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I can hardly contain my excitement, I've just returned from a truly extraordinary evening and I guess for you to understand the magnitude of its brilliance I have to take you back a few days to my arrival in Italy and the beginning of Italian chapter of my adventure.
Leaving Germany was difficult for a few reasons, I guess partly because when I was just starting to feel like I had found somewhere to belong it was time to move on. It is the nature of travel and the aspect that many adore, to never belong but always be home, yet there is a part of my soul that will forever yearn for a life of routine and familiarity. For as long as I can remember people have always told me that I'd make a great wife/mamma some day, and that my personality and child bearing hips were designed specifically for the task of popping out children and running an ordered but loving household trimmed with every kind of domestic bliss. But what happens to that woman who, at thirty, feels like she's failed at the only task she was ever built for, just because she never had the confidence or the inclination to secure or settle for the other half of the equation that would bring this inevitability to fruition? She saves her ass off, packs her bags and throws herself into an adventure that has a rough outline but is far from mapped out. I learned too late in life that plans are only the beginning as your reality will carve its self based on your determination, fearlessness and ambition - if you stand still then so will your dreams. So back to why it was hard for me to leave my Bavarian bliss, well, it was just that, bliss, I had quickly and instinctively adapted to a routine that suited my safe idea of adventure and when it came time to give up all that I had established I wanted to cling to it like a childhood blanky and never let go. In the end it was the excitement of returning to a place that I knew would feel like home that pushed me out the door. Wanting to stay but excited to go I've never felt so torn and with an exhilarating day of travel that forced me to quickly adapt from the seamlessness of the German transport system to the chaos that is disguised as Italian rail, I reminded myself that this was why I had left the land down under. Jumping in a car with a complete stranger and two of her kids, to drive almost half an hour up a mountain into a tiny Tuscan village where I would isolate myself with two fierce looking canines, for nearly ten days, is something that only weeks ago I would never have contemplated, and yet, here I am.
These days the internet and a plethora of travel savvy gen X entrepreneurs have opened the world up to so many folk who would never have thought this kind of adventure was possible. With WWOOFing, MindMyHouse, CouchSurfing, AirBnB, Hostelworld, Skyscanner, Rome2Rio and so many more (I would be here all week to name them), the options for extended inexpensive world wide travel is as limited as your own imagination - and web surfing skills. Finding a place to rest your head or take a week off for little to no expense is quite easy if your patient and don't have a set idea of where or when you need to be. People have often looked at me with an expression of "well you're not going to last very long" when I explain my very rough and in no way logical travel plan for the next eight months, but what I've experienced and what they may never discover, is that it's the fluidity of my plans that have made the experience more than what I could have ever hoped for back home. Sitting in my office for two years, loathing my inability to be grateful for my 'lot' and daydreaming endlessly for the day that I could throw in the towel and jump on the plane, I would drool over websites that seemed to offer incredibly reasonably priced adventures if you opted for the 'roughing it' style of travel where you stay in shared accommodation etc along your fifteen day whirlwind tour of half of Europe. I look at those sites now and laugh at the fact that I ever contemplated those options as being the kind of trip that I was after. They weren't, they're not. The more I travel and the more I learn about myself the more I discover that it wasn't getting away to have a whirlwind prepackaged adventure to break up the monotony of my everyday life that I was craving - which by the way, is a perfectly acceptable way to have a holiday - but that's just it, this isn't a holiday. Even labelling it as 'my adventure' isn't right, ultimately what I was searching for was a new challenge, something that would force me out of my comfort zone and make me test my own boundaries without a safety net - which in this scenario would be the established tour company that would have planned my itinerary for me and held my hand the whole way. That's why I was scared to leave Germany, I had Ralf, my trusted and overly resourceful friend who welcomed me and protected me for the entire start of my trip. He didn't baby me, if anything it was the way he squeezed every drop of life out of evey day that made me kickstart my travel savvy ways, but even while on my own in Ireland and for most of the time in Berlin, I knew that my stay with him, that bookended that part of my trip, was so heavily supported - he was my safety net. Ralf, the trusted travel company from the previous analogy, and it's only now after my week of isolation at the beginning of my truly solo adventure that I can take stock and realise that there is no one here to hold my hand and the only thing holding me back is the simple fear of the unknown. How can I be afraid when I have no possible way of knowing what is to come?
It has certainly been a week of reflection, highs and lows, wins and losses, I can hardly tell if it's the excitement of overcoming a personal struggle or the generous lashings of alcohol I ingested tonight that are making me this giddy, but I do know that for the first time since I arrived in Vico I have something to write about. Don't misunderstand me please, from the second I stepped out of the car, hiked up the hill and then climbed the thirty or so steps into the top floor of the house I was to call home for the week I was utterly hooked... exhausted, but hooked. With every possible cliché that you can imagine from every scene ever depicted of a 'typical' Tuscan dwelling this place has the lot, from the ageing wooden shutters with ornate metal latches (that only just line up enough to be able to close), to the terracotta coloured walls and a mismatch decorative floor tiles. To top it all off the breathtaking views from every window of the house make it hard to believe that you haven't died and gone to some kind of scenic heaven. On the family's last day at home before their return to England for their Easter break it was an absolute flurry of activity, Kate and I drove into Lucca and while she went to a parent teacher interview at one of the kids schools I moseyed around the piazza and adjoining streets to take photos and soak up the magic of my first day back in Italy. After an hour or so Kate was done and we went for coffee and cake followed by a little shopping and then when the weather rolled in, quickly and quite fiercely, the rain and then sparatic burst of hail made our venture to get me a local SIM card quite a funny little scene. On the way home we stock up on a weeks worth of groceries for me and then the evening was their usual nightly routine of children and canine chaos and by midday the following day I was on my own... completely and utterly - well save for the two dogs that would, during our time together, test the limit of my slobber and animal hair tolerance to the extreme.
