Will’s World: Fresh perspectives on a Roman holiday
© Richard Stanton It’s a miracle I brought them all back home with me.
First there was the policeman at the airport who checked our passports.
His tailored uniform was designed to show off his huge biceps and trim waist, lustrous hair, perfect suntan, gleaming white teeth, and mirrored aviator sunglasses, and I ushered the present Mrs Evans away as fast as I possibly could.
See also: So you want to… sell produce at a farmers market?
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Then there was the good-natured and devastatingly handsome young man who took us on a fun-filled boat trip along the Amalfi Coast.
He charmed our numerous daughters so much that they all became wide-eyed, blushing and mute for most of the journey.
Their collective haste to start learning Italian now we’re home is purely coincidental, I’m sure.
Roman road
Yes, we’ve been away for a few days in southern Italy – though I’ve only been home 48 hours and it already feels like the break was months ago.
Never easy getting away from a busy family farm, is it? Still, we’re very fortunate to have the old man and the old dear energetically holding the fort for us while we’re away and, as always, they’ve done a sterling job, God bless ’em.
The trip had been planned for a while, as we wanted to go to Pompeii.
Growing up being addicted to Rosemary Sutcliffe’s novels of Roman Britain, I’ve always had a deep fascination with the Roman Empire, and I’ve probably read more books on that subject than any other.
A few years ago, a man with a metal detector found a silver denarius on the farm from the time of the invasion. Holding it in my hand sent a shiver down my spine.
Finally, after all the eager anticipation, we were there, walking along the ancient main thoroughfare of the city, with deep cart tracks still scored into the surface after nearly 2,000 years, marvelling at the sheer scale of the place.
We saw the amazing mosaics, walked in the gigantic amphitheatre (of course I spread my arms and said, as all embarrassing dads should: “Are you not entertained?”), and tried to imagine what it looked like in all its splendour, before Vesuvius buried it and its tragic citizens beneath the lava and ash.
It’s one ticked off the bucket list, that’s for sure.
Local produce
Apart from the history, and the glorious weather, there’s one other obvious thing that people go to Italy for – the food.
In the small coastal town where we stayed there was a bustling street market, where I watched mesmerised as a seller with a display of beautiful fruit and vegetables talked animatedly to his huge number of local customers, painstakingly choosing the exact items they wanted before haggling long and hard on prices.
All through the town they had an obvious civic pride in their local produce, from fish freshly caught that day in the Bay of Naples (one night I had the best tuna I’ve ever eaten), through to beautiful mozzarella made on a farm just up the road, and an amazing range of pastry and coffee shops that we frequented every day.
It’s a good job there were so many steps to climb, or I’d have gained about two stone.
Fresh, local, seasonal food and drink, and the collective experience of coming together to eat a meal, seemed to be the essence of everything – and I couldn’t help but feel envious.
Unlike in the UK, there were no chicken nuggets, burgers, fries or ultra-processed foods to be seen anywhere – and happily, definitely not on the children’s menus at restaurants.
We have much to learn.