I – Exploring Italy – Ep 3

Italy Bound – Wine, Wobbly Internet and a Day That Had Absolutely Everything

Day 9 to Day 11 – From Pitigliano to the Edge of Amalfi Chaos

There’s a dangerous thing happening to me on this trip.

I’m becoming relaxed.

Now normally that would sound healthy and mature and all that motivational Instagram nonsense.

But for me it’s suspicious.

Because usually after two nights in one place my brain starts itching like a caffeinated kangaroo locked in a garden shed.

“Move mate.”
“Road waiting.”
“Corners somewhere.”

That’s the rule.

Never stay longer than two nights.

Simple.

And yet there I was in Pitigliano on Day 9 breaking my own rule completely.

Not because I suddenly became spiritual.

Not because I found inner peace.

Nah mate.

Because it was Sunday.

And in Italy Sunday means one thing:

Half the country is on the move.

Families visiting relatives. Tourists flooding scenic roads. Every Fiat Panda in existence escaping onto the countryside at exactly the same time.

And honestly?

The smartest motorcycle decision sometimes is not riding at all.

So I stayed put.

And while sitting outside with a glass of proper Tuscan red wine, I discovered another important topic worth discussing.

Not philosophy.

Not politics.

Not tyre wear.

You know the situation.

Full signal bars on your phone.
Then you open a webpage and suddenly the internet behaves like two hamsters powering a satellite manually.

Germany has mastered the art of pretending technology works.

But Italy?

Mate…

Italy somehow managed to make Germany look modern.

At least in the countryside.

Streaming Netflix?
Forget it.

Uploading photos?
Possible… eventually… maybe before retirement age.

Messaging works fine though.

Text messages go through.

Memes survive.

But video calls?

Hah.

If you attempt a video call in rural Italy, prepare yourself for visuals resembling paranormal evidence footage from 1998.

Pixel soup.

Frozen faces.

Robot voices.

Honestly sometimes I think carrier pigeons would outperform mobile networks here.

And this is 2026.

2026!

Meanwhile Thailand — my other home — has internet so fast it feels illegal.

You can stand somewhere in the middle of nowhere surrounded by rice fields and random chickens, yet somehow still get perfect 5G signal and fibre internet fast enough to upload your entire life story in seven seconds.

Even tiny villages there often have better internet than parts of Europe.

Meanwhile in Italy you climb onto a hill holding your phone towards the sky like Simba in Lion King hoping for one bar of signal.

It’s honestly impressive.

Still…

The wine was excellent.

And after the second glass, internet problems suddenly felt significantly less important.

Funny how that works.

Rant finished.

Back to wine.

Today started early.

Coffee.

Tea.

Same ritual now every morning.

I swear at this point the motorcycle probably won’t even start unless caffeine enters my bloodstream first.

The plan was simple:

Beat the afternoon heat.

Southern Italy in late May is a bit like Thailand. Beautiful in the morning. Lovely temperatures. Fresh air.

Then around lunchtime the sun transforms into an angry flamethrower.

So the goal was clear:

Be on the road before 8 am.

And surprisingly, for once, I actually managed it.

The ride today was… interesting.

Not spectacular.

Not life-changing.

But very enjoyable.

The roads themselves were brilliant.

Smooth tarmac.
Fast corners.
Lots of flowing twists.
Hardly any traffic.

Basically perfect motorcycle roads.

But scenery-wise?

Bit average honestly.

Not ugly.

Just not dramatic.

No jaw-dropping mountain passes. No insane coastal cliffs. No landscapes making you stop every ten minutes for photos.

Just pleasant riding.

And honestly sometimes that’s enough.

One thing became immediately noticeable though:

The further south you go in Italy, the cheaper life gets.

And not only cheaper.

Better.

Now that’s the funny part.

Up north near tourist hotspots you pay:

7 or 8 Euro for a salad.
15 Euro for pasta.
Tiny portions served artistically on oversized plates.

Down here?

Mixed salad for 5 Euro.

Pasta around 10 Euro.

Huge portions.

And somehow the food tastes even better.

More authentic maybe.

Less polished.

More “Nonna cooked this because she loves feeding humans” and less “Michelin-inspired deconstructed emotional ravioli experience.”

Honestly southern Italy feels more real.

Less fancy.

More alive.

Around lunchtime I stopped in one tiny mountain village for food and immediately had one of those classic Italy moments:

Simple restaurant.
No tourists.
Friendly old owner.
Fantastic food.

Done.

No marketing strategy needed.

The ride continued smoothly afterwards.

And where did I end up?

In the least romantic location imaginable.

An industrial area.

In a town nobody outside Italy has ever heard of.

Not scenic.

Not charming.

Not Instagram-worthy.

But honestly?

Perfectly functional.

Cheap hotel.
Quiet at night.
No tourist chaos.

Sometimes that’s exactly what you need.

And weirdly enough industrial areas at night often become incredibly peaceful.

Workers go home.

Trucks stop moving.

Roads empty completely.

The city simply switches off.

Overall the day felt a bit like a transit stage.

Nothing spectacular happened.

No giant adventure.

No magical discoveries.

Just smooth riding and a relaxed mood.

And that’s perfectly fine too.

Not every day on a motorcycle trip needs to become a Hollywood movie.

26.05.26

Now here’s something nobody tells you about staying near truck stops and industrial zones:

They actually have advantages.

First advantage:

Food.

Workers need feeding.

Truck drivers need feeding.

Meaning somewhere nearby there’s always solid, affordable food available.

Not fancy.

Nobody decorating plates with microscopic herbs using tweezers.

But functional.

And honestly when travelling by motorcycle all day, functional food becomes deeply beautiful.

