Paying by Card for a Guilty Pleasure

 

JUST A CARD LOGO designed by @SarahHamiltonPrints

We think of ourselves as serious travellers; neither tourists nor, perish the thought, trippers. Yet, who of us can resist that gift shop with the folksy name? In Scotland recently, I spotted That Cute Little Highland Shop — self-parody, surely?. That beguiling independent book shop, that local artisan craft workshop?

In we go with a furtive look over our shoulder. Politely, we remove our rucksack to relieve the proprietor’s fear of us swiping a swathe through a shelf of her fragile merchandise.

Now comes the free entertainment. We rootle about. We examine everything. We wonder if we have wall space for that local watercolour. We regret that we cannot take that fragile ceramic piece home, ignoring the offer to have it shipped. We take a book from the shelf, read the blurb, sniff at the pages (is that just me?) and replace it knowing that we already have plenty of holiday reading. We snigger at the kitsch.

Then we leave having enjoyed a quarter of an hour or so of free entertainment or at least shelter from the rain. We may even remember to smile at the shopkeeper and say thank you.

But what of the shop owner? You are the twenty-third non-buyer of the day. She has smiled at twenty-three people without making aa sale. She has a three-month season to earn a year’s living. Rents and business rates must be paid. Maybe her twenty-fourth shopper will buy a high value item but then again, maybe not.

Even a small purchase by most browsers would make a difference. If every visitor paid for their entertainment by buying just a postcard she would receive, over the course of a day, a significant contribution to her overheads.

It’s a fair exchange for our guilty pleasure. Let’s play fair.

A voluntary organisation has sprung up to encourage thus attitude. It is Just a Card. Founded in 2015, Just a Card is a grassroots campaign on a mission to encourage people to support, value and buy from artists, makers, independent shops and small businesses. Every sale, even just a card, is vital to their prosperity and survival. It is UK Based but has support from around the world.  Please look out for their logo in gift shops.  Better still buy a postcard (or two) by way of thanking the shop.

The Meridian Passage of the Sun at Bergamo

 

At exactly Latitude 48° 42’ 11” North, Longitude 9° 39’ 16” East, you are in the portico of the Palazzo della Ragione (The Palace of Reason) in Bergamo. At your feet is a masterwork of the Age of Reason. You are standing on a compass rose where the latitude and longitude has been carved into the stone. Heading due north along the meridian is a long white line of marble set into grey flagstones. It is marked with days and months of the year. It extends about ten metres into the shadows under the building.  The line is capped at each end by the summer and winter solstices, when the Sun is at its most northerly and southerly points in the sky giving us our seasons.

What you are looking at under the shuffling feet of uninterested tourists, is the analemmatic sundial of Bergamo. It was created by the mathematician Giovanni Albrici in 1798 to provide a standard for setting the city’s clocks. It is a remarkable and precise scientific instrument.

In Bergamo on 5 April 2025, sidereal or true noon falls at 1:25pm by your watch. As the time approaches, a small circle of sunlight, beamed through a hole in a metal plate high in the arch, moves slowly eastward towards the meridian line. The circle of light crosses a thin black line right by the 5 April mark at the moment the Sun reaches its zenith. At that instant, the observer knows that it is true noon and knows the date — no mean feat in 1798.

Why did this happen at 1:25pm on your watch rather than 12:00 pm? That is because the human contrivances of time and longitude are interchangeable. At 15° East, noon happens one hour earlier than it does at the Greenwich Meridian. So, at 9° 39’ 16” East, noon comes a little over half an hour earlier: 11:25 am. Adding an hour for a time zone change and another for Daylight Saving Time gets you to 1:25pm.

What the row of dates along the line measures is the declination of the Sun; that is its apparent rise and fall in the sky at noon as the Earth, with its 23° tilt wobbles its way round its orbit. It is also marked by an elegant, elongated figure of eight engraved in black and interwoven with the meridian line in Albrici’s design. It is this black line that the disc of light crossed at noon.  It is called the Analemma and has been known since ancient times.

Mariners carry out the same calculation in reverse. They know the date and a nautical almanac gives them the declination. They watch the sun through a sextant and as it reaches its highest point, they note its angle above the horizon. By subtracting that from 90° and making a clever adjustment for declination, they have their exact latitude.

Although guides point out Albrici’s analemmatic sundial to their tourists, few take any interest beyond noticing the zodiacal symbols that indicate the progress of the Earth round its solar orbit. Today, you are the only keen observer of the meridian passage of the Sun.

Beneath the arches of the Palace of Reason, we have lost our connection to the Age of Reason.

I travelled with the excellent Great Rail Journeys

Sulzano Station — Sunday

 

There is birdsong and, I think, the chirp of cicadas. There is just one track and one platform at Sulzano railway station by Lake Iseo in Lombardy. It is Sunday afternoon. There is no ticket barrier, no ticket office and, blessedly, I can hear the birdsong because there are no announcements. Small groups of people are on the platform, mostly families after a day out. They may be returning home to one of the small towns or villages along the single-track route. It runs from the alpine town of Edolo in the north 60 miles to the city of Brescia in the south. If the next train is southbound, it will come from the left. A couple of 100 metres beyond the ends of the platform on level crossings that will indicate that a train is approaching.

There is something special about a country railway station. It is familiar to its users. They know the trains and need not bother with a timetable. If they are not tourists, they probably know each other — Sulzano is a small town. The station at Sulzano is a quiet, sunny, informal place for travellers.

At each end of the line the line, the driver will get out and trudge the length of the three-carriage train and set off back up or down the line. For the waiting passengers, there are no such limits. From the southern terminus at Brescia, they can catch a train east to Verona, Venice and Trieste. It will only take them an hour from Brescia to get to Milan, from where they can get a train south to Palermo in Sicily or north to Munich and onwards into eastern and northern Europe.

As Marcel Proust wrote, “The most intoxicating romance in the lover’s library — the railway timetable.”

A bell rings. The northern level crossing closes to cars and the streamlined nose of the dark green diesel train appears, small at first, growing larger. When it stops, about 10 people get off and the same number get on. The train departs. There is silence again and yes, I can hear cicadas.

I travelled with the excellent  Great Rail Journeys