The campsite last night was actually lovely. Across from my spot was a very pretty girl who kept smiling at me, and at dark as I was sitting outside my tent reading in the streetlight she invited me over to her families campervan. I met about 10 people, but I only remember her name, Elena. We muddled through between my Italian and someone else’s English. But then Elena’s interest in me faded when some guy who actually spoke Italian turned up. Never mind.

Passing through Termoli today I found an Internet cafe full of obnoxious Brits. One guy was saying “I’m trying to run a f***ing business here and this internet cafe wants a f***ing document, I keep trying to tell them we don’t have or want f***ing identity cards in England”. I kept a low profile, but thought if he’s trying to run a business, why is he using internet cafes, and it is recent Italian terrorism law that they need an official document. Also, why can’t he use his passport. I usually hand over my Florida ID card. It expired 2 years ago but they don’t know that, and there are fewer organisational repercusions if it gets nicked or copied.

Scenery is changing also, the norm is now parched grass and olive groves, and cactus has become a legitimate plant for making hedge rows from. But who designed these Italian roads? I didn’t care about a shower tonight, ad at 90km I started seeing wonderful camping spots. All of them innaccessible behind a crash barrier and over a metre wide, metre deep drainage ditch full of thorny plants, broken bottles, and rusting tin cans. Anyway, finally reached run down campsite with depressing lack of hot smiling girls called Elena.