I have never been dead in a bathroom at an airport / Non ero mai morto in bagno in aeroporto. These words were reassuringly sung by Tiziano Ferro as we were on our way to Bergamo airport in northern Italy. Neither have I, I thought to myself. Happy that I found a connection with Tiziano Ferro. I like leaving Italy with a CD of Italian pop music. Not so much for the music itself but for the simple language that comes with the tunes. When we were saying goodbye to Italy, I promised myself that I will make a greater effort this year to learn the language a bit better and I am keeping my word. My Italian lesson will start in 30 minutes… which means that I have just a little bit more time to tell you more about our stay in Italy.
In short, these were very odd holidays. We didn’t have the accommodation that we initially hoped for and the luxuries that we looked forward to. Neither were we pampered by the breeze of the mountain air normally granted with staying at high altitude. Instead, we were frequently scorched by the Italian sun. It’s the price that you pay when you forget to check if your reservation was all in order. We had to quickly look for alternative accommodation and take what was available at the last minute. We didn’t die however in the bathroom at the airport and that makes up for the unexpected inconveniences quite well, I think.
One of the tourist places that we looked forward to seeing was the little island of San Giulio, situated on the lake Orta in the Piemonte region in northern Italy. Since we were staying in the tiny mountainous region of Aosta it took us a while to drive and reach the lake. We drove, and drove, and drove, and there was a curve, and another curve, and yet another curve, and there seemed to be no end to those curves until of course there was an end to them and what a beautiful one too. Worth of all the curves put together. A very deserving place. I had been terribly impatient with the slow mountain road that we had taken and regretful that we avoided the swift motorway. Sour about the lost time. And then when we reached our destination I was rewarded with the beautiful corners of the island and gorgeous buildings of an old town. And I had to become remorseful about my childish impatience and firmly reproached myself for being such a grump. The routes to great destinations are frequently like that. Full of stops, curves and turnings. But apparently it is the tourist that mainly focuses on the arrival point, the real traveller keeps her eyes open to it all.
I definitely need more practise in travelling.
“Not all those who wander are lost.” – J.R.R. Tolkien
“The traveler sees what he sees. The tourist sees what he has come to see.”
― G.K. Chesterton