DAY 167 - DEXENZANO DEL GARDA TO BESCIA: 21.4 MILES (41,800 STEPS)

6 October, 2011

21.4 miles (Total: 1672.7 miles) 41,800 steps (Total: 3,647, 001 steps)

I really didn’t feel like walking for a whole number of reasons, some physical and some emotional.  I climbed the long 17 mile hill out of Desenzano to connect with the SS11 towards Brescia, hoping to make through to find somewhere to stay on the north side ready for a good start the next day.

I dispensed with my usual prayer, ‘Give us this day our daily bed’, and instead asked for a sign to encourage my spirits. Amazingly about 10km along the SS11, there it was right in front of me “IKEA—Brescia—Tangenziale sud—14km”—my mouth started watering at the thought of tucking into a plate of Swedish meatballs, fries and cranberry jelly that evening. I imagined that there would be an IKEA and close to it, would be some Ibis style motel. I am an optimist, but it kept me going and I saw the kilometre markers clicking down until I was only 7km away and then the SS11 turned into duel carriageway and there was a large sign banning pedestrians.

So not only were the Swedish meatballs going up in smoke, but I had a 6km detour to connect with the b-road into Brescia. It was morale sapping—but then I arrived into Bresicia and clearly the fact that I had traded my usual prayer for an IKEA sign, was a decision which was to come to haunt me now as every B&B and hotel I visited was full. I walked on, and on and was told that I should try Novotel as they always held a few rooms in reserve for loyalty club members and if I was prepared to wait, then I might be okay. It was a stretch for the budget, but I wasn’t in the mood for a bus shelter so I went.

As expected, they announced they were full, but I said that I was prepared to wait to see if there were any cancellations or loyalty club members that didn’t appear. It was a very smart place and the idea of having an unshaven, smelly backpacker in their bar area did not appeal at all, a fact which they made quite clear—I decided to take the hint and move away from the busy areas so as to inflame their spirit of generosity in letting me wait for a room.

Having behaved myself outside for a while, I saw that the reception was quiet and so thought I might just pop back in to explain a little of my mission – a tactic which has worked well in the past. I got one of those looks as if to say—“you’ve been outside for over an hour and that’s the best you can come up with….” and the answer seemed to be firming up.

I saw that they had wi-fi, so I asked if I might at least have a password so as to look online to see if I could find any rooms—“to get a password you need a room—you don’t have a room so you can’t have a password.” Okay, but wi-fi access is like tap water, it is on tap and free to them, but could be a life saver for me. They stood firm—“that is company policy” which must go down as the dying words of every organisation. (I should stress that the reception staff were always courteous and pleasant even when patiently dishing out difficult news for the fourth time.)

It was after 9PM so running out of options I thought that perhaps if I got one of the support team to call to verify what I was doing and appeal to their better instincts or at least to their manager to show a little mercy. I have never done this before in over five months on the road, but I judged that this was a long shot which in this setting might just might work.

I called Xuelin, who has more nice tenacity than anyone else I know: she was onto it in a flash and before I could say anything I saw the phone flashing at reception, a detailed conversation and then another person being summoned to the phone. “Good old Xuelin”, I thought that should swing it, but then Xuelin called and said that they were not going to move so she had found a room on the web a bit out of the city that was half the price of Novotel, it had been paid for in full and a taxi was on its way and would bring me back to the Novotel the next morning to recommence the walk.

It was a great answer—I collapsed into the taxi and we drove for about twenty minutes, and as I drifted in and out of sleep I would imagine that the new hotel that I was going to, would be right next to IKEA and Thursday would be late night opening—sometimes being an optimist can be an occupational hazard.

That night I prayed to give thanks for being blessed with wonderful friends like Xuelin and my  support team and resolved that tomorrow I would go back to my more traditional prayer of ‘Give us this day our daily bed.’…. but if I could pass IKEA on my route out of the city at around lunchtime, then that would be a nice little bonus.

