Lost in Italy

You need bread.  It's a national holiday.  All the local bread shops and supermarkets are closed.  You stop and ask a local woman where you can buy bread.  You only catch that it begins with a 'P' and that it's 10 kilometres away.  You don't have Sat Nav, you’ve never been to this area before and you realise you've left the Italy road atlas on the villa kitchen table.  Do you:

a)    Drive back to villa to fetch the road atlas;

b)    scavenge from the two local restaurant bins and pass the scraps off as all that was left in the bakery; or

c)    take a punt, aim in the general direction of the pointed finger and hope you'll pick up a road sign with the town beginning with 'P'?

Clear blue skies, the optimism of 9 o'clock in the morning, sun, high spirits, peace and quiet in the back of the car and a rare opportunity to hunter gather.  No contest.  I drove out of the village heading East and was immediately rewarded with a sign that included Ponte di Ferro 10.  Bingo!  That must be what she'd said.  Spirits high.  I cranked up the Scouting for Girls CD and wound the windows fully down.  I lost the signs after about 8 k's, took a left turn, passed two puzzled locals, sensed I'd gone wrong, turned round, passed the puzzled locals again and then carried on heading down into a gently undulating but very twisty Umbrian potholed road edged with lush hedges and well-tended fields.  At the bottom, there was a sign for Ponte di Ferro and soon after a set of traffic lights and just opposite the lights was a queue of people outside a shop, which I presumed was the bread shop.  I parked up and ambled over to the shop doorway which was open wide with about 10 people queuing quietly and smiling.  It was all very good-natured stuff.  And it was definitely the bread shop except there wasn't any bread.  There were the telltale breadbaskets behind the counter, little glass display counters with cream cakes and a few token rolls.  Against all the odds I'd found the only bread shop in Umbria open on a national holiday.  Just no bread.  I went back to sit in the car to wait.  Three other cars arrived and parked up.  Their owners swung out, poked their heads into the shop, ambled out again and sat back in their cars.  Two ladies arrived on foot and joined the queue.  The question was, did I wait for something to happen and trust that the queue being Italian wouldn't have the patience to wait around for too long or did I go back to the villa since I'd only nipped out for five minutes to get some bread?  Twenty minutes elapsed.  Just as I was about to throw in the towel, a dusty white Fiat Doblo van arrived, reversed into the parking spot next to the back of the shop and out stepped a vision in a baker's cap that left me wondering whether the male punters were here on time for the bread or the chance to flirt with the staff.  She began unloading tray after tray of fresh, warm wonderful bread, which was still toasty warm by the time I got back to the villa.  Sadly, however, my triumphant return to the villa with two 'grande' breads was punctured by the discovery that they were both unsalted.

You need a supermarket shop for that night's campsite meal.  It's 40 degree late afternoon heat.  You're on your first ever solo driving trip in Italy.  You can't speak Italian if something goes wrong.  You haven't a clue where the local supermarket might be.  Do you:

a)    stop and ask for directions at reception on your way out of the campsite;

b)    turn left out of the gate, heading towards Venice; or

c)    turn right out of the gate, heading towards Jesolo

Vick didn't stop at reception.  It was too hot to wait in the queue and how hard could it be to locate a supermarket in outskirts of one of Italy's major cities?  She turned left and within five minutes was completely lost.  An hour went by.  Then another half an hour.  I kept checking my mobile for bad news.  I started to worry. Where on earth was she?  And then just when I was starting to seriously panic she returned, rolling her eyes as she whizzed past.  Success!  She'd found a supermarket but had absolutely no idea where it was.

Which left us in a bit of a quandary when our new Dutch neighbours, seeing that our tent was already pitched and that we were all eating supper, asked where the nearest supermarket was.  Vick stayed silent.  “Try asking at reception”, I said.  “If you’re feeling adventurous, I spotted a sign saying 'Casino' just outside the campsite on the right.  I know that Casino is a major supermarket brand in France so maybe it’s also a supermarket here.”  They returned two hours later with take-away pizzas from the camp restaurant.  The 'Casino', in fact, turned out to be, well, just a casino.  And they'd failed to find Vick's supermarket.  So you can have your Sat Nav and road atlas, but when it comes to getting lost and hunter gathering in our family, we shan't go hungry.