Second advantage:

Silence.

During the day industrial areas are noisy chaos.

At night?

Dead quiet.

Workers gone.

Trucks parked.

Nobody outside.

Honestly I slept brilliantly.

Woke up at 05:30.

Made coffee.

Sat quietly for a bit.

And by 7 am the old RT and I were already rolling south again.

Morning riding in Italy this time of year is absolutely glorious.

Cool air. Empty roads. Soft sunlight.

For a few hours everything feels perfect before the heat starts punching you in the face later.

Yesterday’s ride had great roads but average scenery.

Today though?

Today had everything.

Good and bad.

Beautiful and ugly.

Smooth and chaotic.

The fun started almost immediately.

Twisty mountain roads with proper tarmac and lovely rhythm.

Exactly the kind of roads where the old RT feels surprisingly capable despite weighing approximately the same as a small apartment building.

Then suddenly:

Road closed.

Classic Italy.

No explanation.

No warning earlier.

Just barrier across road.

The GPS suggested a short detour.

“Easy,” I thought.

Again.

And once again the GPS betrayed me like a dodgy mate owing you money.

Because apparently some absolute professional genius had mapped an off-road trail as a normal road.

For an adventure bike?
Maybe manageable.

For a fully loaded BMW R1150RT?

Absolutely not.

The “road” looked like mountain goats would complain about traction.

So there I was, turning around carefully while trying not to drop 300 kilograms of Bavarian engineering into a ditch somewhere in southern Italy.

That little adventure cost nearly two hours total.

Backtracking.
Crossing around the mountain range another way.
Endless small roads with terrible surfaces.

Still…

The views were fantastic.

Funny how beautiful scenery somehow excuses suffering.

And instantly everything changed.

Temperature skyrocketed.

Traffic exploded.

Tourists everywhere.

Chaos.

And the universal sign of civilisation collapse appeared immediately:

Two McDonald’s restaurants within visible range.

That usually tells you all you need to know.

Now let’s talk about Italian beaches for a moment.

Because if you ever wonder whether you’ve truly arrived at a tourist-heavy Italian seaside area, there’s a simple test:

Did somebody just ask you for ridiculous amounts of money to sit near water?

Congratulations.

You’re there.

Beach access fees.
Sun loungers.
Parasols.

Everything costs money.

Honestly by the time you rent a chair and umbrella you could nearly finance a small motorcycle repair.

Not my thing.

I prefer mountains anyway.

Cool air. Quiet roads. No screaming children throwing sand at strangers.

So after taking a few photos I escaped immediately.

Fought my way south through horrible traffic on the SS7.

Not enjoyable at all.

But eventually traffic loosened and the road became fast and efficient.

And then finally…

Mountains again.

Ahhhhh.

Instant relief.

Cooler air.

Less traffic.

Proper roads.

The moment the route climbed back inland my mood improved dramatically.

Honestly I will never fully understand the obsession people have with overcrowded beaches.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder roasting under the sun while paying insane prices for bad cocktails?

Nah mate.

Give me mountain roads any day.

Eventually hunger hit properly again.

And using the internet — surprisingly functional for once — I found an open restaurant in a little mountain town nearby.

Parked the bike.

Walked inside.

Absolutely starving.

And then experienced one of the funniest moments of the trip so far.

Now my Italian isn’t brilliant.

Far from it.

But usually I can survive.

Order food.
Ask directions.
Understand basics.

Today?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

The people there spoke some local dialect that sounded completely alien to me.

Honestly they could have been discussing spaceship engineering in ancient Chinese and I would’ve understood exactly the same amount.

Zero.

There wasn’t even a menu.

Just rapid-fire incomprehensible sounds directed at the confused German biker standing there sweating in motorcycle gear.

So eventually I did the only logical thing.

I pulled out my translation app and typed:

“Bring me whatever you think is good.”

Trust the locals.

Always.

And mate…

What arrived was brilliant.

Simple. Fresh. Delicious.

Then came oversized fish dumplings with vegetables.

Again absolutely fantastic.

No idea what exactly I ate honestly.

But it was bloody good.

Then naturally came espresso time.

Normally I order a double macchiato.

Today though the response suggested they only had single espresso.

Fine.

No problem.

Instead they brought me two separate espressos.

Black.

Strong.

Aggressive.

The kind of coffee capable of restarting a dead buffalo.

And the best part?

Everything together including water cost only 15 Euro.

Fifteen!

In tourist areas that barely buys you disappointment and sparkling water.

This is why I love Italy.

The further away you get from tourists, the better the country becomes.

Eventually though the heat started getting serious.

And after massive pasta plus giant fish dumplings, all available energy migrated from brain directly into digestion.

Also the next section ahead ran through a mountain valley.

So instead of pushing onward, I made another smart decision:

Stop early.

No need to force kilometres.

No need to arrive exhausted.

Finding accommodation in mountain areas this time of year is easy anyway.

Soon enough I found a beautiful little B&B.

Modern room. Quiet location. Friendly owners.

Perfect.

Only downside?

No roof for the mighty RT.

So the old girl had to sleep outside tonight.

Hopefully no rain.

After checking in, charging all electronics and finally relaxing properly, I sat there replaying the entire day in my head.

Because this day had absolutely everything.

Perfect roads and horrible roads.

Lonely mountains and insane traffic jams.

Cool mountain air and brutal coastal heat.

Sleepy villages and tourist madness.

Even an accidental off-road adventure.

276 kilometres today.

One of those unforgettable motorcycle travel days that reminds you exactly why you do this in the first place.

Not because everything goes perfectly.

But because it doesn’t.

Those are the days you remember later.

#dustysocks