Leaving my new favorite community of Caravaggio.
After 7 a.m. mass (I wore my scarf as my favorite watchdog priest was on the altar), I stopped at the neighboring cafe for breakfast; an espresso and a croissant.
“You have to visit Bermago before you go.” It was Marisa at the neighboring table. “Make the time; it’s only 20 kilometers.”
With that, she starts drafting a map, writing down directions city by city, guiding me to my destination.
The tree-lined streets are cobblestone, so I shimmy, shake and rattle my way out of town.
Bermago is on my “to do” list today, and then on to Milan.