Fog

La Nebbia

Today was a really foggy day.

The fog here in the pianura veronese is legendary: the folks from around here talk about it with a furrowed brow and in hushed tones ("Of course it's not as bad as thirty years ago..." "We had to drive with our head hanging out of the window to hear the cars coming in the other direction..."); those from the city, when they hear where we are, say "Oh, you're living down in the fog...".

Well today Verona had fog too. It's unusual for it to stretch all the way up to the city but there it was, bathing the buildings in a murky, Dickensian light.

Verona's Piazza Bra, bathed in the nebbia at about 3pm

"You must be used to this, coming from London", they say.
Um... no. Since the clean air act, my city hasn't had another 'pea-souper' for muggers to hide in.

Driving out here in the countryside it's like a David Lynch movie: the road stretching ahead just a few metres before merging into the milky grey.

Midnight in Isola Della Scala last November.
Thick fog and heavy floodlights create a cinematic end to our night out  at the Festa Bollito e la Pearà

I quite enjoy driving in it - for now. Put it down to this being my honeymoon period with my new surroundings, but I love the sense of space but no space that thick fog brings.

It's not without it's perils. This afternoon someone had broken down on a long, fast stretch of road: Had I been travelling at my usual speed, I'd have had the tiniest moment to swerve to avoid him. My sister-in-law couldn't drop my nephew home last night: the lane that leads to his house has a deep ditch on either side and no road markings.

His dad had to come to collect him on foot: I must ask how he felt on the ten-minute walk back in the milky silence (and remember not to mention John Carpenter till he's a bit older).

"Carole-Ann!!"
(Actually, my nephew running ahead on the same night out)