Life is beautiful
It really is, its twists, its turns; and when you really live it, it is especially beautiful.
This journey is drawing to a close. We’re about to leave. Stanley comes to school on the morning of our departure. Ever since I told our teacher about him, she’s been dying to meet him. On this, my last lesson for now, I learn more about my fellow students and my teacher. I was due to see La Boheme on the trip and even shared that with my class. Sadly, an orchestral strike put those plans to bed. But not before my fellow student, Kay shared that her husband was playing the lead role of Rodolfo. If I had expressed amazement and incredulity, it was nothing compared to the delight learning this evoked in our teacher. She was popping. Expressive Italian arms came out in full force; sharing their appreciation with her wide and happy smile. But then she stopped. Heading towards me, she sat on the desk lightly placing her arm around me. She was about to tell her story. Her husband had been a famous cellist, they had two successful sons, now grown, together. But from the way she spoke, it was clear he was no longer with her. A flutist had caught his eye and whisked him away. I don’t know what she saw in me; perhaps that same look of loss and newfound contentment. Far from sadly reminiscing, she too, was content. Pride at her sons’ achievements, now working as a lawyer and doctor, overwhelmed whatever regret could have taken hold. She inspired me.
But our time in Florence was at an end. We picked up the car and headed to the vet to get Stan’s tapeworm treatment and paperwork for UK immigration. They had never seen a Sealyham before in the vets and he created something of a stir.
Ironically, google maps was taking us home the way we had come. The first leg of our journey was to get close to the Frejus tunnel on the Italian-French border. Remember that we’d passed through the Mont Blanc tunnel on its last open day before a planned closure that was due to last until mid December. Despite the different tunnel, the road sent us north via Genova. We even passed the Rapallo turnoff; leaving me wondering where the time had really gone. Seeing the sea at Genova reminded me of all those Italian words I had learnt for the colour blue. None of them seemed to do justice to that wonderful sight. I was sad not to be able to stop and take one last dip in the ocean. The time for that had passed; in the time we’d been away, sultry, sunny days had inevitably shifted to Autumn chill.
Turin signposts started to litter the road and with it a new geography. As if the theatre had prepared its best stage for us, upstage the backdrop was wheeled into place. Painted to depict the setting sun, alpine mountains towered above Stan and I. In front, a valley as flat as one could imagine. As the earth moved underneath our car, it felt like getting to those mountains was to be a dream. Despite the milometer faithfully counting up the miles, we never seemed to get close. And, then, suddenly we did!
It’s ironic that on our return, we should end up breaking the one commitment we’d made. Namely, that our accommodation should be free. However, it’s hard to find one night stops so we’d capitulated and signed up for a booking.com. I won’t lie. In my head I had built this into something more than reality could ever provide. I envisaged a welcoming arrival, fires on, a glass of wine being handed to me as staff brought the luggage and attended to Sran. This was not our reality! Gravere was our destination. It’s not like I hadn’t done my homework. Concerned that it might be very remote, I’d messaged ahead to enquire if restaurants would be open. The answer; a clear affirmative.
As we climbed the hill, I had that sinking feeling. Sunset was over and the temperature dropped rapidly to reflect our elevated height above sea level. Clearly, we had entered no man’s land. And by that I mean there was no-one here! It was beautiful, but we were very much alone. We called Alberto, who explained a neighbour would be there shortly to let us into the bed and breakfast. One minute turned into two, then five and ten. We were chilly. She arrived with a buoyant stride and smile that we could not match. As we walked into the twisty alleys of the deserted village, we began to feel genuine concern. Not least, how on earth would we find our way back to the car and where on earth were those fabulous restaurants? Fortunately, folks around here spoke French. Suddenly expressing more complicated emotions became easier, and I explained we thought there would be somewhere to eat. What could she do? Nothing of course as she kindly suggested we call Alberto.
