TRAVEL FEATURE - ITALY
JEREMY TORR
GO AWAY , WE ' RE ITALIAN
The man in the little sentry box probably wasn ’ t a Fascist . Admittedly , he was short , like Mussolini , and had a fancy uniform . Admittedly , he was Italian . And he was obviously one for rules , and possibly harboured a secret revulsion for foreigners too . But whatever his political affiliation , he wasn ’ t on my side .
He looked at me , struggling to make my position understood , and was adamant . No , I couldn ’ t go in , no I couldn ’ t leave a message , and no there was nobody there to talk to even if they had wanted to see me , which he intimated was highly unlikely .
I was outside the Aprilia motorcycle factory in Noale , a medieval town on the outskirts of Venice in northern Italy . I had arrived there in early July , with the intention of asking for a look round the factory where my bike was built . I ’ d done some online research and discovered they ran factory tours on request . Unfortunately for me , in July , the entire working population of Italy ( apart from Benito in the guardhouse ) had already packed the Punto , slapped on the sunscreen , and buggered off to the beach , the mountains , or momma and poppa ’ s place in Calabria . Everything , but everything , was closed , shuttered and echoingly empty .
I had rocked up at the factory with hope in my heart and a warm feeling of belonging ; this was the place where my Aprilia Tuono had taken shape from a collection of bolts , screws , and castings a few years earlier . I wanted to show it where it first came into being , a sort of motorcycle maternity nostalgia trip . But not , it seemed , in July .
When I arrived all I saw was a small sign taped to the reception doors .
“ Go away , we are Italian and all on holiday ,” I think it said .
TRAVERSE 47