DAY 166 - VERONA TO DESENZANO DEL GARDA: 23 MILES (46,000 STEPS)

5 October, 2011

23 miles (Total: 1651.3 miles) 46,000 steps (Total: 3,605, 201 steps)

Lake Garda is the largest lake in Italy and they say that storms can whip up across the lake in minutes; so when you see clear blue skies you cannot be sure that you will have good weather. All seemed to be going well for the walk, encouraging news on the campaign, health issues managed etc. but during the day there were some swirling weather fronts which came down from the metaphorical mountains:

The first and most devastating, was the news was that a friend had discovered that a cancer which we had believed had stopped growing five years ago, had suddenly and brutally returned, and by the time it was discovered, the cancer was inoperable. I want to believe that this cancer can again recede and want to communicate that optimism and faith to my friends, but his message was so clear as to make that option totally inappropriate. Life is a desperate place without hope. I spent much of the day considering how best to respond and concluded that all I could muster was empathy to let them know that I share their devastation and bewilderment as to why such bad things can happen to such good people.

Next, and a long way behind, my rucksack straps had been really digging in more than usual on this stretch.  They are far too narrow for the size of bag and I have discomfort throughout the walk as a result, but just as I reached Castelnuovo, I felt shooting pains ping-ponging across the tops of my shoulders. The feeling was just like the leg cramps I had experienced in Croatia, but this time they had moved to the shoulders. I ripped the bag off and it dropped to the ground and I started doing vigorous butterfly movements with my arms. A car stopped and a kindly man, Josef (we were to meet again on the shores of Lake Garda), came across to talk to me and check I was okay.  The conversation helped take my mind off what had happened and I reached into the bag for paracetamol tablets and took two. I walked on, but gingerly anticipating the next spasm at any moment – although it twinged, it never came.

Given the general feel of the day, I was ready to drop by the time I reached Sirmione, which is a beautiful town on the edge of the lake and clearly a popular place with the well-healed. I tried three hotels and could find nothing under 100 euro—twice the top end of my daily budget.  So I had to walk on a further five miles to the outskirts of Desenzano before finding a place that was within my budget, but only then because the owner spoke good English, was interested in my story and receptive to my presentation of a crisp 50 euro note. I was very hungry, having not eaten since breakfast, and normally I decide where/if I can eat once I know how much my accommodation is. I went out looking for a supermarket, there was none, not even a cheap pizzeria.  The only place I could find was a Chinese restaurant, where I ordered spring rolls and Chicken and sweet corn soup and went through all the complimentary breadsticks on my table . . . and the table next to me.

I returned to my room and found a good connection to the internet. Things were looking up at last. I had developed a problem with accessing my flikr account in the morning and Michael Green had managed to get an email back with instructions as to how to change the password. This I did and uploaded the photos of the day and added in some descriptions and then noticed that I could only see the 20 or so photos that I had uploaded and not the 650 from the journey which were there before. The thought of losing the pics of the journey with accompanying descriptions, names and places seemed to sum up the stormy weather of the day. I wrote to Michael again in the sure knowledge that if anyone can find a way around this problem then he will.

I then pondered how insignificant those problems were to the news which my friends were having to come to terms with and I felt guilty and sad. I didn’t sleep well on account of shoulders and don’t feel much better this morning, in fact I am writing this because I don’t much fancy the idea of walking at all, but experience has told me that on days like these the last thing you need is your own company—so I will go out and join the traffic and head towards Brescia.

DAY 164 - TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA

3 October, 2011

San Bonifacio to Verona

15.5 miles (Total: 1628.3 miles) 31,000 steps (Total: 3,549, 201 steps)

I had been told how beautiful a city Verona was—the setting for two of Shakespeare’s plays. I hadn’t anticipated that before you arrive at the undoubted splendours of Piazzas’ Bra, Erbe and Dei Signori, there were some slightly less historic and salubrious suburbs to walk through. Passing by a florists shop (pic.) with a heart outside I can’t resist the temptation to take a corny picture of me as ‘Romeo’ for my ‘Juliet’.

