Last week, with temperatures 20 degrees hotter than at home, and two grandchildren to entertain, I decided to ask if we could look at the newly constructed pool near Montegrotto. The manager was helpful, and I noticed that there was nobody in the pool, so of course asked if they could have a scuba diving lesson. “Come back at 5” was the answer, so two gleeful boys went back for towels and swimming shorts.
Two instructors who spoke a bit of English were found, and I filled in lots of forms about safety, as I was next of kin. All very impressive, I thought, as was the long initial briefing in the shallow end, with practices in breathing before they were allowed onto the 12 metre shelf.
I watched from a glass tube which ran through the pool, identifying where they were by streams of bubbles. Soon they disappeared out of sight, swimming into artificial caves. (The pool is 42 metres deep)
After a generous two hours all four of them (two boys, two instructors) signalled that they were coming to the surface, so I rushed upstairs to watch them appear with grins from ear to ear. Then there was a presentation of certificates before we returned for the inevitable pizza at the ‘Volpe.’ It was the highlight of their holiday.