After doing a good stint in the mountains, we had decided that a change was needed so aimed to drive down the Aosta Valley towards Turin or Milan and arrange some golf. M1 planned to ride first as he was keen to cycle the road up to La Thuile which was on the way to Col du Petit St Bernard where Lance Armstrong lost key time against the Schlecks in this years Tour. The night was unsettled though with traffic noise throughout, lorries turning right next to us and it was muggy too so we didn't get the well-earned rest we had thought we would get. There was a lot of cloud around in the morning then the dreaded rumble of thunder. The weather closed in sharply with the storms just about overhead giving us the full works - lightning,heavy rain and hailstones. Our carefully chosen spot right under the telecabine (not open!) turned rapidly into a river. No other option then than to break camp and head south away from the bad weather.
Val d'Aosta is a most beautiful place and we would have liked to see it on this drive, even shrouded in cloud. However, we entered the autostrada which was the quickest option but we spent most of the time in tunnels exiting near Aosta which, with its industry, warehouses and huge shopping centre, was unattractive - at least when viewed from the motorway. I suppose that would be a common criticism in any country. Our mood was subdued as, unlike most other days, we had no clear idea of where we were going or what we would do other than the general intent to have a game of golf. As we left the mountains behind us and the terrain flattened it seemed to match our feelings. We settled on aiming for Asti as we had heard of it in the context of its Spumante. But here we came across the first surprise: very obvious prostitution in daylight in rural Italy! We first spotted an attractive young coloured girl pretty outrageously dressed standing by the side of the road well out in the country. Then we saw another a little further on sitting in a plastic chair of which there were quite a few at irregular intervals. Brightly but minimally dressed, these girls were clearly waiting for clients from the passing cars. We then saw the first girl we had seen dropped off in front of us from a small silver car (client or pimp?). Brazen stuff and the girls were clearly immigrants. How could this go on so openly in this Catholic country? The only explanation we could offer is that everyone in authority must know about it and either turn a blind eye or be part of the racket - police, civic dignitaries, priests, journalists - they must all be conniving at thise very sad example of expoitation and double standards.
We were keen to hook up to electricity that night as our gas supply had run out but Italian camp sites are not at all well signposted and we struggled to find one. Eventually we identified a site at Castiliagno Tinela from the Camperstop book. It was difficult to find but well worth while when we did. An artisan vineyard with really good facilities set on top of one of the many well defined hills of the Po Valley. After a few pick me ups and a shower, we decided to make contact with the owners and wanderd the 25m down to the courtyard. Immediately, we could do nothing other than sit at a table where the enthusiastic and energetic guy running the show (white trainers, blue socks, baggy shorts and shirt) asked us if we wished to 'mangare'. We did and this was the second surprise but this time a delightful one. We were treated to one of the most memorable meals of the trip so far; simple fare, seven courses - all cold - but served briskly with care and attention all washed down with two bottles of the local vino rosso. A wonderful meal that was as tasty as it was unexpected and eaten along with the other 15 diners, none of whom were campinistas. And the bill? Just 30 euros for both of us including the wine, coffee and grappa!! What amazing value. And the next morning, this lovely chap (name unknown) even brought us two chocolate filled brioches for our breakfast. How's that for service? And when we came to leave, there was nobody there, the place was locked up and we had to guess what we owed and poke it through the letter box. The evening had perked us up and introduced us to wonderful Italian hospitality.
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