Civitavecchia.

Today we chose not to visit Rome as we've been there before and there are many beautiful places in the countryside that are just as valid to visit as the cities.

We did the usual bargaining on the dock with the usual eager assortment of taxi drivers and settled on a price for a 4 hour trip to Lake Bracciano. Things are much dearer in Europe than we'd grown accustomed to on our travels so far. The euro doesn't seem to go anywhere.

Our driver was a little old Italian who didn't speak much English (about as much Italian as we had) and who seemed to want to teach us Italian in one easy lesson.

We drove through pretty countryside as Giuseppe told us the Italian name of everything we passed. We'd dutifully repeat it after him and he turn around while continuing to steer and ask, "You capishe, Christina?"

Eventually and amazingly we reached Bracciano. In the middle of the town is the medieval castle where Tom Cruise was married a few years back. Narrow cobbled streets provide thoroughfares around the base of the castle. It is all very pretty.

The Lago di Bracciano is enormous. It is a popular summer destination of southern Italians due, I suppose, to the beauty of the setting and the clear blue waters of the lake. The beaches are of pebbles, not sand, but that didn't prevent the hundreds we saw from swimming and lying around on deck chairs arranged under sun umbrellas. We felt inclined to join them but we still had things to do and places to go.

There was a café extending over the water. We found a table and ordered coffee and local beer. Italians must be the best coffee makers in the world as, again, the one I had was delicious. I tasted Alan's beer. It was good, too.

We wandered along by the lake's edge and looked in the shops that sold essential holiday items such as floaties and beach towels. I spotted some tiles painted with house numbers. I'd admired similar tiles in South America a few years ago and had wanted to buy some then but had never seen any for sale so I determined to get some this time. They came with a border pattern as well. I bought the whole set for only Eu15.

A bargain.

The problem we had next was how to tell Giuseppe that we wanted to stop at a vineyard to buy some wine. We'd passed several small fields of grapes since leaving Civitavecchia but hadn't seen anything that resembled a cellar that sold wine. We mimed drinking 'vino' and he seemed to understand. Before we knew it, we were back in the town and he'd pulled up at a bar. No, we told him. Not what we want.

What were we to do? How could we make him understand?

We mimed planting vines and picking grapes. I said, "Campagne. Vino." , and rubbed my fingertips together to indicate money.

Miraculously, he seemed to understand and we set off again. But before we headed back into the countryside he had a stop to make, he said. He had to visit his grandparents who had been sick. Well, that's what we understood but surely we must have misunderstood. He looked to be about 70. He couldn't possibly have had grandparents still alive, could he?

Anyhow, we waited patiently in the car while he made his call, hoping we wouldn't have to deliver the elderly and sick grandparents to the hospital.

Eventually, he returned and off we went.

After driving for some time we spotted a hand written sign on a smart set of double gates that said, 'Vende. Vino.' A terracotta coloured house stood at the end of the driveway. The gates were locked but there was an intercom speaker through which Giuseppe spoke. After a short wait the gates swung open and we entered.

When we got to the house a woman appeared in the doorway. She was the archetypical Italian housewife - short and dumpy, curled grey brown hair, wiping her work worn hands on an apron which covered her brown skirt and with slippers on her feet. She greeted us in Italian so we went through the miming ritual again.

She got the idea and called to someone. A man appeared, smiling a welcome. He beckoned and we followed him around to the back of the house to where his cellar was. It seemed to be dug into the ground.

The man led us down steps cut into a ramp into a dark cavern where he obviously made his wine. It was difficult to see at first in the gloom. As our eyes adjusted we could make out three small vats which looked to be made of cast iron (but surely couldn't have been!) standing against one wall. Opposite, three or four wooden casks lay on racks. Between them was a cupboard which was adorned with a girlie calendar. The man laughed when he saw Alan and Richard ogling it and said something. I think we all understood his meaning!

He took a glass and half filled it with wine from the first vat and handed it to me. I held it up to the light coming from the doorway. The wine was white and suspiciously cloudy. Couldn't help thinking it looked like a specimen from someone who needed antibiotics. It didn't taste much better, either.

Alan asked him for red wine and he poured some from the vat at the other end. We all sampled it. It tasted quite pleasant but maybe it was just the contrast from the awful white. Just then, a younger woman appeared. We understood that she was the winemaker's daughter and she spoke a little English. Mumma had obviously called her out to help but by then we were getting along quite well without a common language anyway.

There was a price list stuck on one of the vats.

It started off :

100L Eu30.

100L was a bit too much for us to carry so we asked for a price per bottle. Eu2 each. Still elated by the comparatively good red we'd tasted we bought 4 bottles of the red each amidst much laughter and bonhomie.

We farewelled our new friends with shouts of "Arrivederci" and "Ciao, ciao" and much waving, and set off home.

Another good day out.

Next stop, Livorno and Firenze.