Ferrara shares with Padua a peculiar sense of normality bordering on the mundane, which is not to say it is not an extremely pleasant city to visit. It is very friendly for cyclists, and has a lovely centre and some gorgeous sights. It is (after around 4:00) youthful, energetic and full of nice spots to eat and drink, but this is Italy, and you’d expect this, yes? I guess what sounds like a criticism is more an observation, particular to the plains and the cities of the regions of Veneto and Emilia-Romagna, through which we have ridden. This is northern Italy at work. This is where the flatlands – conducive, as they are to agriculture and industry and the transportation of their product inbetween – deny the traveller the romanticism of the postcards and the picture-books.

But any day on a bike is a good day, and we had two very, very good days in Ferrara, seeing some wonderful things, none moreso than the complex of the Monumental Cemetery of the Certosa di Ferrara. Part monastery, part cemetery, all extraordinary.

JM noted that it was a rather lovely spot to land once departed this mortal coil; AW suggested that it might only seem so due to the rather lovely weather. JM and AW agreed that is was indeed an impressive selection of gravesites and mausolea nonetheless.

After the somewhat spooky foray inside the partially renovated San Cristoforo alla Cartuja (complete with ghostly shroud seemingly suspended over the altar) we made our hasty exit to the knowing cawing of crows.  Lunch beckoned (perhaps rather inappropriately) so we hopped back on our trusty Somas and headed for the prized pizzeria I Sofisti, where the menu listed pizzas named after philosophers…

Tempted as I was by the Marx and the Hegel, we ended up with something quite different, from some bantamweight Greek sophist whose name I can’t recall. It was much more delicious, mind you.

All through Ferrara it was great to witness the prolific use of bicycles by locals of all ages to go about their daily errands. Car drivers calmly accommodated cyclists crossing roads … no hurried or erratic manoeuvring, or anxious tooting of horns. Even on one way streets it was standard practise for cyclists to have right of way in the opposite direction. Not a stitch of lycra to seen for our two days there. All this made for very enjoyable cycling!