A Rough Guide to Brescia in Italy : Four Beggings and a Festival

A Rough Guide to Brescia :

Four Beggings and a Festival

When I was working in Italy in the summer of 2009 a couple of my colleagues went to visit Brescia one day and came back pretty impressed by the city and its architecture.

I must admit I was surprised as I'd been there twice when I was changing trains and wasn't too enamoured by it.

Fair enough that I was only hanging around the area outside the train station for an hour or so but it seemed a little rough to me with more than a few unsavoury looking characters around.

But give the place a second chance I felt and go see it properly. Brescia is called "the Lioness of Italy" named after ten days of popular uprising that took place in the city in the spring of 1849 against Austrian oppression. But obviously I was hoping it would be quiet today.

Sunday service

I got the bus from Colombare not far from the campsite where I was working on Lake Garda. To be more accurate I got the bus eventually after an excruciating wait because I'm not sure I figured out the timetable as I was standing around for about an hour and a half. It was a Sunday though so maybe no big surprise that the bus took ages to come. But come it did and after an hour and a half I was in Brescia.

On the way I noticed for the first time the large red traffic lights at their junctions, almost twice as large as the amber and green. It was as if to say "Yes! You will bloody stop!!" in an emphatic chromatic sort of fashion. After alighting from the bus I turned a corner and saw not one but two kebab shops. Great! You can hardly get a kebab shop around Lake Garda, in fact you can't get any at all. I bought one from a van in Bergamo once but here there were two on opposite sides of the road. A spicy eastern paradise in an Italian provincial town.

Pavement debate

I sat inside one of the shops eating my kebab which was delicious of course as even fast food in Italy is like a gourmet meal. While I was in there I noticed through the window that there was a commotion across the street. I leaned over to see past a man stood outside who had noticed the commotion too and was spoiling my view of said commotion. I then saw a thin guy pinned to the ground by a large assailant towering over him with fist clenched and elbow expended backwards ready to pummel his face like a jack-hammer.

It was a woman! His attacker was a huge African woman and the guys earthly existence was only preserved by the intervention of one of their friends who convinced the lady not to pulverise the little guy. Judging by the look on her face as she stormed across the road and around a corner out of sight she was not a woman to mess with. I think the man had a truly narrow escape. I finished my kebab and passing by the station a beggar with a massive bushy beard asked me for some money which I politely declined, but it wouldn't be the last request of the day.

I quickly noticed a large ethnic mix in Brescia. As well as many Africans there were Arabs, Chinese and Eastern Europeans too and subsequently many internet cafes as well. Presumably there's a connection there as Brescia is not really a tourist centre as such and in fact I'm told doesn't promote itself as one. Therefore it isn't as commercialised as many other towns in the area. The buildings, squares and streets are uniformly pleasant and colourful without being spectacular.

Rulers and rebels

The city benefited from being under the rule of the Venetian Republic from 1426 until 1796 evidenced by the splendid 'Piazza della Loggia' which was completed over a 100 year period. In 1797 Brescia rebelled against a declining Venice although it was under the rule of Napoleon in the early 1800's. Thereafter it was under Austrian rule until the Wars of Independence in the mid-19th century when it eventually became part of the newly united Italy in 1859.

Sites and sights to see

There is no equivalent to St Mark's Square in Brescia, no huge Roman amphiteatre or glorious Duomo such as Milan can boast.

However there are many cathedrals, churches, monasteries and museums to enjoy such as the 'Pinacoteca Civica Tosio-Martinengo' which houses many fine examples of Italian art and the 'Museo della Cittá' which charts the history of Brescia from the Bronze Age to the Renaissance.

I liked the town, it was interesting and attractive to look at and I felt especially at home because many people dressed more modestly than the fashionistas to which I had become accustomed in Peschiera and other places.

That was reflected in the cheaper prices of clothes in the few shops that were open. This being a Sunday the whole town seemed almost in shutdown as hardly any shops were open. It suited me fine as the streets were quiet.

The local were all relaxing in many in the small wooded parks, which were very shaded from the hot afternoon sun. I also noticed that there seemed to be drinking fountains everywhere, much more than I had seen elsewhere and another welcome respite from the heat. In fact there are actually 72 public fountains in total in the city.

No sale

Talking of which after an hour or so I sat in the shade of a building and drank from my cold bottle of water. No sooner had the bottle touched my lips when I heard;

"Hey! Troppo caldo!" meaning "too hot", which were words uttered by an African guy carrying a bag. "Here we go" I thought to myself, "Somebody trying to sell me something", or why else would a complete stranger approach me with a hearty greeting. It's a cynical world.

"Si, per mio" I replied and then he said something in Italian which I couldn't fathom out but included the word "elefante" which means..... well OK! you're way ahead of me there. This was some kind of itinerant African ornamental elephant salesman by the sounds of thing;
"No, grazie" I declined.

He then said something else in Italian which I couldn't understand except for the word "mangiare" accompanied by the international signage of putting the fingers to the mouth with an eating gesture, "Scusa! No soldi" I lied, meaning I had no money. He suddenly became less conversational and strolled away. But I don't think the poor guy would starve so I felt relaxed about it especially since I was not the rich moneybags tourist he thought I was since I was pretty well broke too. So my conscience was clear.

Cops at the castle

I made my way up to the castle enjoying the quiet of the streets and the picturesque old buildings of which there are many all over the city.

Up at the castle I was surprised by the number of Police that were present up there.

