ITALY
I have managed to find a peaceful haven away from the madness that is the capital of San Marino. As legend has it, in AD 301, Marinus, a stonecutter, fled the strictures of the Roman Emperor Diocletian and founded a community on Mount Titano to escape persecution.
the RAF bombed here!
In a whirl of activity before I left, I took a look at the parliament building where I seemed to be the only visitor as everyone else outside was grockle-hunting. There were mock-medieval influences in the Grand and General Council where laws are enacted, and two captains-regent, the heads of state, preside over its deliberations.. it's an arrangement that might please Gordon Brown if we could do it in the UK. I was overcome with apathy in the San Francisco museum which had items in which
I had read that visiting San Marino is to run the gauntlet of the worst tourist trap in the world to have its own seat at the UN, but forgive my failings- 35 years of built-up curiosity and bloody-mindedness could not stop me from coming, and whilst it is true to say that any invading army these days would be forced back down the slopes of
Inside were collected various original and reproduction implements of torture with some grotesquely graphic illustrations that demonstrated their uses. If there were a word which combines horror and orifice I would use it now. I had to be careful to find out which were genuine articles, which acted as a neat metaphor for San Marino itself, as I wandered around some of the faux battlements.
Still, a state is more than just a patch of earth with a flag on top of it, and if it is organised with the consent of its citizens then instruments of torture, whilst prevalent both in the history and in the present, are superfluous.
"Libertas" is written at the heart of the Sammarinese flag, and whilst it is easy to scoff at its appearance on the map of today's Europe, its rights and freedoms do serve as a beacon. Even if the beacon is so covered with terrible souvenirs, horrible dolls, plastic wind-up genitalia, gaudy jewellery, and oddly shaped bottles of doubtful-looking liquers that you can hardly see it....
The bobsleigh-like descent from the capital, mirroring the ear-popping ascent took me back to Rimini, where no sign announced "We hope you enjoy your visit to the European Union".As I had entered San Marino, a huge sign announced "Welcome to the Land of Ancient Liberty, and horrible souvenirs." No I made the last bit up. Sorry.
But there's the rub. Because of its autonomy, this molehill in the well-ordered lawn of the surrounding European Union prostitutes itself to the invading hordes of day-trippers who dawdle around the winding streets, which would look wonderful if they served the indigenous community rather than "us". I tried to rise above this in an admittedly conceited way by spending the night here at the basic, but perfectly satisfactory Bella Vista hotel just by the parliament. At least, I felt I would be pumping a little money into the economy, and the welcome I had in the evening at a local restaurant was warm and frindly after all the day-trippers had left. Oh yes- I'm a traveller, not a tourist. And I don't belive that for a second.
I visited the First tower of the three that now symbolically guard Mount Titano, and looked out at the encompassing land. Never did the old adage that the lands of a state were determined by how far cannonballs could be fired seem more appropriate. Poor visibility meant that advertised views to the Balkans were impossible, but Rimini, a former city-state itself which battled with San Marino in bygone times was hazily present.
Earler, I had taken the cable car down to Borgio Maggiore at the foot of Mount Titano and found a quiet, normal, unobtrusive place where