After
a few days of R&R, glorious weather and lovely campsite woman letting us
have a tab (eek!) we feel thoroughly restored. The excellence of the BBQ is
only marred by the fact that we have utterly failed at fishing. Not even a
bite. Nothing. Nada. Niente. Noush is beginning to question the veracity of Jon’s
claims of being a master fisherman. However he has redeemed himself by doing a
masterful diagnosis of Onzo’s heating problem. A quick phone call to Mother
supplies us with the necessary lingo and then a trip to the bar for Noush to
enquire about the whereabouts of a local garage. Lovely campsite woman is
unfortunately absent and in her place there is old dude with his volume control
issues. With hair blasted back behind her ears by the sheer auditory force of the
vocal delivery of his incomprehensible directions, off we set. Remarkably we
find the garage pretty much straight away, true to form though they can’t help
us and more incomprehensible directions are imparted. Off we set again.
We
find the boys at ElletroAuto without too much trouble and with much gesticulating
and guessing at Italian we get the point across. They wheel us straight into
the garage and three of them proceed to swarm all over Onzo doing all manner of
things that make you wince to watch. It was like watching a Formula 1 pit crew –
as all three blokes descended deep into the engine bay, no doubt muttering language
to make Mother blush. Meanwhile one of
them has kidnapped Jon to take him to the bank…
…at
breakneck speed. The old boy must have been in his mid-sixties but he was
driving the small Fiat like it had been nicked. Either that or the cops were
behind us. I didn’t dare look, or more to the point I couldn’t as the G forces literally
pinned me into the seat. We passed through narrow pedestrian streets at close
on 70 mph, several cars overtaken and a couple of pavements mounted. Meanwhile Old
Italian nutter was laid back in his seat so far he was almost in the back, with
one casual hand on the wheel like we were taking a Sunday afternoon drive. All
the while he kept up a running commentary (I didn’t understand a word) which
was shouted at me and anyone that got in the way. Such was his ferocity and
volume several large globules of spit were liberally scattered over me and the
windscreen. Rather quickly we screeched to a halt outside the bank (half on the
pavement) and once done I was subjected to an equally brutal return journey. Good
job I put my elasticated pants on.
Jon
returns from the bank excursion, somewhat white faced. Both of us have been
subjected to some serious diatribes delivered at unfeasible volume and with
largely incomprehensible gesticulations. But, the gist is that all is well.
There was a fuse issue and some split fuse wires. These have been replaced,
Onzo’s fans seem to be working. Happy days. Relieved of a rather convenient €50
(ulterior motives for accompanying to the bank anyone?) we head back to Pesce D’oro.
Happy to have it sorted, not too irked at the price and relieved to be back on
familiar territory. Van success? If this works first time it will be a first in
Onzo fixing history.