HEADING SOUTH

We decided cycling was impractical with a whole arm in plaster, so left the bikes along with clothes and a sleeping bag at a campsite in Levanto and became lightweight backpackers. The idea was to head south where it would be warmer and so would need less gear. Loved Naples, struggled with the crowds at Pompeii and headed off to a quiet hostel inland from the fantastic Amalfi coast. Have done 3 days walking in the hills and so far have endured thick mist, rain, howling winds, hail and now snow. Now heading further south to Sicily...

FOOTBALL IN NAPLES

As our bus crossed a chaotic junction to enter a one way tunnel, still some way from the ground, I thought our chance of seeing the first half was slim. All the traffic of Naples seemed to be heading for the tunnel and the nominal 4 lanes was a haphazard mass of cars and scooters wedged together for as far as we could see. We had left the hostel in good time with its manager as our guide but had stood at a busy junction for ages, engrossed by traffic weaving at speed and the constant noise of horns and sirens.

Eventually a bus arrived and transported us into the tunnel vortex. We escaped by jumping off and catching a nearly empty train which took us direct to the stadium. Wendy shoved and I followed into the crowd by the turnstiles but such was our rush we only just avoided going in the section with the notorious hard core Napoli Ultras. We were in our seats at the top of the stand with 2 minutes to go but only after I had squeezed through the full height turnstile with another fan due to a ticket problem.

The feeling that this really is a crazy city was confirmed when the police helicopter, which had been swirling overhead, appeared above the roof behind one goal and flew the length of the pitch at a shockingly low height just before kick-off.

The San Paolo stadium has 2 tiers of seating which sweeps in an oval broken only by a net which descends from the roof to cage the 250 away fans, looks a little like a shabby Millennium. The 50,000 crowd created a fantastic atmosphere and delighted in jumping up and down Baggie style. They also displayed huge banners, critical of the way football is administered, in an impressively organised manner. They were single letter height but 10's of metres long, and were passed along a row of seats folded, to be unveiled in unison with other banners.

And the football - Napoli's young Argentine star, Lavezzi, got 2 goals in the first half and they contained forth placed Fiorentina in the second.

CAMPING WITH A PLASTERED ARM

Cinque Terre, NW Italy

Now that I have some strength in the fingers of my right hand, and I have trained my left, I have re-learned some simple tasks. Tying shoe laces, shaving, using the cooker signing my name and brushing my teeth. Although the up and down motion of teeth brushing with the other hand took a week for me to become around 50% efficient at. The one thing I have failed to do is wash my left armpit. My left arm will not bend back far enough to wash it completely and my rigid right arm misses by 6 inches. Luckily people have been very helpful, pizzas arrive pre-cut and shopping gets packed up for me. On the campsite a young German woman sympathised and asked if there was anything they could do to help. She seemed so keen to assist and although I didn't want to disappoint her, I managed to resist mentioning my arm pit cleansing problem.

The photo below is of my arm decorated by Wendy to give a complete overview of the Cinque Terre.

LEVANTO - SURFING IN THE MED

Just north of the 5 fishing villages tucked into steep coves on a dramatic coastline, known as the Cinque Terre, is the resort town of Levanto which sits on a lovely bay, has a great beach and a promenade to which most of the town seems to congregate in the late afternoon to eat ice cream.
What surprised us here was the presence of not only surf but also surf culture. I realise that storms in the Med. occasionally produce waves but didn't know that there were places that experienced swell regular enough to attract surfers from far and wide. We arrived at a sunny Levanto after a period of settled weather to find the front packed with surfers camper vans and tens of surfers enjoying the 5-6ft waves.

SNOWBOARDING - A RETURN TO THE SLOPES

Shortly after this shot was taken, the board slipped forward and shot off down the mountain. Luckily I quickly jumped off - those things are dangerous.

A SNOWBOARDING MISFORTUNE

Limone, Italy (Nr. Nice)

If 28km of blue flashing lights was unnecessary, then the wheelchair, at Cuneo hospital seemed a complete over-reaction. After all, having fallen awkwardly snowboarding, I had carried on skiing down the mountain, caught a bus back to the hotel and we were about to board a train to Cuneo before 2 other guests came rushing up the platform calling us back to our hotel. On arrival 3 paramedics rushed in and wrapped a huge padded orange splint around my arm which looked like it had a small insect bite on the wrist. There followed a fantastic Keystone Cops comedy moment, as the 3 of them tried frantically to inflate the splint. With one working furiously on the pump which first fell to bits and then kept coming disconnected from the splint, the others took it in turns to adjust the valve. The net effect of much effort was zero but I told them my wrist was much more comfortable and they were all pleased with their work.

And our skiing holiday had started so badly. The previous day (our first) we reached the ski school (via a long gondola lift and walk down a piste) to be told that the beginners' snowboarding school was at the bottom of the mountain. To reach it we had to go up a long steep drag lift and back down the gondola. For Wendy, who had not snowboarded before, this was a dramatic introduction to the sport. After a 2 minute lesson and a couple of falls from the lift she started walking back up to the gondola. I got on the lift, went less distance than Wendy, fell off and jarred my back. Luckily the carabineri had seen our antics, were keen to get us off their mountain, and picked us up on a skidoo and deposited us at the lift.

