feat(demo): add journal entries days 1–4 with photos

2026-06-20 21:27:12 +02:00
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+---
+title: 'Setting Off from Campiglia'
+date: '2026-09-01 07:00'
+template: entry
+published: true
+hero_image: ''
+lat: 43.024
+lng: 10.603
+location_city: Campiglia Marittima
+location_country: Italy
+weather_temp_c: 27
+weather_desc: Sunny
+---
+
+Seven in the morning and the coast road is still cool. We loaded the bikes in the car park below the old town, the panniers heavier than they should be and the weather forecast saying nine consecutive days of sun. The route heads south first — down into the Maremma, then east, then a long loop back. Eight days. Nobody goes this way in September except cyclists and people who have got lost.
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+---
+title: 'Maremma in Full Sun'
+date: '2026-09-02 11:30'
+template: entry
+published: true
+hero_image: ''
+lat: 42.612
+lng: 11.171
+location_city: Maremma
+location_country: Italy
+weather_temp_c: 29
+weather_desc: Sunny
+---
+
+Eleven-thirty and already thirty degrees. The Maremma is agricultural land and scrubland and very little else, and in September it has the quality of a landscape that has given up trying. The road is straight, the sun is direct, the shadows are almost vertical. We stopped at a petrol station and drank two cans of something cold each. The man at the counter looked at us like people who had made a series of questionable decisions.
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+---
+title: 'The Lagoon at Dusk'
+date: '2026-09-02 19:00'
+template: entry
+published: true
+hero_image: ''
+lat: 42.442
+lng: 11.218
+location_city: Orbetello
+location_country: Italy
+weather_temp_c: 24
+weather_desc: Partly cloudy
+---
+
+Orbetello sits on a causeway between two lagoons and at dusk the light does something remarkable to the water. Pink flamingos — real ones, not ornamental — were standing in the shallows on the western side, perfectly still. We ate at a table outside overlooking the eastern lagoon. The sky turned orange and then purple and then a deep blue that was almost indistinguishable from the water. The wine was cold and the pasta had clams.
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+---
+title: 'Orbetello Morning'
+date: '2026-09-03 08:00'
+template: entry
+published: true
+hero_image: ''
+lat: 42.442
+lng: 11.217
+location_city: Orbetello
+location_country: Italy
+weather_temp_c: 22
+weather_desc: Sunny
+---
+
+The lagoon at eight in the morning is a different thing from the lagoon at eight in the evening. Flat, silver, nearly silent. A single fisherman in a small boat about two hundred metres out, not appearing to fish. We left before the town had properly woken up, heading northeast on roads that climbed immediately and steeply into a landscape of oak and limestone that felt nothing like the coast we had left behind twenty minutes before.
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+---
+title: 'Tufa and Towers'
+date: '2026-09-03 17:00'
+template: entry
+published: true
+hero_image: ''
+lat: 42.683
+lng: 11.715
+location_city: Sorano
+location_country: Italy
+weather_temp_c: 26
+weather_desc: Sunny
+---
+
+Sorano appears on the horizon an hour before you reach it: a cluster of towers and walls on a pale cliff, floating above the valley. The closer you get the stranger it becomes. The town is not built on rock — the town is rock, volcanic tufa carved and inhabited over two thousand years. The Etruscans started it. Everyone since has just kept adding floors. We are staying the night and it already feels like somewhere that requires more time than we have.
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+---
+title: 'The Long Climb North'
+date: '2026-09-04 15:00'
+template: entry
+published: true
+hero_image: ''
+lat: 43.077
+lng: 11.678
+location_city: "Val d'Orcia"
+location_country: Italy
+weather_temp_c: 23
+weather_desc: Partly cloudy
+---
+
+Today was the hardest day. The route from Sorano to the Val d'Orcia crosses the eastern slope of Monte Amiata, which sounds manageable on a map and is not manageable at all. By noon we had climbed eleven hundred metres. By two we were somewhere above Seggiano in thin cloud, the views long gone, legs complaining in a language that had become very specific. Then the cloud lifted and the Val d'Orcia was simply there below us: pale roads, dark cypress, the whole thing exactly as advertised. Sometimes the landscapes that have been photographed to death are still worth arriving at.