It was then that I noticed three gentlemen looking closely at me, or more precisely my digital camera on the other side of the road. One stayed on the other side road looking both ways and two men approached me; one engaging me in conversation first in Italian and then switched to perfect English, whilst the other stood slightly to my side not saying anything but puffing occasionally on a cigarette. The first gentlemen asked where I was from, I said “England”, with a smile (privately I was thinking what an idiot I was to have got my expensive camera out in such a neighbourhood).  I then made my way to the doorway of a bar a few steps in front of me, thinking how I might be able to extract the SD card with my pictures on before it was taken – as I was fairly sure it would be. My options were limited—I couldn’t out run them, especially with a 30 pound backpack, and I wasn’t going to resist them, so I thought simply how can I make the situation slightly more awkward for them and slightly safer for me.  The answer came with an inspired second question from the gentlemen as I moved with them towards the bar door, “what are you doing here?”

This was my opportunity and I launched straight into my story of how I was walking from Olympia, Greece to London, England to promote the Olympic truce and then explained about the original purpose of the Games being to promote peace.  After I had finished, the speaking gentlemen simply said “wow, that’s amazing.”  I then heard myself offering to buy the two a drink—they asked for a ‘campari and soda” and something in my Tyneside upbringing made me think–campari and soda! they can’t be that hard!  I then ruined the macho moment by following up with “and I’ll have a Diet Coke”, recovering my poise I quickly added “but, no ice or straw”. We then had a fascinating talk for about twenty minutes about my walk and their lives here—they had been unemployed for three years—and their families and how they hoped one day to make it to London.

I then placed my empty glass firmly on the bar and said, “Well I have to find a place to stay in town so I have to go. It has been great meeting you.” I put out my hand and the speaking gentleman immediately shook it warmly, whilst the smoking gentleman, who had remained mostly silent, put out his fist and we touched fists before shaking hands. I almost asked them if we could have a picture together outside, but then I had a vision of my guardian angel muttering some really un-angelic expletive and putting in his transfer request.  I moved on.

As I walked on I reflected on the incident; not for the first time I reflected on Sun Tzu the master Chinese strategist’s maxim that we should ‘Keep our friends closer and our enemies even closer.’ How right this is and what is more, we might even find, as happened in this case, that people who may (and I stress may) have had some nefarious intent, can actually become friends, but only through positive and constructive engagement.

So often the approach in international relations works in the opposite direction—we exclude from the international community those whose actions we disapprove of, but without seeming to pause to realise that, say in the case of Iran, North Korea and Zimbabwe, this exactly what their leaders want.  Because as we all know, nothing galvanises the people, even under the most delusional of leaders, than the threat of external attack. These types of leaders all play a game on the international diplomatic stage and we seem to fall for it every time.

When people behave in an anti-social way, do we back off and divide cities into no-go areas ruled by despots and gated communities or do we not seek to actively engage through every possible channel neighbourhood groups, police, faith groups, education and business? So when it comes to   international anti-social behaviour, why do we take the opposite approach and create international no-go areas and then invest in more security to keep our gated communities safe? We have a train-wreck hurtling out of control down the canyon now in the shape of Pakistan, who are fast losing friends in the international community because of their involvement in various anti-social activity, but this is precisely the time to engage not to withdraw.

Some might say there is a moral hazard here: could the actions of engagement be misconstrued as condoning certain unacceptable behaviours? Could my buying a campari and soda for the Gentlemen of Verona be misinterpreted?   Possibly, but the objective was not to score a moral point, it was to get out of the situation – ideally with my camera. Perhaps the result was that in some ways their impressions of ‘my type’ were challenged because they realised that I had a dream, I cared for my family, I had a sense of humour and perhaps my impressions of “their type” were similarly challenged by realising the hardships they faced in realising their ambitions for them and for their families. In an unexpected way, the encounter brought us a little closer together and in that sense made this small corner of the world a tiny bit safer for others who may pass by along this way in the future. For that I am grateful for my encounter with the Two Gentlemen of Verona.