Bumbling around Bologna

From Nuremberg I decided to head south, to Italy. I had a plane to catch in a few days’ time and wanted a leisurely trip rather than last-minute hopping across countries. I’d been told Bologna was nice, and so to Bologna I went!

I booked a hostel for a fairly reasonable price, and then realised I’d kind of messed up because there wasn’t a bus to Bologna within the check-in times and the trains were far too expensive. Usually I do check, but I’d become a bit blasé about these things and just kind of assumed there would be one. So I had to cut my stay in Nuremberg short by a night, and take a night bus. I would miss Nuremberg, but by this time my dorm room had acquired a couple of snorers so after a couple of bad nights sleep I wasn’t too unhappy to leave a bit early.

For once I had two seats all to myself on the bus so I could find perform some fairly convoluted sleeping acrobatics. I did manage to get some sensible sleep although we were woken up for the border crossing checkpoints on entering Switzerland and Italy, and this showed the contrasting styles of the Swiss and Italian border control people. While the Swiss took everyone’s passport (I was a little alarmed at this) and went away and did something with them (probably laugh at the photos), the Italians took the barest glance of mine and I was through with a muttered “va bene”.

I couldn’t get back to sleep after that but that was OK partly because I’d discovered in my sleep acrobatics I’d done something to my shoulder and it now ached intensely, but mostly because we were in the Alps.

I’d never been in the Alps; I’d seen them from a plane but not from ground level. It was great, and I especially liked the small communities dotted around. If you travel around Europe for any length of time you’ll see a lot of signs for IKEA and Burger King on giant poles (because I mean if you miss a Burger King who knows when you’ll see the next one), but these didn’t seem to have any of that, just a collection of little houses and farms. I couldn’t see any shops. It looked great to me.

It was a massive contrast to Milan’s bus station, where I had to change for Bologna. Bus stations are never exactly nice but this one was just awful. There were mattresses in front of it where homeless people were sleeping, the air was that thick with exhaust fumes my lungs went on strike and there was litter everywhere. This wasn’t really what I’d had in mind when I decided to go to Italy.

On top of all that the bus driver who was to take me to Bologna didn’t seem to want to take me. The sign on the front of the bus was for Pescara, but had a couple of other stops listed before that and one of those was mine, Bologna. The bus number was correct too, but I like to check these things before I accidentally get on a prison bus or something.

So I asked him, “Bologna?” and he replied “No, Pescara”. He obviously spoke no English and my Italian’s not up to the job of explaining that yes, I know you’re going to Pescara but I think you’re also going to Bologna and that’s where I’d like to go please. From then on he just ignored me and my attempts to show him my ticket. I could see myself being in the unenviable position of being at the right bus at the right time with the right ticket but not being allowed to get on. Fortunately I found a person who helped me.

Being driven around in Italy is a bit of a harrowing experience. It’s all horns, shouting, complete indifference to traffic lights, pedestrians and other road users. I know it’s a cliche about Italian roads and drivers but it’s true. While I was there a bus crashed into a car in a reasonably big way right in front of a police car and all three carried on about their days as if it were a completely normal experience. I was probably more bothered about it than any of the drivers or police. This sort of madness would not fly in Germany.

Anyway, my hostel. I’d been quite excited about this one — free breakfast and privacy curtains on the bunks! Such a small thing but it seemed wondrous to finally get a bit of privacy where I wouldn’t be able to see anyone else sleeping.

It was a bit strange. Every other hostel I’ve been to has been in its own, dedicated, building but this one was apparently on one part of one floor of an admittedly large one. I managed to walk past it several times in spite of my phone telling me I’d arrived. No-one answered when I pressed the buzzer which was a little troubling. I didn’t like the way this was going at all.

For wont of something better to do I ambled around the block, thinking maybe I’d got the wrong idea and I was trying to go into an office that was separate from the hostel or something, but on completion of my first lap there was a guy just entering the building who told me to go up to the first floor and press another bell, and eventually I got in.

It was nice enough, but it was pretty obviously a converted apartment or something because it was quite small. It also felt strangely like I’d joined a cult — everyone was suspiciously happy, the hostel icons were everywhere and because it was so small everyone ate at the same long table. It was a bit unnerving. I’m all for encouraging being social but it felt it was a step too far, if you weren’t in your bunk or the bathroom you were in close proximity to quite a few other people.

My “this is a cult” theory took a further step when I was playing cards with a couple of girls in the living room. They were really nice, smiley ladies but when one of them went off to make a cup of tea the remaining one shot a look that was a mix of fear, loathing and anger at the guy who runs the hostel. I’ve never seen a persons expression change so drastically.

“I don’t trust anything that guy says”, she confided, in a quiet voice.

I asked, wide-eyed, why not — this was clearly going to be interesting — but then the other girl came back with tea and I was never to know. I never saw her again. On reflection though I am glad that I refused the tea she offered. I could still be there to this day.

(For the record, the free breakfast wasn’t very much, just a small plate of cold meat, cheese and bread between all of us that I could have eaten all by myself, and the privacy curtains didn’t extend to either end so I could still see people. I slept horribly here every night and left with a massive headache that would take a couple of days to completely clear. Oh well!)

Bologna itself is a place of contrast. The areas around via Capo di Lucca are really beautiful, pastel coloured buildings with trees and wildlife growing, but then round the corner there’ll be some hideous concrete building that just seems so soulless by comparison. I love the Italian people for their passion and their ability to produce beautiful things, but I think because there’s so much beauty surrounding them it gets taken for granted and it sometimes appears they don’t give much of a shit. There’s loads of litter, and things seem really badly planned. So often there’s a nice, historic monument or building that rather than being set in a nice plaza has a busy road running right next to it and it just kind of spoils it.

There were no museums that really resonated with me so I spent most of my time turning into an old person, pottering around the streets looking at everything (I particularly enjoyed the Scala della Montagnola) and planning where my next meal was going to come from.

There are loads of good places to eat in Bologna, and cheaply too (though I’m quite sure you can spend a fortune if you’ve a mind to). I ate well every day here, but my favourite by far was La Prosciutteria Bologna, which did these brilliant meat and cheese boards in €5, €10 or €15 variants. It was delicious, I had the €10 one and there was still more than I could eat, and the staff were really great too, even after my faux pas of not having cash on me and their not taking card payments. Finding a cash machine in Europe is generally not as easy as in the UK and my maps app helpfully told me the nearest one was 50 miles away. After a slightly panicked few minutes I managed to find an open bank with one, so the restaurant got paid which I’m sure they were pleased about.

Coffee shops are pretty good too. After sleeping poorly for a few nights I was in need of coffee more than usual, and it was always excellent. I particularly enjoyed Fabrik, where the nice waitress seemed happy I brought my cup back to the counter and there’s nothing cooler than being able to answer a grateful “grazie” with an indifferent-but-I-think-I’m-so-cool-on-the-inside “prego, prego”.

I don’t really have a firm conclusion about Bologna. I liked the food and how easy it is to get good, cheap food (there’s none of the “with or without intestine” you find so often in Germany) but some of it felt a bit run down and neglected. Undoubtedly a lot of this apathy was due to lack of sleep and I wasn’t there all that long. I’m sure if I were there for another few days I would have found much more to love. Written on November 27th, 2017 by David Seddon