Flea market and museums in Pesaro
In Via G. Rossini tables are being set up for a flea market, and soon Piazza del Popolo too is turned into a market place. It is not junk - far from it.
I am no expert, but much looks like true antiques or will be so in a few years. There is also a table with Royal Danish porcelain. There are old LP records, books, cartoons, jewellery, pipes and much more.
The city's historical museum is in Via G. Rossini. They seem very happy to get visitors, and a volunteer (it says so on the badge he is wearing) guides us through the palace's cellar, where the collections are.
He speaks "ferry littel Inglish," but is very kind. He explains that one of the sarcophaguses was found in a field where it was used as a water trough for cows. I wonder, what the cows use now.
Besides the antique marble stuff most artefacts are arta sancra - holy art - but there are also fragments of the old (400 & 1600) mosaic floors that were uncovered in the square in front of the cathedral.
After coffee in Piazza del Popolo it is time for the city's art and ceramics museum. Admission is free today and the ticket is also valid for the Rossini museum, the composer's birth place.
The art museum is quite impressive. The collection of locally made ceramics and porcelain is huge and shows how the technique developed to become quite advanced.
Lunch and pasta dress
After this cultural appetizer it is time for lunch at C'era una Volta, a pizzeria/osteria near Piazza Lazzarini.
The waitress doesn't speak English, but that doesn't cause any problems. Tagliatelle with ragú for me and bucatini amatriciana for Helle. A father and son sit at the next table. The boy eats spaghetti with mussels, and he gives all the mussels to his father.
I am always very careful when eating pasta, but to spite me the tagliatelle twist a tail and stains my T-shirt. One should dress for eating pasta; a black or tomato coloured shirt is good for stain camouflage, but a wetsuit is ideal.
Back at the hotel the air condition is in central control and cannot be started. Maybe it is out for service.
Evening in Pesaro
One of the streets we need to pass to get to the centre is difficult to get across tonight. Nobody stops for pedestrians waiting at a crossing. In Rome you just walk out and stare the beasts in the eyes, but that would be suicide here, because they drive too fast to break in time. It is actually strange that Roman drivers are kinder, considering that traffic in Rome is much worse and stressful. Neither does it fit into the general picture of people here in Pesaro - they seem very friendly and helpful when not in a car.
Rossini's house is narrow and has three floors. Rossini is the city's hero, and every year in August there is a Rossini festival. There is a Rossini theatre, and the music academy is also named after him. He was born in this house. When alive he wasn't particularly popular in Pesaro, and he lived most of his life in other places. But today things have changed.
The museum is not interesting to us. It is mostly pictures of contemporary artists, and all explanatory text is in Italian. The most interesting is probably the old kitchen. It is also hot and stuffy here, so we don't stay long.
We have a glass of wine at Carlo's. The 'American' waiter from da Sante passes on his bike and waves to us. He is probably on his way to work.
Pizza at C'era una Volta
Tonight supper is pizza at C'era una Volta. The waitress still doesn't speak English, but she understands that I want to try one of the bottled local wines and recommends one.
Half a litre of the house red in a carafe would have cost 3.8 €, whereas this bottle costs 13; but are you on holiday or not? The wine is a bit too warm, but within a minute the waitress brings a metal bottle cooler from the freezer. It doesn't cool much, but she deserves praise none the less.
It is a popular place and soon full. There are four to serve and all are busy. A younger woman sits down next to us and pours chilli oil all over her pizza. She cultivates a femme fatale look in black dress and boots, and when she doesn't exercise her mobile phone, she rips the pizza apart and wolfs it down.
Back at the hotel we order a nightcap at the bar. "Down with the cold!". I go outside to smoke and nod to another member of the brotherhood, an old gentleman with a thin cigarette.
He asks if I am italiano, and that starts a conversation, which is made somewhat difficult by my poor Italian. He is eighty years old and has worked in Brazil, The Soviet Union and in the old Yugoslavia in Tito's time. When he hears that I am from Denmark, he says something like: "Aaah, fresco!" with an envious note. He thinks it is too hot here, and maybe I would think likewise after eighty years.
The air condition is still in central control and cannot be started. Fortunately that is fixed by calling the reception.