So far we’ve been treating Italy like a donkey. Sticking random pins in, here and there. Blindly creating a tale as we follow their trail. Hoping to hit the spot.
We take each day as it comes. Never knowing from one turn to the next what lies behind each corner. It’s evident that sun, sand & sea are paramount the further south we venture. And in abundance. Most camp sites cling closely to the coastal roads. Ever eager for that nice Mr Google to reveal their whereabouts with pin-point accuracy.
We’re not quite heel, not quite toe and so day 19 finds us pitched up practically beach side at Pineta di Sibari Camping. A couple of hours toasting, like a couple of hot chestnuts, a near perfect end to our journey.
The fuel stations down here can be a little confusing. On the same station, one section of pumps can be self-serve; another ‘attended’ – at an extra cost. At today’s fuel pull in on the way to Tropea, we are serviced by a different type of attendant. He spots us as we edge in. Runs too closely alongside. I stop Beastie. Not wanting to squash him. He plonks himself down right in front. Barks out something. “Card or cash?” most likely. Mrs S steps down. Gingerly tries to coax him away. She likes her fingers. He’s stubborn. He’s in charge. He knows it. He’s made his point. Another car moves off. Looks like more fun. He chases it madly, like a demented greyhound, that’s lost sight of the rabbit. Prepared to chase anything that moves. Frantically follows it out and up onto the slip road. Barking wildly. Gets out-accelerated. Pulls himself up ten metres short of the dual-carriageway. Ambles back as if this is all completely normal. Makes himself comfortable between two pumps – “Next please . . . “
We arrive in good time at Tropea. Prepare thighs for a work out. The town is up top. Camping Marina dell’ Isola, our one-nighter, is not. Tropea has a great vibe. A sea-side town with a difference. From below the buildings seem as if they can’t decide whether to jump or not. “I will if you will” . . . “You go first then.” . . . “No, YOU go first” . . .
Yet once on top, everything feels as safe as houses . . . for now?
We round the day off nicely, with . . . some sun, sand and sea.