Shortly after our break in Devon, I travelled alone to Italy to watch the Emilia Romagna Grand Prix at Imola, the last time (maybe temporarily) that the famous race will take place there. It was an easy train journey from Venice so I decided to stay there for the four nights.
A month beforehand, I was alarmed to hear that my reservation in a simple hotel overlooking the Grand Canal near the Piazzale Roma bus station had been cancelled and a later explanation came citing essential maintenance. This was quite a disappointment as there was nothing else remotely similar in price and staying anywhere near the Grand Canal so I ended up in Mestre at a place called the Club Hotel which was absolutely fine and very friendly but, well, I would have preferred to be overlooking the Grand Canal.

I would also have preferred to have received my money back from the original hotel. They had every right in the booking conditions to take an immediate payment and did, the full amount. Fair enough but they weren't quite as assiduous in returning it. They neither answered any e-mails and it required my bank to return the payment albeit with the caveat that they could ask for it back hanging over me like the sword of Damocles. I did have a look at the place when I arrived and anyone hoping to stay there had to check in at a nearby hotel but the whole saga was a disappointment, shall I say. Fortunately, my bank sorted the issue out and the temporary refund became a permanent one so I was grateful to them.
I had flown with Ryanair from Bristol to Venice and everything was fine. Even to the extent of buying the Airport bus and local tickets in some Italian learnt parrot fashion on arrival. I must have done so well that the seller thought that I was Italian but quickly discovered that I very much wasn't when I couldn't respond to his first question...
I never really coped with these tickets given as a pre-paid card. Usually, it was rejected and the driver had to help me out; sometimes it was accepted and other times a different noise (i.e. a rejection) was heard but, anyway, I had the correct number of journeys for the price I paid. As far as I could tell, most people just came on board and sat down without going near the ticket validating machine.

My first full day was spent in Venice. I may have been about three or four times but the most memorable time was in the mid-1990s when all I had to do was hop off a bus at Piazzale Roma, walk past the Santa Lucia Railway Station, look left at a bridge and there was the hotel which my parents were staying in. It didn't turn out that way, of course. I knew that my eyesight was dodgy but couldn't bear being checked out and so struggled on and this Venetian moment was a watershed and a family moment not forgotten especially as my mother had seen me loping towards said hotel before going off in a different direction. An hour later, having inevitably become completely lost and disorientated, had an expensive journey on a vaporetto and found myself back on the same bridge, I saw Mother (who hadn't, at that stage, seen me). Having not realised that she had seen me over an hour before, let's say I wondered why her greeting wasn't altogether warm... The truth was that I couldn't see the name of the hotel. I later took a deep breath, visited Specsavers and was soon asked by a female colleague why I had no idea of how to choose a suitable pair of glasses.
Anyway, with trepidation almost thirty years later, I took on the bridge and understood where I had gone wrong last century. With a temporary pair of glasses which had become permanent due to the same fear of returning to Specsavers, I realised that the hotel we were staying in then, the Principe, is actually not as close to the bridge as I thought. I feel - slightly - vindicated but a shudder still went down my back when, for some strange reason, feeling the need to reenact this scene.

Naturally, I enjoyed my day in Venice. It is a delight walking around and seeing the sights and equally absorbing doing my favourite trick of getting lost yet seeing delightful places which I might not otherwise have found. I returned in the evening to eat opposite the Santa Lucia Cathedral.
On my second full day, I had booked rail tickets to Padova (or Padua) and Vicenza and it proved to be an excellent idea, both being beautiful places to visit.
I took the short ride to Padova from Mestre which only took around twenty minutes. The station is a little way from the main attractions but it was a pleasant walk and I enjoyed seeing and visiting some of the mighty and impressive churches but missed out on the impressive Scrovegni Chapel as tickets have to be essentially bought in advance. Next time. The Prato della Valle, an impressive park-cum-square surrounded by beautiful statues with a type of semi-circular canal, is delightful. From there I visited the Abbey of Santa Giustina.
I had an equally short journey to Vicenza which struck me as being a little smaller and more compact. It was a shorter walk from the station and the main square, Piazza dei Signori, is wonderful with the Basilica Palladiana and Torre Bissara being just two of the highlights. The two places were thoroughly worthwhile to visit and the weather made it even better.

Sunday was race day at Imola. I had booked my rail tickets from Santa Lucia but, after the hotel cancellation, Mestre turned out to be more convenient and was the second stop on the journey. I wondered if all routes led to Imola so chose to take the bus to Piazzale Roma in case the train was busy. It wasn't. It was a regional train and arrived early into Bologna where trains were slightly chaotic to Imola. Many were delayed and hundreds of fans (mostly in Ferrari red) descended upon the same train as me for the short journey to Imola.
This was actually my second visit to Imola but the first time that I saw much of the circuit. The first time, by its very nature, was more memorable, though. On that occasion many years ago, I hadn't seen much of the circuit because I had been a guest of one of the teams and been in the paddock. I had met Murray Walker at lunch and had come within a few feet of my favourite driver, Damon Hill, and naturally had a magical day.

By that time, Ayrton Senna and Roland Ratzenberger had been killed during the tragic 1994 race. That had been a seminal moment for me and introduced me to Formula 1: what on earth possessed drivers to risk life and limb in the quest for such speed? Many of my hobbies and interests are activities which I could possibly not do myself and I thereby try to make sense of them. Over thirty years later, I am lucky to have been to likely over thirty Grands Prix taking in many of the European circuits but, further afield, Singapore, Kuala Lumpur, Doha (last year), Japan, Abu Dhabi - but not in 2021 - and one of the two Indian races just outside Delhi.
For that reason, visiting the memorials of both Senna and Ratzenberger was a must on this occasion. I did find both and found Senna's memorial strangely comforting and tranquil even though my chosen spot to watch the start from, at Tamburello by the memorial, saw all twenty cars fly past in literally seven or eight seconds. Watching the race peering through the odd gap not filled by Brazilian flags and tributes to the late Brazilian driver was moving.

Ratzenberger's smaller memorial near Tosa was one I was equally keen to find. It may not have been in the same league as Senna's but was, in my estimation, of equal necessity and I was pleased to visit both to pay my respects. It is noticeable how the track climbs around Tosa.
Imola, of course, is Ferrari country and it is wonderful seeing so many people in red and the places some find to sneak a better view of proceedings. They may have had little to cheer about in qualifying - a very rare appearance in Italy of both drivers failing to make Q3 - but they did better in the race after a late safety car. It is not always straightforward following the race unless you have a mobile telephone with internet access (which, okay, just about everyone bar me has) but I plonked myself by a large screen close to Tamburello from which I saw - and, yes, did actually know - that, for my second consecutive live race, was won by Max.
It was an interesting and busy journey back from Imola to Bologna but the onward ride to Venice was more comfortable. I was up early the following day for my easyJet flight back to Gatwick which actually arrived very early which made for an earlier-than-anticipated arrival home after another enjoyable trip.
P.S. All joking aside about the Venetian bridge and glasses saga, my temporary pair of permanent glasses decided to break yet again recently and left even me with no option but to return to Specsavers as Mother would not have me walking about with elasticated frames fixed by Superglue whilst I waited for another pair of temporary (yet permanent) from eBay to arrive. Down to Specsavers it was after a lucky and late cancellation allowed me in hours after the terminal break: he went too and looks more presentable now.