Days 61+62: Cesenatico out of season
One of the two gas bottles has been empty since the drive here. Shortly after eleven we set off from the exhibition grounds towards Borello to have it filled. We have tracked down Luca Marras of Bombole Gas there. On the phone he sounds very friendly and helpful, but he is just on his way off on holiday — so we are received by his father. The filling turns into almost an hour: a well-filled glass of wine for us, juice for the children and a good conversation. Being able to watch a bottle being filled by hand is the most instructive part of it.
Into town by bike
In Cesenatico we find a pitch from which the town is easy to reach by bike. Without our bicycles and the trailer it would be a long walk. I take the bikes down so often that I have got used to lifting them off the rack on my own by now — at the beginning of the journey I was still glad of a hand. The promenade and the whole town feel almost a little deserted out of season. On the other hand it is also very relaxed.
The old harbour of Cesenatico is a canal that leads right into the town, with many historic sailing boats moored along it. Coloured houses to the right and left, the lamps in between. In the evening light especially this place is beautiful and very picturesque.
The park next door
Right next to the pitch there is a park and that is where we spend the next day: walking, doing some sport, the children riding the gravel path on a bike and a balance bike. Turtles are basking by a lake. We come across them by chance and show them to the children. Under a fine old tree the two of them collect autumn leaves and acorns for craft projects.
A frittura and a birthday cake
In the centre there is a small bookshop with little chairs and tables outside the door where the children can draw. Inside we find a book about trains and take it along for Valentino. Along the old harbour several places offer frittura to take away. We share one with calamari and prawns and it is one of the best we have ever eaten.
On the way back I turn off the promenade one street early, because I had seen a sort of pizzeria there and was curious. It is not one, it is an event venue, and in front of it a southern Italian family is loading up their car: their little daughter’s birthday party has just finished. Before I can even turn round to head for the camper, the father, who has celebrated pretty thoroughly himself, speaks to me and welcomes me with open arms like an old friend. He offers us all sorts of leftovers — crackers, drinks, birthday cake, tramezzini. He would probably have given us everything if we had not stopped him at some point. The children sit in the trailer and can hardly believe that out of the blue there is pudding after all. Maddi had not turned off with me and only joins us a little later; at first she thinks I have had an accident with the family — all the greater the surprise when she discovers the whole haul. None of us will forget this warm encounter and it is a wonderful end to our visit to Cesenatico.
