Between 2019-2023 (42 months) I did not venture outside south east England and East Anglia, although my husband, Paolo, flew to Switzerland, in 2022. We forfeited, like millions of others, anticipated trips to Paris, Brittany, Normandy and Sicily, as well as several to Switzerland and Turin.
During that time, when international travel was out of reach for many of us, we lost a lot of confidence built up over a lifetime of venturing abroad. I was far from alone in feeling weirdly anxious about going anywhere and sensed that only watertight preparations would solve these issues. So I set to work with maps, Michelins and insurance policies. Above all, I paced the itinerary to make it realistic for our age, energy levels, confidence and capabilities. Planning took me an entire weekend in early May and I had to put all my confidence in booking.com and in my various hosts. Thankfully, we were not disappointed, though I mainly attribute the smooth outcomes to added prayer.
As a result, this trip reminded me of the text Joel 2.25 'I will restore to you the years the locust has eaten'. It has definitely healed my collapsed travel-confidence. In advance, I decided we would cushion ourselves by staying only in historic French chateaux. 'Chateau-therapy' definitely works: I can recommend it. It costs slightly more, but the effect is first rate. The last thing one wants is a sleepless night in a bad French hotel.
This trip was not really a holiday but combined with a valuable linguistics and meet-up project. We came home satisfied having accomplished all our objectives. Meeting so many resilent people who had been through something so similar to us, has recaptured our somewhat diminshed 'joie de vie' which is worth every penny.
Our purpose was to:
To manage Paolo’s fluctuating back condition (stenosis) to enable him to continue overseas travel to see his family, friends and new contacts
To explore ‘paced’ travel - more suitable for older travellers/anyone with a disability because I want to think and write about pacing
To meet up with Piedmontese contacts and hold a Sunday service
To see old friends in the Waldensian Valleys west of Turin and get a taste of living in a ‘borgata’ - in case we want to do that one day
To explore elegant Turin
To meet Paolo’s Bible translating partner and a Professor of Linguistics at Turin University to support Piedmontese
To visit Fontainebleau, Roman Vienne, Besancon’s old town, Monet’s Garden and Lily Pond and explore the appealing Normandy coast
To attend the baptism of Paolo’s Swiss grand daughter
To meet theologians and preachers
To get a sense of three great rivers, the Po, the Rhone and the Seine.
The sheer relief of seeing friends and family again (with none missing and one added) was a key part of the 'uplift'. Nor, personally, had I hoped, in the depths of the last three years to set foot in either France or Italy again (though I had always thought Switzerland would be viable, by plane). I had to keep pinching myself that I was even in Italy, or France. The ‘beauties of Italy’ (Shakespeare’s words) i.e. its scenery and buildings seemed magnified, almost intoxicating.
It was quite challenging, however, because just south of Calais, on the first day, Paolo said he could no longer entirely feel his hands on the steering wheel (due to his fluctuating condition). Feeling was coming and going (he is alright now). So I had to take over most of the driving (1700 miles). I had driven before on French motorways and had said I would never drive in France again. But I had not driven through towns and I ended up driving not only most of the way to Italy and back (1700 miles) but also through a five mile tunnel, under Paris. Realising our trip hung on my ability to drive (with the wheel on the wrong side of the car, on the wrong side of the road, with a speed limit of 80mph), unconsciously I went into shock and felt very tired for the first couple of days. Then I managed to 'rearrange the furniture in my head' and by the time we returned I was ‘geared up’ and ready to go. Happily, Paolo managed to drive us over the Alps twice, as an experienced mountain driver.
I returned to England with new insights into how to
- set interim objectives, breaking up tasks into units
- pace travel, accurately - googlemaps is largely right in its timings
- plan things in detail - this enables you to be far more ambitious than you might otherwise be
- hold all plans lightly and flexibly- which is an intergral part of pacing.
