Toumani Diabate

Toumani Diabate is a Malian kora player, the 71st generation of a griot family. He and his "Symmetric Orchestra" played in Dublin twice last year, and he is really responsible for this Sahara journey. Speaking to him after a concert in Dublin, he told us about the March concerts to honour Ali Farka Toure, and set in motion the plan to visit Mali, which expanded into the whole roadtrip. 

One of the highlights was meeting Toumani at his club, Le Hogon, in Bamako. So, it was a nice bit of symmetry to find he was playing in Cologne this week, and Stefanie and I made it to the concert. It was in the Philharmonic Hall, and was filmed for German TV, so was a little more formal than the usual. It was funny to see rows of besuited men who I can only think were Philharmonic season ticket holders who were misled by the word "Orchestra" on the bill. Still, even they, with some encouragement, were on their feet by the end. He finished with the first playing of a solo piece from his next album, due this year some time. It was a wonderful finale to the evening and (almost) to the journey. I'll do another post from Ireland next week to wrap things up. For more information about Toumani, and a very nice short video, see World Circuit. 

Great Hostels of Italy

At the moment I am slowly travelling homeward via Italy, Switzerland, Germany, Belgium and France. The ferry is booked for Cherbourg-Rosslare and I'll be back in Ireland on May 14th. 

Italy has a great network of hostels housed in historic buildings, and May is a good quiet time to be visiting. I stuck to small towns and was the only guest in each of them. 

First stop was Cosenza (Calabria), a typical old southern town with narrow streets full of clothes lines. The hostel is a former palace in the old part of town, and people are friendly and interested, especially about the car. Maybe not too many right-hand drive cars make it this far south, but many times on the autostrade I see cars slow down to check the strange driving arrangement. 

After a fine drive on empty roads through the Apennines, I reached the Amalfi Coast. The tortuous sea road is getting ready for summer, the traffic managers with reflective jackets and two-way radios managing the tightest bottlenecks. I stayed at Agerola, a town high above the Gulf of Salerno, where the hostel is in the former stables of a ruined castle. It was built in the 19th century by an Italian who had been an administrator in British India; he came to bad end when his young wife poisoned him, and the castle was destroyed by the fascists in 1930. 

I had a brief stop at the ruins of Pompeii, then skirted Rome for the more relaxing Umbrian countryside and another little walled town, Amelia. This has escaped the tourism of nearby Tuscany but the hostel manager says the old town is struggling, as young families don't want to live with the problems of parking and steep stairs. She said it is starting to attract artists and some young people who commute to Rome. Part of the building is a former jail, and my room still has the original solid double doors. I parked in a little plaza (right) on top of ancient Roman cisterns. 

The area where Umbria meets Tuscany has endless picturesque hilltop walled towns such as Narni and Cortuna, and I picked a small one for an overnight, the little village of Scorfiano (below), close to Sinalunga.

The hostel manager recommended her friend's restaurant ("13 Gobbi") in another even more beautiful village nearby, Montefollonico. Fine local food - a thick Tuscan soup of beans and bread, roast duck with mushrooms served with fried pumpkin flowers stuffed with anchovies and mozzarella, panna cotta with wild berries; a big jug of Nobile, the local red, and a bottle of mineral water - all for €20.

Tuscan Sky

The north of Italy seemed crowded and dull compared to the South, and I stuck to the autostrade until diverting again to slow roads for the area around Lake Como and into Switzerland at Lugano. The Land Rover looks very alien amid all the shiny Porsche Cayennes and convertibles.

Over the St Gottard Pass (above) and onwards to Bern and the German border. No problems there, but French Customs was another matter. I'd gone over the Rhine to get a fill of diesel, as it is a bit cheaper there, and on the way back I got a long interrogation from four officers and the most detailed search of the whole trip. So much for the European single market, you'd think the Customs would be better off defending the external borders.