We arrived at Parma but discovered when we exited the station that there were no taxis to be seen anywhere. We walked all around the station but there was nothing. I saw a hotel a few hundred metres away and decided they would know how to get us a taxi. The concierge looked harrassed as he had just been verbally assaulted by a very angry British tourist with a strong Mancunian accent who was not happy with something about the hotel. As the irate guest stormed away I put on my best ingratiating and non threatning smile and asked if the concierge knew how I might get a taxi. He started waving his arms about saying that he also was trying to get a taxi for a hotel guest but nobody at any taxi service would pick up the phone. I'm guessing he was already contemplating the verbal mauling he would get when his guest discovered there were no taxis to be had even by hotel concierges. He did however give me a tip to go back to the station and take an escalator down to where there might possibly be a taxi waiting around.  Unfortunately he didn't specify exactly where, so we walked around three sides of the subterranean labyrinth before spotting a lone taxi. We ran like maniacs dragging our luggage in case it disappeared and finally got to our hotel. I was so relieved that we had finally finished our journey  that I suggested to Gill that we give him a reasonable tip. He responded to our generosity by including a Swedish Kroner in our change which he had obviously been keeping for a special occasion. The receptionist at our hotel didn't seem in the least surprised at our difficulties and also threw her hands in the air saying she didn't understand why there were so few taxis in a major tourist town like Parma. I think she was exaggerating when she said there were only six taxis in the entire city.

When I opened the window of our room in the hotel we could hear an accordionist on the street below.

We were still pretty tired after the long journey from New Zealand and went out to grab a light bite. When you are exhausted you don't really feel like eating full meals. Parma ham seemed to be the idea solution. It was delicious. We collapsed back to the hotel and fell asleep like babies.

Why are we going to Parma?

The very simple answer is because it's not Milan. 

Travelling to Europe from New Zealand is a nightmare because, even using the best connections, it takes 29 hours to get to most European countries via Dubai. The NZ to Dubai leg alone takes 17 hours which is, to put it mildly, a stupidly long time to spend cooped up in an aircraft. There's rather too much time to develop deep vein thrombosis. For this reason we decided to treat ourselves to premium economy on Emirates. This doesn't necessarily reduce the risk of DVT but onset might be delayed by a few hours. Premium economy is only available on routes to Paris and London  and we chose Paris because of easy train connections to Italy, our first destination. That and promise of a breakfast of good coffee and french croissants. Once you have  consumed a delicious breakfast in a Paris cafe, the obvious city to head for is Milan as the high speed train gets there in well under a day. 

However, when we visited Milan a few years ago we cordially disliked it.  We arrived in the late afternoon in the middle of national Liberation Day celebrations.  The Piazza Del Duomo was filled to capacity with loud cheering Italians admiring the impressive uniforms of the marching soldiers.  I thought the headgear looked uncannily as if they were inspired by an Andy Warhol screen print of an ice cream cone. Movement in any direction was extremely difficult and lugging our two  suitcases made life even  more difficult. We eventually found our hotel and once settled returned to the Piazza to look around the magnificent cathedral. I have to assume it is magnificent because we never got to see inside as an officious official refused us entry unless we promised to stay for the mass which was about to take place. 

We ordered dinner in a strangely deserted restaurant considering the crowds we had seen earlier. We discovered why it was totally devoid of customers when our dishes were served. It takes a whole new service level of 'I don't give a fuck' to mess up a simple pasta dish but they managed it.  We returned to the hotel to find that the hot water supply was non existent, our coffee machine had no coffee pods and the off site reception refused to answer my texts. While these are all first world problems of a relatively minor nature they seem less so when you are travel exhausted have lost your sense of adventure as well as your sense of humour.

