Night train to Bari

This Modena hostel is the tidiest Italian hostel that I have stayed in so far. But there is one drawback: there is no refectory and hence no breakfast. I left my backpack with the hostel to collect on my way out. While at the counter I overheard an English-speaking hosteler ask about tours of the Ferrari plant. I thought about it for a few moments then decided that I wasn't that interested in fast cars, beautiful to look at as they may be. It amuses me to think that every time that I am passed by a testosterone-fueled driver in a Ferrari, he is putting pasta on a Modenese table.

The plan for today is to enjoy a few more hours in Modena, and in the late afternoon, catch the train to Bologna where I will have dinner, and check my email, until the night sleeper to Bari departs around midnight.

After having an alfresco breakfast of fruit nectar, muesli, cheese and strawberries, I explored the markets, open this Monday. I like looking at produce, smallgoods and baked goods.

At a cafe I had a snack of a fluffy pastry called orfella (if I read my handwriting correctly). I can't find any reference to this, so maybe I have misspelled it or it was a local appellation. Maybe someone in Modena might read this and enlighten me?

I like colourful flowers too.

Balsamic vinegar is about as expensive as wine.

There are many cyclists in the city and car traffic is discouraged in the centre. All in all, Modena seems a fairly decent city to live in.

I arrived in Bologna around 1700 and put my backpack in storage for a few hours. While walking around the centre, I bumped into Lorena and Nicolo, out shopping. I told them where I had been and where I was going. They wished me a good trip.

The station got seedier as the hour got later. However the platforms were crowded with passengers waiting for trains so there wasn't any danger at all. The train was a little late as expected, but no matter, we had all night to trundle down the east coast to the port city of Bari, in Apuglia, in the heel of Italy. I would be bypassing the less visited regions of Le Marche, Abruzzo and Molise. A pity, maybe some other trip.

Modena

Modena (stress on the first syllable) is famous for several things: balsamic vinegar, Ferrari, Maserati, and Pavarotti. (Note from the future: At the time I visited Modena, Pavarotti had only a few months more to live, though I didn't know it then of course.) Of course, he was too busy to see me, so I went to an exhibition of beautiful cars in the central square. That colour is known as Modena Yellow, by the way.

Motorbikes were also represented.

But in the story I first have to arrive. The old lady in the Reggio hostel told me that the Modena hostel was near the station and not to worry. She encouraged me to eat more yoghurt, that she had made herself.

Modena is between Bologna and Reggio, so I am heading back east. I found a city map on a council sign and with that, located the hostel. They let me leave my backpack in storage so that I could explore the city. I found a delectable pizza restaurant and treated myself to a campagnole (prosciutto, mushrooms, sausage and onion) pizza, washed down with a German beer and a macchiato. It's not cool to order cappuccino after morning so I've taken to asking for macchiato. However there's so little milk that I could really just ask for an espresso. Mmm, my tummy greatly enjoyed that lunch.

A nearby gelateria supplied dessert, a cone with melon and frutti dimenticati (forgotten fruits). First time I had heard of the latter. I am guessing that they are fruits that are out of favour commercially but are being revived. The gelato vendor explained which scoop was which because they had similar colours.

Ah, this is the gourmand life. I'm digesting the food while sitting under shade in a piazza with a cool breeze passing through. Italy's like that, there are moments of frustration and moments of bliss.

There is a produce fair in another square, with stalls representing the regions of Italy. Such an abundance of different specialties. These Sorrento lemons were huge. At the Sicilian stall I cannot resist buying the last cannolo pastry.

Of course there is balsamic vinegar in the shop windows. It's not a vinegar in the usual sense but made by reduction of cooked grape juice, hence the high price.

This street performer is playing a dulcimer. He explained to the audience afterwards how ancient an instrument it was.

Later that evening, I came back for dinner and to see the city by night. It is evidently an affluent city.