Days 20 & 21 – Not quite pilgrims, but at least we’re wearing sandals . . .

With a few more days of culture lined up in humpy Umbria, we could have done with packing a mule as well as Scoot.

We’re on our way to Green Village, a few K west of Assisi, lying in its morning shadow. First port of call however, is Urbino. It houses the Palazzo Ducale high up inside. The street to reach it is steep. Really steep. Not quite cable-car territory. A funicular railway would do a roaring trade. As the brow comes into view the build up of lactic acid kicks in. We expect to be greeted by locals touting All Black thighs and Haka faces.

Italy has more UNESCO World Heritage Sites than any other country and this is one of them. The huge Palazzo is home to many famous works of art. Raphael’s “La Muta” stands out, Mona Lisa-like, but not quite.

As ever, today’s trip is motorway free. That has it’s downside. In France, you could say one in a hundred roads is not fit for purpose. In Italy, so far, eighty in a hundred would be a fair guesstimate. To the right of the crown and to the left of the (invisible) kerb, ie. the very place where you want your wheels, is a conglomeration of ruts, cracks, holes, undulations and bumps. The roads feel and look like the after effects of one series of mini earthquakes after another. (perhaps they are)  After a few more weeks of this we’ll probably start to tremor too!

Today we’re up bright and early (relatively speaking) to catch the 9.30am free shuttle up to Assisi. It nestles a couple of miles away over Beastie’s shoulder. Nobody told us we needed a ticket. So we miss it. The kind young receptionist takes us instead.

The entrance into the main Piazza is security controlled. A couple of young whippersnappers on duty. Automatic weapons at the ready? Religiously search old ladies’ bags, who’ve done well just to get this far up the steep inclines. It’s all out of breath smiles and anti-climax. No sign of any semtex, even if they do appear well padded around their midriffs.

Once inside the Basilica, a different type of security is in order. The entrance sign indicates, no dogs, no photos, no hats . . . no bathing costumes? The mind boggles. Perhaps that’s what the soldiers were really searching for. [“Phew, that was close. Thought they’d got us there for a minute.” – “Me too. Good job we put them on underneath”]

Teams of mafioso silently scan and sneak up sneakily to remind anyone who they think is even thinking of taking a photo. They have their hands full. Fingers wagging like puppy dogs’ tails. This gets me mad. I ready my camera and start randomly shooting from the hip, just to make John Wayne proud. “Silenzio” signs are everywhere. How dumb? There are hundreds and hundreds of visitors flocking around and chattering, almost as loudly as the swirling swifts outside. As it reaches a seemingly unacceptable crescendo, a big-brother voice bursts out over the loud speaker system “SILENCE, SILENCE . . . SHUSH!” Momentarily the chatter is replaced with ironic whispers.