It was fully dark when we entered Alberto’s deserted home. Inside was a sight to behold. Suggesting the place was cluttered would be an understatement. I was reminded of my friend Leigh’s love of feng shui and how much fun she would have had organising this place. A stove provided the heat in the kitchen and living area. The whole place had the promise of a heart, but that heart was sleeping as too few souls were there to make it beat. Despite the solitude of it all, I could see that heart and knew it to be a place of warmth. How I longed for that experience of happy mountain wanderers gathered with me to take their overnight rest. But it was just Stan and I!
Calling Alberto, we learnt the restaurants were a ten minute drive away so, he agreed to let me make a meal from his well-stocked larder. Though we were tired it intrigued me to discover what I could muster up from this treasure trove. And what a treasure trove, there was no space left unstocked. Thoughts of snow confinement flooded my mind. If it were to snow this night, we would be absolutely fine. Stan liked it too, not least because the shelving was stacked floor to ceiling. Within seconds, a cardboard container of full fat cream lay spewing on the floor as Stan lovingly licked his find. Not ready to give up on our Italian dream just yet, I prepared Cacio e Pepe the way the restaurants in Rome had served us.
Despite the isolation, we slept soundly until about 11pm when Alberto came home. You know you’re exhausted when a slight surprise that otherwise would have set you in a spin results in a sigh, a shift in position until sleep takes over again. Sunlight brought a new sense of the place. First off, Alberto was charming and he’d prepared the best breakfast of our entire trip. Outside, the mountains towered majestically above us and we stopped to survey our scene. Whatever the expectation, this had been a wonderful stop.
All that was left to do was to get on the road and make it to Daix, near Dijon. But today had new surprises in store for us. As we got closer to the Frejus tunnel the warning statement - Change Key Battery - changed its tune. I had decided in my wisdom this was slightly annoying but highly unlikely to cause real problems. How wrong could I be? The new statement was No Key Found. Instinct kicked in, as long as the engine is running we will be OK. Problem number two, we were running out of petrol. Coming off the mountain and heading back to the main road involved kilometres of winding roads, so genuine concern was taking over any enjoyment of our surroundings. We pulled into Oulx and one of those unmanned petrol stations that were so popular in Italy. This was our reckoning. Turning the engine off would leave us paralysed in this sleeping ski town. It did have some advantages though - restaurants, a pretty centre, people. Engine running, I wound down my window and called to a man who’d appeared from one of the private garages that skirted the petrol station. Like many in this area, he also spoke French so I was able to fully explain our predicament. I’ve always envied those typically guys (sorry ladies) who seem to be able to just fix things. He instantly opened the key and pulled out the battery, disappearing for ten minutes. On his return he walked back to his garage as my heart sank assuming he was still on the hunt! But, no he’d gong to get his scissors to open the battery pack he’d procured from down the street. I had nothing to give him but a five pound note and my gratitude, we were back on the road.
Onwards through France, we stayed one further night only in a lovely Homeexchange near Dijon. The original plan was to head back to the chateau of our journey to Italy, but by now, I wanted to be home. Ahead of us lay a five hour drive to the Eurotunnel and then the two hour drive home to London. I knew I could do it, and I did. Just five miles from the French border, a spectacular rainbow emerged on the horizon, it wished us well as we left European shores for our island home.
Being home feels good. Stan was crazy excited and spent a good amount of time expressing himself with zoomies!
I’ve thought a lot about what I’ve learnt and why I did this. But before I get to that, why did I write all this? Knowing you’re all out there gave me purpose; you helped buoy my spirit and report back. Thank you for being there! As my mum cares for my step-father, I reflect that she can’t make a trip like this. I somehow wanted to bring my journey to life for her. She’s been there with me way before I started out. She witnessed the trauma, challenge and sadness that accompanied the years before the trip. My adventure with Stan has shown how far I’ve come and the new person I am. I’m grateful for those challenges. Without them I wouldn’t be where I am. So, what’s next? Who knows, but one thing is for sure.
As Mum taught me, you can do anything you want in life!
Stan at school one last time
Gravere - where is everybody?
And you thought your kitchen was well stocked!
At least we were warm
Someone’s happy
Marvellous mountains
Somewhere over the rainbow
Happy to be home
