Write Up THE ITALIAN JOB

Pauliebhoy · Sep 3, 2026

Day 8
Well, that was a journey to behold.
I mentioned in my last post that we’d encountered a tunnel. Today we encountered nearly 90 of the bloody things.

Very roughly: A12 towards Genoa — about 50
Genoa/A10 connections — about 15
A26 towards Ovada — another 23
By the end of it I was beginning to think northern Italy had simply given up building roads and decided to drill through everything instead.
In my younger days I actually worked nightshift as a tunnel miner. After today, I can safely say I’m very glad nobody handed me a pick and told me to help build this lot.
We’ve now arrived in Barga, which got me thinking about my great grandfather— a wee peasant farmer leaving this area in 1917 and somehow making his way all the way to the Isle of Bute.
No motorways. No Google Maps. No air conditioning. Probably a heroic number of steam trains, boats and badly translated conversations.
He had some balls, I’ll give him that.
Barga itself is brilliant. Scottish flags everywhere, Irn-Bru in the shop windows and enough Scottish connections to make you wonder whether we accidentally took a wrong turn somewhere after Genoa.
There is, however, one small flaw in this great celebration of Scotland:
They don’t take Scottish banknotes.
So in that respect, apparently Barga has also twinned itself with England.

Our hotel room is enormous. It has three balconies, and I’ve already rounded up enough locals for a five-a-side match in the bedroom.
I’ve also attached an AirTag to Mandy, because otherwise there’s a genuine chance I could lose her somewhere between the bed and balcony number three.
Tomorrow Barga properly turns into Scotland, so naturally I’ve brought my kilt.
It’s BMW tartan, which technically makes it closer to lederhosen, but I’m confident nobody will notice once the Irn-Bru starts flowing.
Still no opportunity for a proper Z photo today, and tonight she’s tucked away around the back of the hotel, so no glamorous car-and-hotel shot either.
Tomorrow, though…
All things Scottish. In Italy.

What could possibly go wrong?

Pauliebhoy · Sep 3, 2026

Hotel for the next 4 days. We are on the 1st floor on the left with the balcony

Pauliebhoy · Sep 3, 2026

Hotel receptionist getting into the swing of things

Neilb62 · Sep 3, 2026

Tuscany

Keep those pics coming please…

mwpe · Sep 3, 2026

Nodzed said:
Ahhh the French roads, the stuff of dreams and with an Emovis Tag and 30 km/h toll lanes even the motorways are a pleasure, but the first time I used one it did make me grip the seat wondering if the barrier was going to open in time.

I still get that feeling at the first toll of the year.

Pauliebhoy · Sep 4, 2026

Day 9
We discovered that today in Barga was mainly given over to setting up for the festival, so we decided it was the perfect opportunity to head into the mountains and try to find where I’m now 99% certain my great-grandfather and his brothers were born.
There were five boys in total, and eventually all five ended up on the Isle of Bute, although they arrived at different times. From the research I’ve done, it looks as though the eldest went first, earned enough money to send some home, then the next brother followed, and so on. A sort of 19th-century family relocation scheme, without Ryanair baggage restrictions.
The village is called Pegnana, around six miles north of Barga. I have my great-grandfather’s birth certificate showing the address where he was born, along with a copy of an 1897 census confirming the same place, so we had something fairly solid to work from.
Off we went into the mountains.
Just before reaching the village, I spotted a plaque on a house beside the road bearing my surname. It turned out to be some sort of wellness retreat rather than the long-lost family estate, but still — encouraging!
Using Google Maps, ChatGPT and Google Gemini, I’d independently plotted the likely location beforehand, and all three came up with coordinates within about 20 feet of each other. Either impressive research or three computers confidently making the same mistake.
I pulled over where the sat-nav told me to and, through some fairly serious gorse, could just make out the roof of a rather derelict-looking house.
Mandy remembered seeing a little clearing with tyre tracks slightly further back, so we turned around and went to investigate.
There was definitely a house there — unfortunately, there was also a chain across the entrance and another set of gates beyond it.
I hadn’t travelled all the way from Scotland to be defeated by a chain and a set of jaggy pointy gates , so over I went. A quick recce for CCTV followed — all clear. Every shutter on the house was closed and there was no obvious sign of life, so I had a discreet nose around for about ten minutes and got the photographs I wanted.
Job accomplished.
For probably 50 years there has been discussion in my family about what happened to the property after my great-great-grandparents, Rafaello and Marie Anna, died.
My own theory is that none of the five brothers ever returned to claim it, and at some point a local relative took possession. That is a mystery for another day, and probably another pile of old records.
For now, though, I think we can close this particular chapter. After generations of wondering, I’ve actually stood at the place where the story appears to have begun.
We even managed to squeeze in one or two obligatory Z pictures while we were up there.
Back in Barga, we had a wander around the festival preparations. It’s all beginning to look very good, and there are Scottish voices absolutely everywhere.
Our new neighbours in the next room arrived last night from @Stevo7682 neck of the woods, so naturally we ended up having a good natter with them over breakfast.
Tomorrow, apparently, requires formal attire:
BargaScot T-shirt.
Kilt.
Kilt socks.
Adidas trainers.
The full Tartan Army dress uniform.
And judging by the atmosphere already building in town, I suspect at least one innocent traffic cone may mysteriously find its way onto the head of a local statue before the weekend is over.