retiredmartin

June 2024. San Marino.

You really need the “scratch and sniff” version of this blog (Patronised readers only) to fully appreciate the steepness of the hills from Low Town to High Town in San Marino. Or look on the 3D map view on Google yourselves.

Mrs RM’s hotel pick (Hostaria da Lino, £59) is in Borgio Maggiore, a tiny village staring back up at the equally tiny “capital”,

and after a tortured check-in which involves the handing over of a giant key and being told (twice) to take a photo of the WiFi code sellotaped to the reception desk, we learn there’s a Funivia (cable car) back to the top 30 seconds round the corner.

“But it shuts at 8”. That’s half an hour away.

Oooh look, a bar.

Retired Martin’s 1st rule of foreign bars is that you can trust a place with a “Keep Calm and Drink Beer” sign.

The 2nd rule is “Always go for the beer with the hand-coloured pump clip“, even if it’s Chouffe.

And here’s where it starts to go wrong/right, as the Chouffe explodes over the front of the charming barmaid (calm down).

She pops outside for a minute, pops back, offers me the dregs of the Chouffe free,

and tells me in perfect Italinglish she’s putting on a 6% New Zealand IPA if I can wait 5 minutes.

I’m told by Mrs RM I can’t wait, we’re just about to miss the penultimate ride up the hill, so I miss out on what is subsequently described on Untappd as “pine shampoo from Aunt Agafia“.

But I do get a bottle of Birrificio Abusivo Rauch Beer, your actual San Marino craft, and my notes say “Blimey” (NBSS 4.5 bottle equivalent).

Surreal atmosphere, niche soundtrack,

top pub, with the youth of the village gathered on the plastic seats for the evening.

I asked our beer soaked heroine at the bar what the sign on the tip boxes (top pic) meant.

“No no ! You don’t need to tip !“. So I did.

And then Mrs RM got very fractious as the last cable car was due to leave in 5 minutes, and I had to see if she was tall enough to ride.

There’s a little video of the £2 ride below (press PLAY),

but this photo will do you.

At the top, Mrs RM took her Instafriendly photos and got told off for loitering at the top.

“You’re very bad, Mrs RM” is now a catchphrase in our household.

The hilltop city looked even finer as dusk approached,

the Kill Bill sword shops as bewildering,

the views more magical.

Back down at the hotel via the steepest footpath outside north Sheffield we caught last orders for supper,

perhaps the best of the trip.

I’m afraid we had a half litre of house wine.