My wife interrupted my writing this morning and said the downstairs neighbors had returned home and we should go and visit them. Two months ago they left to join their daughter and her children in the south of France. We found them in their living room. Sam looked okay but Susan looked terrible. She was pale, thin and her hands were shaking. “What’s wrong?” we asked. And out came the horror story.

 

“The first few weeks were wonderful. It was school holidays. We hi red a car and traveled around and saw the sights. We spent quality time with our grandchildren. We took them to Paris. We ate in a couple of real French restaurants and we saw a few shows. It was marvelous. We came home in time for school and settled into a routine in the village where we were living. One morning I woke up feeling ill,” said Susan. “As the day wore on I felt worse and worse and by evening I was practically unconscious.”

 

Sam took over. “I took her to a hospital in a nearby town. In the emergency room they started working on her and finally a doctor came out and in very poor English explained that they did not understand what was wrong with Susan and he thought they were losing her. “She seems to have an infection throughout her body. From the blood tests we think it may be septicemia or peritonitis. I don’t have experience…”

 

In the end, as a last resort in an effort to save her, they cut her open, washed her out and stitched her up. “That’s all we could do. I am very sorry. I do not think she will recover.” Sam was desperate to get her home as quickly as possible. The next morning he managed to get tickets on a flight, bundled Susan up and took her to the airport. She said, “I sat in that plane literally holding myself together. I don’t remember much of the flight.” Sam said, “It was an absolute nightmare.”

 

Here at home she is attended by doctors, a nurse comes and takes blood samples every day, a physiotherapist is working to get her back in shape and they are both feeling much happier. Susan is not out of the woods yet but she has a fighting chance.

 

Of course as long-time neighbors and as friends we asked many questions. In the end, I managed to ask the wrong one. “Sam,” I asked, “we both have good medical insurance schemes and we both pay high premiums for that pleasure. “Why didn’t you call them, when this happened? As far as I know they would have sent a doctor out to see you and to help get Susan back.” He looked at me for a minute. “I never bought travel insurance. At our ages and with both our medical histories it cost about $12 a day each. For 2 months that would have been $1450. Would you have paid that?”

 

Bologna is the capital city of Emilia-Romagna, in the Po Valley of Northern Italy. It is the seventh largest city in terms of population and it is the heart of a metropolitan area of about 1,000,000 inhabitants. It is home to the world’s oldest university, fifth-largest church and 24 miles of elegant porticos. The problem is that you can miss them because of the temptation to spend all your time eating. Bologna is the culinary capital of a country that celebrates food.

 

In a nation of Premier League city breaks, Bologna is still on the bench, over-shadowed by the crowd-pleasers Florence, Venice and Rome. But it deserves a place on the pitch, and not just for the food. Piazza Maggiore and the adjoining Piazza Nettuno are the centre of the action. But there aren’t postcard stands or tour groups to be seen. Instead, businessmen bustle past and young Bolognese flirt around Neptune’s fountain. There is a great gelateria right there. Opposite the medieval palace on one side is the vast San Petronio Basilica, which you will admire between licks of ice cream.

 

Work on the world’s fifth-largest church started in 1390, and it was designed to be grander than Saint Peter’s in Rome. But apparently when the Vatican got wind of this, funds were switched elsewhere. Its facade is still incomplete, but the lofty interior is worth seeing. The porticos are another feat of local craftsmanship. There is an uphill trek along a 2 mile long portico to the Sanctuary of Madonna di San Luca. At the end of the return journey you will find the Trattoria Meloncello, which serves the best meatballs in town. There’s no menu: a waiter lists the options, including the city’s most famous export. Don’t order spaghetti Bolognese here. It is a la ragu and served strictly with tagliatelle, a local pasta considered the perfect size to soak up the sauce.

 

By evening, Bologna bubbles. Walk along the shop-lined Via Independenzia, which leads to the main square. Here you will observe the passeggiata, the Italian evening stroll, to see, be seen and enjoy an aperitif or two along the way.

 

The city has three nicknames: la dotta (the learned), la grassa (the fat one) and la rossa (the red one). The learned are everywhere, the city’s students, a powerful force here since the university was established in 1088. The red refers to Bologna’s terracotta roofs and pinky-orange walls, but it also describes Bologna’s politics. 

 

The city of Bologna was selected to participate in the Universal Exposition of Shanghai 2010 together with 45 other cities from around the world. Bologna is also one of the richest cities in Italy, often ranking as one of the top cities in terms of quality of life in the country: it was ranked 5th in 2006, and 12th in 2007, out of 103 Italian cities. Bologna is a lively and cosmopolitan Italian college city, and it has spectacular history, art, cuisine, music and culture.