Bologna

Once again into the arms of angels: Hannah met us and opened the gate into the large cool courtyard in the centre of Bologna where she lives with her gentle-eyed Sicilian boyfriend, Mirko.  

 
Once again, hot, sweaty and dusty after a day on the road, we could only properly speak after cold showers and a change of clothes. 

We all sat around the kitchen table, strategically positioned in a crossfire of cooling fans, sipping lemonade with mint leaves. We spoke about the heat that had descended on the whole of Europe, but particularly Bologna, which sits in a bowl-shaped dip between mountains. 

Hannah raised her large pale blue eyed to the sky. ‘I can’t deal with heat. People complain about English weather, but I think it’s pretty alright. Actually I like it a lot.’

Hannah has been in Bologna for almost a year studying Italian and theatre. She and Mirko, a student of Italian literature and sociology, met while at the university. They now live together with some friends in a charming apartment with heavy wooden doors and high ceilings in the centre of Bologna. 

We suggested that the time had come for Camparis, and so the four of us ventured out in search of a drink. 

The city that presented itself around us was one of many arched walkways under the buildings lined with bookshops, tabacchi and bars. We were led to a place where we could sit outside on upturned crates and sip a cool Campari, surrounded by other students discussing things and talking a lot with their hands. 

Our stay in Bologna was wonderful and a welcome pause in our so far rather speeded-up tour of Italy. 

 
That evening we were taken to try homemade pasta and a delicious meat ragù. We stayed for a long time talked about all kinds of things. After dinner our sweet hosts walked with us around the city on a night tour full of stories and secrets. 

 
The next day we were left to our own devices while the others studied and so we explored the insides of some of the churches and wrote some postcards and Dani had her first Aperol spritz…  

 
After a lunch of all kinds of treats: salami and Parma ham, ricotta, olives and a delicious salad, we crashed the graduation celebration of one of Mirko’s good friends. 

We had already been seeing many graduands in the streets of Bologna over the last couple of days. They were identifiable by the laurel wreaths they wore. The faces of these youths, framed by the rich green leaves of the the laurel, looked timeless and noble.  

 
Their friends crowded around them, laughed and drank and sang a song: 

‘Dottore, dottore

Dottore del buco del cul

Vaffancul, Vaffancul’

At the graduation party were lots of the graduate’s friends from the town in Sicily where both he and Mirko are from. Dani and I enjoyed walking in and seeing the group of them sitting together, identifiably different to the other Italians: shirts open, small gold chains, dark glasses… 

In fact, we seemed to spend most of our time in Bologna surrounded by Sicilians and Southern Italians. We left for the next leg of our journey with a long list of foods that we must, on no account, neglect to try once we reached Sicily.