At first the solitude was welcome and the change of pace relaxing but after only three days of my new routine and a few very brief but completely failed attempts at conversing with the 'Italian only' speaking locals, I started to wallow, and then sulk and finally freak the hell out - What am I doing here? How did I ever think I could do this? What business do I have 'on the road'? and, the fear of all fears, am I destined to be alone like this for ever?... In a teary and irrational, somewhat drunken, state I turned to the oracle known as facebook messenger and after a few returned 'cheer up and snap the hell out of it' messages I blotted my swollen eyes and went to bed a little disillusioned but strangely determined to turn a new leaf in the morning. I guess it took a few days and the sour weather didn't help any, as while it can be completely dreamlike and romantic sitting in front of the fire with a book and a glass of wine in the Tuscan hills, when you've spent a few days on the verge of a depressive breakdown over the Easter holiday (that makes you even more homesick) and feeling stupendously isolated, the idyllic scenario is, in reality, less than heart warming. Finally the lack of fresh food and a shopping list of 'must buy' items that is growing by the second forces me to brave the drive down the hill to the little grocery store that Kate pointed out before she left "If you need anything urgently they pretty much have all the basics", so, armed with my list of maybe ten items I pushed through the door to the sound of a tiny high-pitched entrance bell and much to my dismay found myself in a deli/ milk-bar that was well stocked but I knew that almost everything I wanted was behind the counter and required me to be able to ask for the items in Italian. Mission bust. But without wanting to feel rude for going in and not at least buying something, I managed a short but fairly coherent conversation with the shop lady and left with my half loaf of pane bianco and a, far too expensive, block of burro. I guess though the failed grocery run did force me to overcome another of my recent fears and I drove all the way into the town of Bagni di Lucca, somehow found the supermarket, that I'd only been to once, and managed to purchase all the items on my list (and then some) without falling onto a weeping mess on the floor of a public place. Win!
So to celebrate my new leaf, growing confidence and ultimately break the recent routine I'd fallen into of nightly conversations with myself and the dogs, I decided to continue on my winning streak and take myself out for dinner. In the small village of Vico (that doesn't even have it's own general store) the only operating buisiness is a small but popular restaurant and bar that is frequented by not only the locals but many tourists from all over. This tiny little ristorante has quite literally put this place on the map, I have no idea what the secret method to preparing the freshly made gnocchi is (and all of the home made pasta for that matter) but they are melt in your mouth, tiny pieces of heaven that are a delightfully gluttonous treat - seriously you don't even need teeth to eat them they practically dissolve in your mouth.
I fed the dogs and wandered down the hill at about seven thirty - as I figured if the fifty-ish seat establishment could again be booked out with the influx of Easter tourists and holiday makers and that, if it were, I would disguise my visit as an overwhelming desire for a mid-evening aperitivo, and read my book on the balcony with a spritz as I watch the sun disappear behind the mountains. To my delight Louisa the gorgeous soux chef (who speaks intermediate English) is standing in the bar area when I walk in and confirms that there is indeed room in the restaurant for me to have dinner. While it's still very early in Italian terms for the evening meal she tells me that they are not quite ready for service but I insist that a pre-dinner prosecco and aperol spritz on the balcony was always my intention - I think she bought it. After only a short while Louisa returns to tell me that they are ready when I am, so without seeming too keen to fill my famished (and now slightly tipsty) self, I give it another five minutes or so by finishing the chapter I was reading and head inside. A variety of different sized tables laid with white embroidered tablecloths, over a classic tuscan red, divide the room into several intimate dining spaces. Dim lighting, lit votive candles on every table and a cracking open fire set a welcoming mood and the high ceiling with dark wooden panels gives the room a sense of grandature. As I am currently the only diner in the restaurant I have my choice tables and choose a cosy double with my back to the fire and a good view of the door in order to see any on-coming traffic that may require tapping into my limited index of polite Italian greetings and best wishes for a good dining experience.
Louisa came over for a chat and rattled off the list of primo and secondi dishes on offer, to which my ears sing and mouth salivates with delight. After hearing Kate describe the unforgettable gnocchi before she left for England I had no choice but to order it with Louisa's heavenly recommendation of their signature béchamel and corgette flower sauce. For main the was no question but to try the lamb with stewed peppers and chocolate gravy and finally for a very cheeky dessert I managed to squeeze in a delightful round of profita rolls doused in chocolate sauce. Now, as distracting as the heavenly dishes before me may have been, it did not go unnoticed throughout my dining experience (and I do not use this word lightly, it was most certainly an experience), that not one single additional person entered the restaurant. Having started the evening with a back up plan in case not making a reservation was a massive faux pa, it ended up that I had the quaint five star village eatery all to myself, with its homely charm, exceptional menu, friendly service and spectacular views I don't think I could have planned a more unique dining or travel experience - take that pre-packaged tour company holidays!
There is so much more to tell you about my week with the dogs but I think I'll save it for next time and leave you for now so that I can go and sleep of my gloriously tipsy high!
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