A couple of hours free and it’s another tortuous route up into those mountains. This time up to Chisà, which apparently means “Who knows?”, the local response to the question as to where people were fleeing following some kind of vendetta. Yes, who knows where we were going as we followed the narrow lanes through rocky crevices and round hairpin bends…

It’s not the prettiest of villages but the views are the usual standard, and there’s a Via ferrata which looks very exciting. “Oh dear,” says Terry (sighing with relief, beads of perspiration gathering on his forehead), “it appears to be closed. What a pity!” Vertigo? What vertigo?

This chap doesn’t seem to have much to say about it…

Once again, the flowers – rockroses, French lavender, in particular – trees (all now in leaf) and crystal clear rivers, full of snowmelt, are overwhelmingly beautiful…