Sunday 26th August
In order to rest we feel we should visit a small, Lakeside town, wander down ancient cobbled street, drink coffee (Mr P only. Mrs P always pulls faces) and generally watch the world go by. If you are ever in these parts I cannot recommend highly enough the village of Cannobio for allowing us to tick all of these boxes.
Not only did it tick those boxes but there is a Sunday market running the whole length of the waterfront too. Result! That’s about a kilometre of market stalls. Admittedly each stall was predominantly selling exactly the same stuff as all the other stalls but, there were some gems hidden amongst them. A stall selling serious road cycling clothes for example. Mr P is on it like a shot. It’s a market stall right? It’ll be cheap right? Is it buggery.
Disappointed by this minor setback we find a coffee shop directly opposite this little gem of a market stall and watch the rest of the punters being put off by the prices too. This makes me feel only slightly better. The coffee however is great and, those who know me best will appreciate as much as I did the sugar sachets on offer.
As you know by now the Italian for more is “more” said in English while waving the available, but now empty sugar sachet at waitress. You could say I am a linguist.
Now, I can only sit still for about 1/2 an hour before I am ready to move on and this is about how long Mrs P and I idled. Performing the usual speculation on who is English and why; pasty white; overweight; black socks and sandals; serous sunburn; tattoos of all children’s names in Sanskrit across forehead. No. Wait! Every person, male and female, under the age of about 35 has a tattoo, often multiple tattoos, regardless of nationality.
Now, I have a opinion which, I will share with you. Feel free to disagree. I will ignore you. For you are wrong.
RANT ALERT: Tattoos can be beautiful works of art (you weren’t expecting that were you?) but, the human body is a beautiful thing, assuming it has not been introduced to too many pies. It needs no permanent, adornment.
My argument is this: Did you ever see a really cool t-shirt and think, ‘I like that. I shall buy it.’ I’m sure you did. Did you then think; ‘I know, I shall wear it every day for the rest of my life for I shall never see a better one. I shall wear it at all times. In the bath, in the street, whilst swimming. I shall never be naked again.” Or, perhaps you thought; ‘I really like the idea of having words that mean little out of context stuck to the back of my legs. Forever.’ If you really do think this then tattoos are for you. If you truly believe that your own tastes will not change in the next 2 decades and more then fill your boots. If not I would suggest you have no imagination and that you are simply following a trend. I advise you to look up the word trend. – RANT ENDS.
Back to the market which was organised in sections. Footwear, clothes, bags and jewellery and, my favourite section; food. Not because we bought any, we are but poor pilgrims, but because of the smell, the colours, the textures, the fantastic displays of local, fresh produce, the flies!
Since any item bought by team P would’ve been destined for culinary disaster I took only photos.
We eventually tired of the market. There are after all only so many stalls selling T-shirts you can look at. We went for an ice cream. We looked in at a ridiculously ornate church and, by the time we went back to the lake side, the whole market had gone. 1km of stalls, vanished. Leaving nothing but small piles of litter. We even looked over the edge of the quay to see if they were all hiding but no. Very definitely the fastest packers ever. All gone.