We had a quiet day on the campsite. We are the only people here, apart from the family who run it. We spoke to the owner about how his business works. Most of the site is taken up with caravans which have had wooden structures built around them, in some cases wholly enshrouding the caravan (I expect there are property tax advantages in Italy building a cabin this way). The owners rent the plots on the basis that they will have access all year round. As he needs to be there all year, it is no hardship for them to remain open for passing campervans like Amarillo.
We ate in the restaurant last night, the owner’s wife being the chef and waitress. Ben and Jack shared a portion of spaghetti bolognese and Clare and I had roasted pork with chips. The spaghetti appeared greasy with a little bolognese tossed in, but tasted delicious – the spaghetti cooked perfectly, with just a subtle bite to it. The roast pork was a chop. The chips tasted just as my mum’s chips tasted on the rare occasions that she cooked them.
Towards the end of our meal the family came in and ate together in the restaurant dining room. Mum, dad and their four boys looking a remarkably similar age, late teens to early twenties. Starting with dad, they each helped themselves to spaghetti from a large dish heated from below with a candle. There were no mobile phones at the table and the boys cleared away afterwards. I had the sense of a strong family bond.
So far the bread we’ve eaten in Italy has been horrible, only slightly better (and much less sweet) than Chinese bread, but no salt.