All these useful lessons I am carrying forward into my everyday life, with renewed enthusiasm. The new and remembered sights and sounds were revitalising after nearly four years of the same scenes, smells and tastes. Doing the same things but slightly differently in other languages was stimulating for the stultified brain cells too. Since France erupted in riots and curfews in the following weeks, we were fortunate to avoid that. We did not need that challenge, in addition to the others.
Going by car worked for us because it allowed us to take items we used like mobility aids, laptops and gifts. Seeing valuable places along the way to our main events, made it a very rich, multi-layered experience. I saw some new places like Monet’s Garden and Fountainbleau that I might have devoted whole holidays to reach so this was ‘consolidation’ (the action or process of combining a number of things into a single more effective or coherent whole). It was, indeed, a coherent experience and as a result one of our best trips. Paolo even gave me the compliment of saying “It was well organised”. I told him it was “Very well driven, Alpine-wise - and expertly navigated”.
Day One: Chateau Rouillon d’Allest
We got up at 0400hrs and were in Calais by 0800hrs GMT. We were waved through an empty port at Dover and offered an earlier ferry than the one we had booked. I had prepared bacon sandwiches (a family tradition) which we ate on the ferry. Going through the Field of the Cloth of Gold outside Calais, the hard drive to Paris took most of the day and we arrived at the beautiful Chateau Rouillon d’Allest near Fontainebleau around 5 o'clock. These were the double aspect views out of our suite of rooms over topiary ('done annually by a man who comes from Normandy') and across the leafy relaxing Seine, the other way - a sight familiar from the Impressionists.
We were informed that this chateau, mostly in an earlier incarnation, was once the mini Royal Hunting Lodge of ‘good’ Henry IV of France where he stayed with one of his many mistresses. It is on the banks of the Seine, which rises in Burgundy near Dijon and flows to the Channel at Le Havre, where the large Atlantic liners used to berth, in its wide estuary. The Seine valley from Paris to the coast is wooded and in fact, we would return to it later, to see Monet’s Garden at Giverny situated in the Seine valley. The owner of this chateau swims in the Seine daily because it is 'fast running' and 'not muddy'. He lent us his double aspect suite to help Paolo with two flights of stairs.
During Covid, the French had been very compliant, even filling in forms to go outside. I deeply questioned how, in view of their active rioting, they could be so passive about such limits on their civil liberties. Apparently, many French people secretly regret having got rid of their monarchy (and envy the British having one). However, if the French monarchy was restored, the French would never offer deference to it. Their government system is very similar to a monarchial one - very centralised and rigid, so France is really a pseudo-monarchy without a King (which may be why Presidents tend to mimic one). The French are 'internally conflicted'. As for the ongoing riots supposedly over pensions, many French suspect that most active regular rioters are secretly paid. This was all very interesting and these views were only available from talking to real French people, face to face. Incidentally, our Italian, French and Swiss contacts seem very focused on the popularity of King Charles and on whether Camillla is a queen or a ‘consort’. I said he is hard working, if not popular, and that she is a queen consort but called a queen (just as Marie Antoinette was a Queen Consort not a sovereign queen). They found that discriminatory, against male consorts.
I admired the widespread French ‘toile de Jouy’ in the Chateau and the owner recommended the toile museum, near Versailles. Toile is a white fabric with pastoral scenes of the 18th century printed in one colour and it can make any room (curtains, chairs, cushions) look refined and classic.
The chateau’s breakfast was included and we ate off old china and (I was assured ) ‘silver plate’ to classical music. My rusty French perked up and I was surprised at how much I understood. It is good enough for me to take the linguistic lead, in France at least, though I think I would need to live in France for three months to feel easy speaking it.
Frankly, if anyone is looking to fall in love with France, this romantic chateau would be a good place to start. Many reviewers give it a "10" which I only noticed when I later reviewed it later and independently gave it a "10" too. Here is Paolo about to eat the chateau breakfast servied by its owner (he looks a bit like Peter Sellars playing a Frenchman):
Day Two: The Chateau of Fontainebleau and Vienne
I am not a fan of formal Palace of Versailles, so for years I have longed to see the Chateau of Fontainebleau, the 'hunting' chateau of French monarchs, from the time of Francis 1st or even earlier. Even as a teenager, I remember asking my father on the way back from Italy or Spain to ‘Please take us to Fontainebleau’ - but by then, as a sole driver approaching Paris, he was too frazzled. The area is still a vast forest and the surrounding town of Fontainebleau is very elegant, rather like Bath.
