Traversing Treviso with a Clown in my Coffee

Whimsy on a Wednesday bringing you Tiramisu and a Bozo or two!

I’m fresh back from what now seems to be my annual autumnal trip to Treviso. It’s my third year in the Veneto region and it just fits the bill of being the perfect place for the vestiges of summer. The sun is still shining there at a balmy 23C, though when it’s a low sun, shining intently on your face as you sip a cold Pinot Grigio, it always feels much warmer.

October is a good time to travel. Most people are well and truly done with their summer holidays and are busy fretting about Christmas coming because the supermarkets have told them that there’s only a handful of days left before the big day. Ridiculous. I fly in the afternoon which gives me all day to potter about ensuring all is well and with plenty of time to pack my cary-on rucksack.

There’s hardly anyone at the airport and going through security is a breeze, although I always manage to alarm the machine or be carrying something over 100ml.

This year, as I looked out of the aeroplane window, I noticed the sun setting below the clouds and it looked like hell was underneath.

Those who say that Heaven is above and we are all walking in Hell might be onto something…

Just under two hours later and there I was, in the land of Tiramisu and Prosecco. Buonasera culture.

Treviso is a wonderful place, just a 30 minute train ride to Venice, my favourite place in the world. There’s something in Venice that seems to sate all my wants and needs. It reminds me of an old, classic, brown leather bag: beautiful, soft, still smells expensive. It feels good, it’s comfortable. There’s a whole rich leatheriness to the colour of Venice in shades of beiges, golds, and greens. The faded frescos, the renaissance, baroque, and gothic style buildings all ageing gracefully with peeling adornments, still guarded by monumental portals. It’s a watery fairytale with magic dust and Wonderland mazes.

The food is stunning and wine is elegantly served at its optimum temperature by someone who sings with passion.

When I lunch in Italy on a cobbled street with the sun in my eyes I feel utter joy. Life is about these little wins.

I saw this car in Treviso. It’s the worlds tiniest Fiat. I call it Fiato Boxo Tinyo.

Look how cute it is! But then I felt sorry for it, as I tend to do with inanimate objects. I think they have an ability to look lost and sad for some reason. This little thing was parked away from the big cars and in the bike spaces, left out and alone. Not fitting in with either side and standing out from the crowd like an oddball. I resonated. Still, I’d rather have a Maserati.

One late afternoon, I was sitting in the Palazzo dei Treccento, sipping a nice limoncello spritz, when I spotted a clown.

Ooh, ayup, what’s going on there then…

This suddenly had my attention as I have a bit of a thing for clowns and it’s not often you spot one wandering around a city street. But there it was, donning a red nose and pulling on a white coat adorned with colourful patches.

Interesting…

I tracked it down the street and then noticed another one coming up to meet it. At what point do you consider it a little bit odd? How many clowns does it take for you to think something is awry?

At two clowns and a third bringing up the rear, I definitely felt this could be a red nosed invasion. I sat up in my seat.

“There are clowns multiplying,” I said

“Oh yes! So there are.”

“I don’t think you’re feeling the gravitas of the situation.”

“I’m sure you can handle it.”

I felt a little bit excited, a tad disturbed, and a whiff of wonder and amusement which is the perfect combination of emotion to feel quite alive, I found. The annoying thing was that because I packed light, I didn’t have my emergency clown nose and this was the one time I really wanted it. I could have put it on, sauntered up to the head clown with a jaunty step and said, “Oi, Chuckles, this is my town.”

However, it isn’t and so I watched whilst many clowns appeared and set up their enterprise in the famous piazza dei signori. I don’t quite know what they were doing but they took over the square with balloons and dancing and all manner of madness.

“I want to go and spin plates with the clowns but there are no other adults doing it.”

“Wait until you get home and have a go there.”

It’s this kind of conversation that makes me irritated with people. Why would I wait until I got home to do it when I could do it with Italian clowns who were quite possibly on the verge of overthrowing the Italian government?

So, I went to spin plates with the clowns and found it wasn’t my forté. You can’t be good at everything.

I did consider giving them a bit of advice on clowning as there didn’t seem to be a dark clown anywhere which isn’t what I’d call a balanced crowd. I mean, they were missing a golden opportunity in not having a singing clown called Frank Sinister doing it his way, don’t you think?

Maybe next time.