Italian Campsites

A few minutes spent surfing the internet yielded three possible campsites within striking distance of Venice, Rome and Sorrento.  Friends were lending us their camping fridge so we needed an electric hookup.  Check.  It was going to be blisteringly hot.  With car space at a premium, we'd double bluff the rain gods and pack our raincoats just to make doubly sure it wouldn't rain.  Also the four nights we’d spend at each pitch we'd break up into two days' sightseeing and two days by the pool.  Surely all the sites would have a pool?  And stone me, Fusina, overlooking Venice from the West with a very handy 20-minute vaporetto shuttle service, didn't have one!  Back to the drawing board.  Another quick search and a check on Trip Advisor for Alba d'Oro, which my online translator defines as "golden dawn", which sounds lovely and I suppose makes sense as, facing East, it should pick up the morning sun rising over the lagoon.  And it has a pool.  Then we had a bit of a wobble over Sorrento's Santa Fortunata ("holy lucky") write-ups.  Comments about having to pay for the pool and the steep walk down to the beach seemed to be taking the edge off the fact that it had a pool, sounded clean, was within range of our day trip to Naples to taste the original Italian pizza and had sea views across the Bay of Naples.  However, the alternatives came in for a pasting from a variety of contributors busily laying into the ants, expense, traffic, unfriendliness and uncleanliness.  Conclusion: stick to our original plan.

Interestingly all three were billed as four star sites presumably on the basis that they all had a pool but thereafter the similarities ended.  Whereas I Pini ("the pines"), 30 minutes north of Rome, had friendly staff, kids entertainment that actually entertained kids and the Dutch, a cool pool slide and reasonably priced food, the other two didn't.  I Pini was so far in advance of the rest that we stayed an extra night betting that Santa Fortunata wouldn't even come close.  We were absolutely right.  Despite the blatant profiteering in evidence throughout Italy, the I Pini matriarch, who'd originally come over from Melbourne and fallen in love with an Italian, trusted me to pay her back when I was five cents short buying some cheese and beer from the shop.  We'd been having an animated discussion about the state of Australian cricket as I searched in vain for enough change.  I was so shocked at this simple gesture that I got a lump in my throat.  The kids pool was the size of two tennis courts roughly shaped like a peach and barely more than ankle deep.  Whilst the kids raced energetically down the slide clutching giant rubber rings sporting "vacanze.it" logos, the adults wallowed on the lining edge lapped by the cool water ripples relieving bodies of the ferocity of the 36 degree heat.  The restaurant food, whilst basic fare, was by far and away the best food we ate throughout the tour and, as an added bonus, was served by smiling staff.  Although the kids might argue that it was trumped by the piece of Pisa pizza in Pisa which we used as a photo prop for our last minute cheesy tourist snaps.

Arguably the most bizarre place was Alba d'Oro.  If you're looking for a place to lay your hat, within striking distance of Venice, with beds from £13 and makes no attempt to hide its toga partying reputation, then Alba D'Oro is the campsite for you.  Quiet it isn't.  In fact, for decibel level, the partying comes a distant second to the commercial aircraft taking off and landing at Marco Polo's runway a stone's throw from the campsite.  Part of the unguided site tour was to climb the two-metre grassy knoll and view the air traffic taxiing and roaring off so close that you could actually see the pilots.  There was no let up to the ear bashing from 6.30 in the morning until midnight, when the backpacker toga and foam parties were in full swing.  So, in essence, your choice of pitch is reduced to neighbouring the Aussie and Brit backpackers at the eastern end of the camp or skirting the runway to the western end.  We opted for the western end and settled down to a competitive game of airline bingo.  For sheer noise level, the proverbial 11 on the amplifier crown was taken by Ryanair taking off, which shook the drinks on the camping table.

A note on the Italian practice of charging full adult fares for over sixes.  Nothing can prepare you for the sheer cheek of being charged adult prices for your kids.  It made my blood boil every time.  I might be sympathetic to full priced seats on a plane or a train but a campsite?  When faced with, "how many are you?" I'd claim a pyrrhic victory with, "two adults, two children you'll charge for as adults and one child under six".  But the prize for the worst profiteering offender must go to Santa Fortunata, which, drawing on its wholly lucky proximity to the Amalfi coast, was the only place mean enough to charge us an additional cost just for the privilege of being able to bring our own car into the site.

So, in summary, I Pini was everyone's favourite.  The wooden spoon must go to Santa Fortunata for the gross profiteering, the dust bowl ground conditions and the awful signage – whatever you do, don't go down the 150 steps to the private beach mistakenly thinking it's the campsite beach just because the sign says "beach".

But however awful Alba d'Oro was, I'd like to think that the next time any of us comes into land at Marco Polo airport, we'll look out of the window just as we're coming into land and smile sympathetically at the poor campers braving the aircraft din and remember what a wonderful time we spent in 2011 touring Italy with the tents.