There are all sorts of signs of the springing of spring at the moment. The fields are full of blossoming apple trees. There are the first green shoots sprouting on the vines. The mercury has been rising sharply. The snow line is slowly retreating back up the mountains, exposing the rock faces and pastures of the higher latitudes. The lower slopes, which are generally carpeted in woodland, are changing colour too: if, like me, you thought that all conifers kept their needles all year round then you would be wrong. The larch apparently loses its needles, as we discovered last autumn when the apparently evergreen forests were suddenly punctuated with a variety of brown and orange hues. Now, those same trees are coming back to life, the forest now a mottled blend of different shades of green, forests which just five weeks ago were wrapped in a monochrome blanket of snow.
Maybe the surest sign of spring, however, came today when the drinking fountains in the village were switched back on. These fountains, with their big stone troughs, were switched off at the end of September, presumably in anticipation of a harsh winter. Now, the water is flowing again, which is much appreciated by a thirsty hound on his daily outings. Drinking water is easy to come by in the summer months, with public fountains in every village and town centre. I get the impression that there is some sort of stigma against public fountains in the UK and maybe other countries but here they seem to be seen as a valuable service and they are well used – and not just by dogs!
The switching on of the fountains goes hand-in-hand with the emergence of the Trentini from their winter hiding places. Although there are plenty of people around in the ski resorts in winter and in the city centre, in general the streets seemed pretty quiet for much of the winter. In the towns, this is highlighted by the fact that almost all of the cafés took their chairs and tables inside for winter, unlike some Alpine areas where they provide blankets and heaters, in defiance of the seasons.
Now the clocks have changed, the nights have warmed up and the tables are back on the streets, as are the people. The last few Friday nights, we’ve been sat outside bars until the next day, albeit wearing coats. As more and more bars leave their doors open late into the evenings, the streets are filled with the noise of people enjoying themselves, a noise which, to English ears, is redolent of Mediterranean countries where people stay out late and drafts are called “cooling breezes”. Yet southern Italians visiting Trento would probably find the towns quiet and cold, both of temperature and welcome, seeing it as having more in common with Austria and Germany to the north. It is an interesting cultural and geographical border to straddle.
Yesterday, after a bike ride along the glorious Wine Road (it really is beautiful, with blue-tinged mountains above verdant valleys coated with row upon row of impossibly neat vines, creeping up their wooden frames), I took a drive up Bondone to find somewhere to exercise the dog. For virtually all the time we have been here, the various fields and clearings between here and the ski slopes have been like private gardens, with barely a soul around. That was definitely not the case yesterday, with cars lining the road side in places and the fields full of picnicking families, groups of friends taking advantage of the barbecue pits provided by the local council and, perhaps most surprisingly of all, plenty of people sunbathing. Given it was about 20*C with bright sunshine, it should come as no surprise that the bikinis had been retrieved from the back of the wardrobes and tans were being worked on. However, this is Italy and most of the time people are still walking around in down jackets, so it was a bit of a to see them behaving like the British and stripping off as soon as the sun came out.
As the snow melts, we are hoping to be able to get out for more hikes in the higher mountains, taking the opportunity to explore more of our playground. The lakes are warming up as well: Sally has been wild swimming on each of the last four Saturdays. For her latest dip, the temperature was warm enough for her to stay in for half an hour, though she still attracted plenty of incredulous glances from astonished locals. The swimming season for most sane people starts around June when the lakes are warm enough to be able to dive in without first wrestling your way into a wetsuit.
Much though I love winter (have I ever mentioned that?), a change of season is always welcome and it takes a heavy heart not to be cheered up by the arrival of spring. The only question that remains is this? Having just opened a new bottle of factor 50, how many litres of sun cream will I get through in the next 6 months?
George's Diary 