The only other attraction of any interest near our hotel was the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, Italy's oldest shopping gallery. It's full of designer brand shops that nobody can afford to enter unless you have a very large bank balance and don't mind handing over a significant portion of it in exchange for a Louis Vuitton bag that looks, for all the world, as if it's made from plastic. Actually it is made from plastic. The printed canvas is coated with PVC which all you environmentalists out there will know has been celebrated as the most toxic plastic in existence.  The Galleria is a very boring place save perhaps for the mosaic of the coat of arms of Turin beneath the grandiose glass dome. The heraldic design features a bull balancing improbably on one of its hind legs. If it had been auditioning for a bovine version of Swan Lake I definitely would have given it a principal role.  For reasons lost in the mists of time, some idiot claimed that spinning on your heels three times on the testicles of the bull brings good luck.  Large numbers of gullible  people have believed this preposterous superstition with the result that the poor bull has been effectively castrated.  For those on a limited budget it provides, I suppose, some harmless fun to compensate for not being rich enough to afford a plastic bag.  Anyway, pirouetting on a bull's testicles is not something you can do just anywhere so I'm guessing its a must-do for the Instagram brigade.

So valuable was Parmesan cheese that during the Great Fire of London in 1666, Samuel Pepys buried his "Parmazan cheese, as well as his wine and some other things" to preserve them.  The Mafia also have an interest in the King of Cheeses. Shipments have often been hijacked on the autostrada between Milan and Bologna and spirited to southern Italy to be sold. Over a twelve month period starting in late 2013 exactly 2039 wheels of Parmesan were stolen from warehouses in northern and central Italy. At 36 Kg's per wheel that's a hell of a lot of cheese to grate over your pasta.

It took me quite a while to get around to liking Parmesan cheese. For many years I disliked its rather sour tang and preferred the milder cream cheeses of France. However like olives and Guinness, it is an acquired taste that I now love. The manufacture of the cheese is tightly controlled and goes back 1000 years.  Each wheel of cheese requires 550 litres of milk and the left over whey is traditionally used to feed the pigs that produce Parma Ham. More of them later.

Once set, the cheeses are moulded and immersed in salty water for around three weeks before beginning the maturation process. The minimum maturation period is 12 months and only after that period has elapsed can it be inspected to see if it meets the quality standards. An inspector examines each wheel by tapping it with a hammer (no, really) which apparently reveals whether the cheese is worthy of its name. If it is deemed of acceptable quality it is branded with a hot iron which coincidentally is what happens to the pigs destined to make the best proscuitto. If the cheese is only of medium grade then it has  parallel grooves engraved around the rind. Cheeses which fail the test are brutally stripped of their rind and cannot be sold as Parmegiano Reggiano.  The cheese inspires culinary passion,  poetic flights of fancy and, for some, revulsion.  

Being a pig in Spain or Italy usually involves a short but happy life before being turned into a regional culianry delicacy.  The Proscuitto di Parma is considered one of the best hams out there and the name is protected by the DOC system. Proscuitto is always made from the hind leg of a pig or wild boar. The meat is salted and pressed for around two months to drain all the blood. The secret to great Proscuito is the process of hanging it for lengthy periods of time in exactly the right temperature and humidity. The hams are covered in 'sugna' which is pork fat mixed with salt and pepper. Once dry the meat is then hung for a further 18 months. While it may be expensive, DOC Proscuitto is not pumped full of carcinogenic nitrites like the bacon you buy in the supermarket. Only sea salt is allowed as an additive  The flavour of Proscuitto di Parma is often described as 'nutty' and allegedly comes from the Parmesan whey which the pigs are fed as part of their diet. You can't just use any old pig to make Proscuitto di Parma. They have to come from a specific region and only three  breeds can be used, As if that wasn't enough they have to be of a certain weight and follow a strictly controlled diet. It's easier to become a catwalk model at Paris Fashion Week.

There is apparently no limit on the time a ham can be cured for. The oldest ham in the world is in the proud possession of the Isle of Wight County Museum and was cured in 1902 by P.D. Gwaltney Jr. This is, however, a smoked ham so would not impress anyone in Parma. If you really must see it, the museum has a 'Ham Cam' webcam. Go on...I know you can't resist. As an added bonus the eccentric curator of this museum also accessioned the oldest peanut in the world although this artefact is not deemed worthy of its own nut cam. 

Unlike the Italians, pigs in China have a less luxurious life. The building above is a pig hotel in the final stages of construction in Ezhou City. It's actually one of two buildings which will produce a staggering 54,000 tons of pork from 600,000 pigs a year. Until 2019. multi level pig farms were illegal in China for all the obvious reasons such as biosecurity risks. However, when swine flu pushed pig prices to unacceptable levels the restrictions were lifted. One is tempted to ask the obvious question. What could possibly go wrong?