RELUCTANT BLOGGER 2 Bolzano

So here I am in Bolzano, in the Alto Adige region of Northern Italy, surrounded by The Dolomites. It's an interesting area with an equally interesting past, having passed from Austrian ownership to Italian and back again several times. Indeed many in the region have fought for complete Tirolean independence, a fight which continued with real and bloody consequences into the late 1980's.

The situation is quieter now though it is definitely still a place with a unique and strongly identifiable mix of cultures, with German and Italian both spoken and writ in a jumble around one.

 I can't pretend to understand or sum up the complicated situation in this part of Europe but to an outsider's eye it is in many ways representative of the best of what both Austria and Italy have to offer and the food reflects this.


The town is small and elegant with narrow streets bordered by tall buildings, many painted in typical Tyrolean style. It is not unlike York in that its narrow passageways and hidden courtyards have to be sought out and yield more with each exploration.

The main shopping area is famous for its colonnades and the town's small daily market winds round the Piazza Erbe with a statue of Neptune at its centre. It is bustling but relaxed and, unusually even for Austria and Italy these days, everything closes on Sunday. My apartment is right in the centre of town in the eaves of an old building which has a secret – a fantastic old wooden fascia hidden from view in the street.

Each morning the bells from the surrounding Cathedral, churches, and two Monasteries compete at 6am to tell me the time. It is just like the depiction Puccini painted in music of early morning in Rome in the opening to the last Act of Tosca but with the addition of the Cathedral bell which sounds again very persistently at 7am, just in case it failed to get you up at 6.

It is lovely to be back experiencing the Italian custom of passegiata – an early evening stroll around town which is as much about being seen as seeing. It happens year round and is quite unlike the way people 'take the air' anywhere else. Each night people slowly stroll arm in arm around the main streets, stopping for a glass of prosecco in a bar, to look in the chic shop windows, admire each other's dogs or have a brief friendly chat. All ages do this, and on a Sunday, best fur coats may be worn! I first came across this when I was in Mantova with the Swingles and it is the memory of the elegant Mantovans (or should that be Mantovanis?) strolling around the misty wintry streets and main square of the city which remains one of my strongest from Swingle trips.


I mentioned dogs – The Italians are very proud and particular about theirs and I have seen the most beautiful Golden Retriever dogs here. Beautiful golden animals holding their heads nobly and displaying impeccable behaviour as they enjoy the passegiata, seemingly with as much of a sense of occasion as their owners. They are my absolute favourite kind of dog, apart of course from my doggy 'niece' in London with the black and grey fuzzy-face.


The Italians really know how to live. Work in the morning (but not too early), a long relaxed lunch during which the shops shut for a couple of hours, then work again until the evening followed by a little socialising. It is the difference between working to live, which we do frantically in Britain, and work being an enjoyable but not exclusive part of living. I've grown accustomed very quickly to the long lunch and far from dampening the energy it seems to provide necessary space to think and come back to work afresh.

It's the life, I tell you!