Great night’s sleep, but awake to crap weather. Stormy, dark and
not overly warm. We have spotted a walk we want to do to a place called
Seythenex which is a trek up a mountain to some cascades and grottes. This
brings thoughts of waterfalls and swimming in ice cold pools which after
yesterday’s heat would be bliss. After a trip to Carrefour to get breakfast and
stock up (why is it impossible to find BBQ charcoal in French Supermarkets?)
the weather is showing no signs of improvement, in fact it’s getting worse.
Certainly not suitable for trekking up a Mountain in the foothills of the Alps
in flip flops. We decide to give it until around midday before making our minds
up. Deep down we both know it’s set in for the day. 11.30 brings on the
decision. Time to go to Italy.
The weather remains dreadful, but we are in the foothills of the
Alps, so the scenery is tremendously dramatic, trees clinging to vertical hills
with impossibly located tiny chalets peeking out, mist and clouds cover the
tops of the mountains and roll gently down to nestle in the valleys.
Albertville
comes and goes and before long we are in the queue for the Frejus Tunnel. The
queue snakes up a fairly steep hill and we are in it for over half an hour.
Nervous moments pass as we have visions of Onzo letting the side down in the
single lane contraflow. Thankfully Onzo comes through without the merest hint
of a further Van fail. The nice people at the Tunnel peage relieve us of €50
(budget goes out of the window) and we make our way from France to Italy – Si.
Hello
Italy! At the Italian end we arrive to bright sunshine and heat. Literally
light at the end of the tunnel after what was the unfortunate weather in the
Alps. The view is instantly spectacular, which Noush thinks is all part of a
cunning plan on the part of the Italians to bamboozle you into taking the
autoroute because you’re not paying close enough attention the road signs. A
last second swerve across several lanes (we are excellent at adopting the local
style!) at which no one bats an lash at, gets us off the autoroute and onto the
teeny tiny rubbishly signposted alternative route towards Bardonecchia, Susa
and Torino. Jonathan Keates described this area as “Alpine villages full of
cretins and goitres and people who ate nothing but cheese”, we are concerned
that we may never escape, but this is before we learn that all roads do not, in
fact, lead to Rome, they all – all of them – lead to Torino. Onzo seems totally
in his element and is zooming along quite happily, perhaps he knows he’s home?
No more happy smiley faces on the speedo checks though, perhaps the Italians
are all about red angry grr faces and randomly placed traffic lights to slow
you down, personally I think the catastrophic signposts are enough to keep
anybody at a steady 20km/h, map on steering wheel, totally lost.
We
are now in the Italian Alps: hills rising vertically and plummeting to dramatic
gorges, old forts hewn out of the rock and strategic villages littered
everywhere, some with ski lifts rising to the sky. We can sometimes see the
autoroute and it weaves its way, hanging in the sky, across the valleys, a feat
of engineering indeed.
We
arrive at Torino remarkably quickly and then proceed to get lost as usual.
This, however, is not our fault for once. Three maps on the go and not one
agreeing with another, and sign posts that insist on only mentioning the
smallest local hamlet rather than anywhere that might actually be on the map.
Any map.
Eventually
we adopt the local mentality and head towards Torino in the hope that this will
actually take us south and away. The strategy pays off and we find ourselves on
the right road, heading to Cortemilia. Si!!!
As
is the norm, (as this is where Noush’s mum resides) we decide to toast our successful
arrival in Italy and conclusion to the first part of the voyage with a visit to
the local bar in Cortemilia – Nazionale. Liquid refreshement in the form of a
cold beer is just what we need after roasting in the Van since we left France
at 11.30. We have been hankering after a fishing rod since we left as we think
it could be fun in the lakes and rivers we stumble upon. We ask this local dude
in the Bar, Nico (this name will crop up again) who disappears and then reappears
not ten minutes later (on his bike) with a rod and reel for us – how very
random!
After
a couple of beers we decamp to the house in the hills (can’t wait to sleep in a
bed) and unpack for a week or so of chilling and fixing the Van. Within ten
minutes we have broken the bloody rod. Tip fell off after being closed in the
van window (sorry Nico). No fishing just yet then.
Food,
wine and sleep follows soon after.