining armour. After the photo, he put the paw out for us to cross his palm with silver. We gave him 2 euros; a euro per minute. "Not good enough" says he in broken English. What?

In the corner of my eye, I spied two massive centurions, sitting on a seat and fancied a photo with them, so over I went, foolishly, and asked if I could have my photo taken with them. I think they were both dumb, as they just gesticulated and gave me a form of sign language. The fellow to my left had thighs, each as big as my pasta pot belly. He came a little too close for comfort and squeezed me much harder than I would have liked, and began making obscene gestures. He was disgusting, and had steam coming from his nostrils like a bull. Never again! When I stood up, his sweat was stuck to me like a slug. Yuck! I felt like a shower. Then he had the cheek to stick the greasy paw out for money; more like him paying me for the cheap thrill!!

We had just arrived in Verona and already I wanted to leave. On the mad bus ride into town I saw signs of the recession. We passed lots of closed down shops with shutters destroyed with graffiti. Verona was a dismal place; not like Disneyland or Venice or stylish Milan for that matter. I think the heat was getting to me.

On a more positive note, I was hugely impressed by the creative talent of the street entertainers. Verona is famed for its dramatic arts, and unlike the centurions in heavy armour, these fellows were worth every euro we put into their tin boxes. One guy was dressed as Michael Jackson, complete with silver glove. When you put a coin in his hat, we would do a little Jackson dance, and was pretty impressive. I also liked the screaming baby in a the pram. His body was hidden in the back of the pram, so all you could see was a big baby head. When you gave him a coin, he would make an eery baby cry.  Then there was the genie who sat elevated in the air (don't know how he did it in the heat). He looked like he was sitting mid-air with no strings or attachments; couldn't work out how he did it.

My abiding memory of Verona is the HEAT and the crazy bus driver, and the slimy, sweaty, sluglike Centurion, with thighs as big as a house. It was the longest 'spaghetti' smile I ever endured. Phew! Would I visit Verona again? Maybe...if the weather wasn't as hot. I wouldn't pose for photos with the lads in armour. Enooooo; been there, done that.

Talk Soon!

Love,

Patricia xxx