Mid-afternoon lying on a stone wall by the nursery slopes trying to rest my back and knowing that a) our ski pass did not cover these slopes, b) they did not take cash and c) the bank fraud squad had put a stop on our cards I was already getting a feeling that this ski trip may not have been a great idea. But Wendy sorted the bank, I took a load of painkillers, and under the instruction of first me then Carlo, Wendy was doing linked turns in 3 hours snowboarding - a fantastic achievement.

Higher up the mountain the next day snowboarding was more difficult due to the hard, packed month old snow. I felt I was progressing well on the steeper slopes and it was while dawdling along trying to avoid a child on a gentle run that I caught an edge, fell suddenly on my bum, jarring my wrist. I knew immediately that it was at least a bad strain and said out loud to myself, "for you, ze snowboarding iz over" (I'm reading a book about an escaped WW2 P.O.W.).

I had said to Wendy before getting to Limone that even if I broke my wrist I would carry on cycling, but my plans were stopped by the plaster which extends to my shoulder. Still the service at the excellent Cuneo hospital was good. The ambulance picked us up at 6 and we returned by taxi to the hotel after a 56km round trip, x-ray and plastering at 8.15 just in time to have a meal then watch Arsenal thrash AC Milan.

And to watch the first snowfall for a month leave a thick soft covering all over the mountains...

90 MINUTES UPHILL - NONSTOP

The climb out of the Tuxien valley was not the steepest we have done, or the longest, but considering our depleted state, doing it nonstop seemed some achievement.

The previous day the Puerto de Canto was 21 km uphill and 26 down again to complete the 1000m climb. Despite the drizzle the ride was comfortable enough and we then had a short stretch of main road before turning onto a minor road with a few hairpins and looking for a camp spot. We should have known, hairpins = no flat land and d'oh we forgot to fill up with water. Now late afternoon we looked up in astonishment as the road loomed far above us. On we went, reaching the top (around 700m up) after dark. A 96km day with 1700m climbed.

Off early the next day after a 1 banana breakfast we were dismayed to find the tarmac ran out and the track continued uphill. And this was not well graded woodland trails. Loose road builders' rubble shifted around under our tyres making steering tough work and progress jarring. After 20km of looping around a deep valley we emerged with weary relief back onto the tarmac. For the first time in Spain my body felt tired and my legs buckled when walking. We celebrated with a 'what's left in the panniers?' garlic rice risotto. I was saving the Kendal Mintcake surprise pasta for later.

And it was with relief that we started our final climb. For the length of a football match (without the break) or a movie we continued pedalling to the top. Although it was hairpins through wooded slopes the col kept appearing, at first a dismaying sight above us, then as we progressed and our bodies felt stronger, an encouraging one. The 90 minutes passed quickly as we climbed at a slow but steady rate. Although nearing the top I put on an extended burst of speed in a vain attempt to catch a grocery van which I assumed would stop at the cafe on the summit. Despite the lack of lunch it was with great satisfaction that we reached the top, although a cold wind meant that the moment had to be savoured later.

GENOA - A TALE OF 2 VISITS

I first visited Genoa in 2001 as part of the demonstrations protesting against the policies of the G8 who were meeting in the city. Of particular concern was the increasing exploitation of developing world labour markets, unfair trade policies, increasing barriers to the movement of people and the use of war to maintain the control of the world's resources. I was there with the knowledge that 1/2 the population of the world lives on less than 2 dollars a day and I wanted the world leaders to acknowledge this and start implementing changes, fast.

But we were not welcomed to the summit. In fact Berlusconi went out of his way to disrupt the plans of anyone with an alternative viewpoint visiting the city. Trains, planes and coaches were stopped while the people of Genoa were warned of an invading rabble which was about to descend on their city.

Although locked out of the old city by a ring of steel, the demonstrations, which took place over two days, were huge, vibrant, noisy and uplifting. But the visit was overshadowed by the death of Carlo Giuliani who was shot dead by a carabiniere and the savage beating of a number of demonstrators still in their sleeping bags by a group of carabinieri who invaded the media centre in the middle of the night.

My personal memories of the one night staying in the reception centre (a car park on the seafront) is of the almost constant presence of a low flying helicopter and, with the knowledge of the beatings that had taken place, vain attempts to find a safer place to sleep. It was not a pleasent experience.

Arriving on the ferry from Barcelona in sunshine on a flat sea, Genoa seemed a different place than the siren filled one of my memories. Cycling from the port I let out a shriek of triumph as I saw that the memory of Carlo lives as his name featured in some of the first grafitti I spotted.

The old city of Genoa is a fascinating collection of small twisting alleyways and streets opening up into squares featuring astonishing architecture. And the whole place is so vibrant. Unlike the quiet Spanish towns we visited, Genoa is full of a cosmopolitan mixture of people.