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From Bologna To The Eternal City
Our last post left us going through an unassuming unmarked doorway in amongst the restaurants of Bologna’s Quadrilatero district and entering a parlour full of evocative old photographs. Many show the famous faces of previous visitors to this strange little room: here Mohammad Ali’s autographed golden boxing glove, there Richard Nixon, then Tony Bennett, even a laughing Marilyn Monroe. This is Bologna’s oldest inn, the Osteria del Sole, where the wine has flowed since 1465 and been quaffed not only by the glitterati but also by the learned intellectuals from the university, students and professors alike. Yet the joy of “del Sole” is as much about its custom as its…
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The Journey Continues: Monastir-El Jem-Gabes
Strictly speaking, El Jem isn’t a desert town, but as we step off the louage from Monastir and squint through the haze, it bears all the hallmarks of one. We arrive in a dust storm – or maybe a sand storm – which makes the whole town shimmer in the heat and minarets and palm trees drift in and out of sight. Flags whip and crack in the stiff wind, the sun is clogged and filtered by the sand which is so concentrated that it’s a bit like looking into a fog. Our glasses and sunglasses are quickly covered in a film of dust, layers of sand particles have coated…
