Day 25

Day 25; Sat 24th April.

Blazing hot day and with the postcode entered into the sat-nav off we set for the garden in the Villa di Maser. Built to a design by Palladio in 1557 for the Barbero brothers who were instrumental in initiating the Botanical gardens in Padua(see day 20).
Two hours later the satnav duly delivered us to a farm house 30 miles from where we wanted to be.
We now know its totally random with Italian postcodes. Eventually found the place with the help of a good old-fashioned map.

Only one signpost to the house and that was from the opposite direction of our arrival. Happily paid the 6 Euro admission but the wretch selling tickets affected such a pained expression when we asked if she spoke English, I was already rattled.
Up a tantalisingly elegant pair of stairs to the house. Before we could step inside we were instructed to don a pair of Pittabread like, oversized, overshoes. Impossible to walk in, the best we could manage was a shambling shuffle.
Indisputable tasteful proportions (you have to be inside a Palladian house to appreciate just how right they feel) and beautifully decorated with stunning allegorical frescoes by Veronese. A couple of rooms off the hallway were all we were allowed to see.
We could stand with our noses pressed up against a pair of beautifully portioned plate glass covered doorways, and take in the tantalising glimpses of two, perfectly proportioned, wings of the rest of the house, not open to visitors. maddening.
As for the much-lauded garden. Well the author of our book (Gardens of Italy by Ann Laras) had clearly not been there.

The Garden is merely a courtyard out the back with a fountain. A very beautiful courtyard and fountain. I could tell from the glimpse I got through a cordoned off doorway.
We were not allowed into the courtyard, we could not approach the beautiful fountain and we could not experience the space in relation the house, oh and we couldn’t take any pictures either. Glimpsed courtyards do not a garden make.
What a shambles, the private owner of the house is as mean as hell. If you’re going to open the place, bloody well open it. Don’t keep your paying guests confined to the entranceway and force them to shuffle around like manacled prisoners. Shoddy, shabby and shameful. I was, and still am, absolutely livid.