I saw two on motorbikes at the summit and further down I saw two cars on separate occasions and also a van. I don't know, maybe they enjoy the view from up there, perhaps coming up for a picnic on their lunch break or to hang out with the tourists.

It could be that Brescia is such a crime-free city that the Police have nothing better to do than hang around historic monuments all day. All of these were possibilities but me being me I reckoned the place was awash with thieves, muggers, pickpockets, wastrels and scoundrels galore so I kept a firm grasp of my belongings.

It was a great view up on the castle as I could see the beginning of the Italian Alps over to my right and the city stretched out below me. It was a worthwhile visit and apparently the castle, as well as the visible towers, ramparts, courtyards and drawbridges, has also underground passages and rooms. I didn't bother with the museum because of my financial situation and that big African elephant salesman may have turned up and spotted that I had some cash after all.

Back to the future

Heading back towards the centre of the town I passed a bridge which stretched over the railway to a futuristic looking business sector. I'm not normally a huge admirer of modern buildings but this looked fascinating, with office complexes straight out of a science-fiction movie. I took a few photographs and stood in a wide-open park area where some Sikh youngsters were playing at cricket. This was certainly a surreal moment. Turbans in the urban.

Time for a beer

Back in the centre I strolled along taking in the local sights and sounds such as the 'Studio Discipline Oriental' which promised some strange eastern intrigue but was actually only a hairdressers. I bought a couple of cans of Van Pur polish beer and since it's illegal to drink in the streets back home in Glasgow I was worried that it might not be allowed over here to drink out in the open.

I saw some guys enjoying a brew but still worried about Italian etiquette as perhaps it isn't considered proper to have a slug from a can in the streets. Therefore I found a quiet spot on a set of stairs away from the main road. Since the stairs stank of stale urine I instantly lost my concerns over Italian street manners. Certainly if they can create a splash over their public pathways then I could surely enjoy a quiet beer.

I had brought some bread and jam along and ate that along with two pigeons. No! I don't mean that I had a pigeon sandwich. I meant that I fed them bread and of course they began fighting over the same scraps despite the plentiful supplies I was throwing them. To enforce some kind of peace I threw some crusts to the right and to the left to try and keep the two of them apart and that seemed to work.

They had enough to worry about keeping their eyes open for passing car tyres without bickering among themselves. Segregation is the answer to this avian strife. Then I went searching for a pub since I had the taste of beer on my taste-buds and ironically enough the first pub I found that was opened was run by Indians.

Time for another beer

On the way I passed two Eastern European women who were sat on the pavement begging for money. Unfortunately for them just at the point I was passing another guy walked past in the other direction which I think caught them out and they weren't sure who to ask and they missed out. It's like two central defenders at football who can't decide which striker to mark as the latter are both switching to and fro across the park.

The Indian bar was called 'Pepe Sale' which I think means 'Pepper Salt' in Italian and seemed a strange name for a bar. It had great beer though, stronger tasting than many pub beers here and only €3 for a media. I relaxed with three or four watching the world go by before heading off to the bus station.

Spare a copper

I really need to pay more attention to timetables because back at Colombare that afternoon I was sure that the last bus back was 9.10pm.

However according to the notice in the bus station at Brescia the last bus had gone about 8pm. Oh well! No matter, I could still get a train from the nearby station to Desenzano then walk the four miles or so back to the campsite.

But when I went into the station all the ticket counters were closed and all of the machines were off apart from two over in a corner. But even one of them wasn't working so I was down to one.

The machine quoted €2.50 to Desenzano but the obstinate pile of reconstituted metal wouldn't accept my €10 euro note. It was then I noticed that the display said 'coins only' so I dug into my pocket. If you've been keeping count then you'll know that so far there have only been three beggings in this little tale so you may be asking what was the fourth.

Well what do you know my friends? On counting my change I realised I only had €2.40 so I had to ask for 10 cents from the guy behind me in the queue. Yes! I was reduced to pleading for money to get myself back on the train. The shame! The scandal! The ignomy! I sat down on the train and after a couple of minutes I realised I had forgot to get the 'convalida' stamp. I rushed off before the train left and got it done possibly saving myself a €50 fine in the process.

A festival of fun

When the train got into Desenzano I began the walk back along the main road. However when I was about halfway there I chanced upon a festival of all things in the little town of Rivoltella. An opportunity not be missed so I walked down the steep road to the lakeside. Down at the festival a glass of wine could be bought for €1 which was well within my price range. So I gladly ordered one of them and just walked around the hundreds of people milling around and who all seemed Italian with not a tourist in sight.

People of all ages were present. For the older generation there was polka dancing, with a female lead-singer and the bar was heaving with youngsters dancing until one of the bartenders bashed the living daylights out of a bell with a hammer. Last orders and time for the fireworks at 11pm. The Italians love their fireworks and this one was fantastic as usual since I had seen a few in my time over here. I enjoyed watching them as I walked back to the campsite.

Back on the site I went to the bar and got talking to two young Italian Rock fans who gave me recommendations for Italian metal bands that I could check out on the internet. I also talked with a young girl who I think was from Wales, although I can't remember exactly. After a couple of drinks we all went down to the beach, tried to convince a big Belgian lad to stop shouting and heard a faraway splash as one of the Italian lads jumped off the jetty fully-clothed into the lake.

It was certainly an unexpected and most interesting day with a curious ending, but then many are over there around Lake Garda. On other days I've witnessed the sight of fully-clothed, sentient human beings cycling up a ramp and launching themselves into the lake. Then I wonder how they get the bike back out?

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