My day kicked-off at 6:00 a.m this morning as I made my way out of Fiorenzuola d’Arda with a brief cafe stop for a macchiato (changing it up today just for fun) and a pistachio brioche (always my choice if the cafe has them; they’re the first to go as I’m not alone in my fondness of them. Crema brioche is my backup). I make my way out of town via winding asphalt roads, through fields of corn, tomatoes and alfalfa.

First stop today is at the amazing Abbey of Chiaravalle della Colomba. I’m taken by the place as you can tell by the number of photos below (I didn’t post them all). The guidebook I’m following mentioned that it was worth a stop and I concur. I slipped into the place just before 8:00 a.m. and had the entire place to myself (crazy!). I spent a bit of time there just marveling at the beauty and age and history of the place (founded in 1136 and still functioning today).

On the road again (I now think of Andrea every time I say this or utter that phrase and recall our singing along with Willie…)

So, today this obnoxious American [that’s me] ignored the detour signs 20 minutes ago and now I’m forced to pay the piper as I approach the bridge work below (picture is from the other side following my detour). I made a decision at the sketchy [in my mind anyway, I’m a born skeptic.] plastic detour sign earlier to ignore the sign and follow my GPS of the trail (thinking at the time: the hell with that, I’d rather be stopped near this green GPS line on my map than led into the Netherlands by the Italian bureaucracy – I’ve seen them in action – nice, but not impressive or reliable).

As I begin to approach the completely torn out bridge being worked on by two guys, I don’t even approach them. Instead, I humiliate myself and simply step off the road and into the field next to the road. All the while, I’m hearing the insulting slurs [they actually get pretty loud … I ignore them.] about my being an idiot from the two guys working on the bridge [probably best that my Italian is still very pedestrian]. It costs me a trip around the waterway via a field of recently cut [thankfully] hay and by an [almost] petting zoo of goats, geese and turkey.

Perfect morning break spot with very good cappuccino, aqua frizzante and biscotti just after the detour mishap. Proprietor is very hospitable and entertains my poor Italian as I practice on her.

Arrive at my destination at 12:40 and enjoy a delicious lunch of eggplant lasagna. That isn’t what it’s called here and I don’t really know what it’s called here as a nice Italian family from Sicily living in London orders for me (I later run into the dad at the supermarket – old friends at that point). They’re sitting at the table behind me and decide to jump to my rescue when the restaurant owner and I are struggling with the lunch specials. I don’t have the heart to tell him to step aside so I can get my camera on the sandwich board he’s standing next to with the lunch specials on it (I admit to that you, my millions of subscribers, I use the Google translation app to translate menus. Just hold the app in front of the menu … and, viola … the camera shows me English. A trick my friend Gord from Vancouver showed me. Almost as good as the x-ray vision.).