Beside the Seaside

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In Which I Get Ahead Of Myself

May 19, 2008 by Mike

Lido de Ostia

Route: Follonica - Castiglione della Pescaia - Grosseto - Orbetello - Civitavecchia - Lido de Ostia

Blimey. I'm in Rome.

OK, so I'm in Lido de Ostia, which is on the coast 20 miles from the centre of Rome.. but that counts. This is Rome-on-Sea. It's all a bit unexpected.

I started as slow and unstructured as usual. The first town beyond Follonica is Castiglione della Pescaia. Not to be confused with Castiglioncello, which I visited a couple of days ago. Except in my head: already I can't remember which was which.

As has happened many times, Castiglione turned out to be a million times more interesting than where I had actually stopped for a couple of days, but never mind: it was good to get off the bike and walk the streets of the mediaeval centre of the town, high on the hill, empty, quiet, stone streets, dark in the shadows, worn, dirty, hidden away.

A sign points to 'The Centurion's House'. Promising. But there were no more signs, and no sign of the house itself.

There were few people about. Swallows wheeled overhead. The cats were in charge, eyeing me from beneath parked scooters, or the safety of a small, old, high window. I spotted one behind the grill of a closed shop.

Somebody had arranged some flowers on their window sill. Half of them in a little terracotta bowl; others in an old lemonade bottle. The water was a sickly yellow-grey, and the flowers were starting to look the same colour.

I can't imagine living in Castiglione if you're under the age of about 104.

The coast road turned inland for a moment, to avoid marshes and a river estuary. I wasn't too impressed, because from the heights of Castiglione I could see that it was sunny on the coast and raining inland. In fact, it was raining in Grosseto, which is all of 11 kilometres from the sea, when I got there, and dry and sunny by the time I left. Reason: huge traffic congestion, caused by a nasty accident. Police and medics were standing around, scratching their heads. A van had a dent in it - a scooter-sized dent.

The scooter looked like it had been bent in two.

I am very glad I didn't see what was left of its rider.

I (hope that I) don't need to see such a thing to make sre I always ride carefully and appropriately.

This is the first scene-of-an-accident in over 34,000 miles on the Bonnie. That it happened in Italy.. does not surprise me in the slightest.

Next stop, and I imagined it would be a stop, was Orbetello. Not only does it sound like Portobello, where I lived for a third of my life, but my old chum Dominique had tipped me off: this was the best place to stop and see on the coast north of Rome. (There'll be more of Dominique to come..)

Orbetello used to be an island; now, it's connected to the mainland by manmade spits of land, so it just about gets away with being on my itinerary. I hoped to ride all the way round but, having stopped in the old fishing village of Porto San Stefano for a restorative coffee and set off round the rugged north coast, I found the road blocked. Or I think I did.

Anyone with better Italian than me could perhaps let me know if this sign (and two more like it.. i.e. with lots of long Italian words) means there is a barrier in 12 kilometres that would have forced me to turn round.

(Also: if it's private property, would they be allowed to shoot me? They voted for Berlusconi; anything's possible.) I wasn't about to put it to the test if it meant going all that way and then turning back, because the condition of the road was so bad, rutted and bumpy and uncomfortable on and for the bike.

That was a shame, because the scenery was staggering. And there were some amazing houses dotted about the steep and craggy coastline. They must cost a bomb, I was thinking, but to get to them the owners have to drive this same atrocious road. They must be furious.

And just then I was overtaken by a speeding, growling LandCruiser, a huge off-road vehicle spitting dust and stones and black exhaust at me as it nimbly crested the hill I was slowly and painfully working towards. I caught a glimpse of the driver, a little old lady in her 80s, I'd judge, talking on her mobile phone as she raced away. She didn't look furious.

Porto Ercole, on the other side of Ortobello, has not one, not two but three fortresses protecting its sheltered harbour.

There being no Tourist Information offices in the *entire* country, I can't tell you if the fortresses were successful in safeguarding this tiny port through its long history. But I think it's quite sweet that the fortresses themselves are now defended by nothing more than a rusty padlock, an iron fence that looks ready to keel over and die and a sign that shouts VIETATO L'ACCESSO. Does the trick, though -- I don't clamber over the fence to have a poke around.

So that's Porto San Stefano and Porto Ercole, and the bits in between. And soon Orbetello town is behind me too -- quiet, picturesque and an Internet Cafe that refused to open when advertised.. or for the half-hour afterwards that it took me to enjoy an icecream while I waited.

I'm trying to slow down, honest I am. Back on the mainland, I follow every deadend road round a little headland called Ansedonia. This is the kind of place where you can tell the houses are *seriously* big not because you can see them, but because you can't - the walls blocking the views are high and the fences between them higher. And the distance between front gates is.. huuuuge.

Occasionally I get half a glimpse back to Orbetello, which looks fantastic with the sun closing in on it as late afternoon drifts towards early evening. But generally, the people who own homes here have kept the view for themselves. I say 'who own homes here' rather than 'who live here' because I have no doubt the great majority are holiday homes for rich Romans.

Talking of the Romans.. I follow a sign to the top of this hill and find the remains of an old Roman town - Cosa. As most of the buildings up here have fallen down I *can* finally see back to Orbetello.. very cute.. as well as down the hill to the homes I've been riding past. Very cute, very spacious, very private.. and with their very own ancient ruins right behind them. Class.

I'm searching for a campsite now. Nothing.. then I miss a turning.. then I stop, look round and reject a grotty little place.. nothing.. still nothing.. spot a road sign and all of a sudden I realise I'm no more than an hour from Rome. Bloomin' nora! Either I stop here for the sake of it and have a teeny ride tomorrow to reach the place or.. I speed up, still avoiding the Autostrada (motorway).. and realise I'm riding through some of the dullest landscape since Belgium.

In other words, I don't think I missed much by scooting on to Rome. Or, rather, to Lido de Ostia.. which is where we came in. More, much more, on Rome in the next instalment.

Beside the Seaside

In Which I Get Ahead Of Myself

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