The Chateau is sumptuous, an example of high French decorative style and it sets off to perfection a number of beautiful female costumes which are on display. There is a Renaissance gallery built by Francis 1st and a huge library. All the French queens from the 16th century to Marie Antoinette had slept in the same bedroom if not in the same bed (below). It was all perfectly artistic but over-decorated, over-sumptuous, unlike modest British royal palaces, where gold leaf has always been carefully moderated. The only people treated today as ‘royal’ at Fontainebleau are the disabled.
The history lesson is: “If you are mega-rich, keep displays of your wealth to a minimum. Avoid bling and above all, gold leaf”. Nevertheless, it is a beautiful place.a showcase for French interior design. It also makes for wonderfully colourful photos on Facebook.
At 1230hrs we took off through Burgundy, driving all afternoon, to Lyon. The population density of France is 309 people per square mile (in England it is 434 per kilometre) but none of them seem to live in rural Burgundy. This is very tedious drive (similar to the drive from Calais to Paris) and all one can see are long vistas, ‘vasty fields’ (Shakespeare’s accurate description of France) without any churches or villages or anything of interest visible from the motorway. At about Chalons-Sur-Saone, northern Europe abruptly ends - the grass seems browner and drier and the temperature rises. One could almost draw a line east to west at that point and say - "North of this line is Atlantic Europe and south of this line is Mediterranean Europe". Finally, one reaches Lyon which sits squarely on hills around the Rhone with lots of gleaming white buildings (possibly modern hospitals). We were heading about twenty miles south to Vienne, a major Roman-Gallic capital, once considered second only to Rome itself. This model helps envisage it in Roman times.
Vienne is a city that most people have never heard of, but it ison a par with Nimes for impressive imposing Roman monuments. A Roman poet, possibly Martial called it: ‘Vienne, the beautiful’. It is sited on a very stately bend of the Rhone, on seven hills, like Rome. One could reach it directly by boat from Rome via the navigable Rhone.
This is the area where two sons of Herod the Great were exiled and died. Herod Archelaus, ruler of Judea until 6AD was exiled to Vienne and died here, possibly in a luxury villa by the Rhone. HIs brother Herod Antipas (who executed John the Baptist and ruled Galilee in the time of Jesus) was exiled to nearby Lyon or even nearer to here, since his brother had lived here. It is a strange thought that the Herods who ruled in the time of Jesus saw out their days in luxury Roman villas on these or nearby hills, drinking local ‘Cotes du Rhone’ wine. They were familiar with the Temple dedicated to their nemesis, Emperor Augustus, which is still standing today but only because it became a building to worship a subject of Herod Antipas, cousin of John the Baptist, the carpenter Jesus of Nazareth. Another amazing Roman building is the amphitheatre used for the summer jazz festival, which seats 11,000.
We stayed in a rather cramped room in a manor house outside Vienne dating from about 13th century. I had weakened by this point from the heat because France was hot, unlike Italy. We had to keep the shutters closed all day due to mosquitoes. One can get to Vienne for £340 return on Eurostar from London to Lyon. Another time, one could try the three star Hotel de la Poste or the Michelin starred Le Cottage.
Day Three: Roman Museum at Vienne; The Temple of Augustus and Livia
We mingled with a lot of schoolchildren in Vienne’s Roman Museum with its impressive mosaics and models. A fine view of the main town across the Rhone was memorable.
Then we crossed into the old town and turning a corner, we stumbled upon the Augustan Temple. Everyone's jaw drops at this point and they utter an involuntary “Wow!”...
There is nothing like this temple in Rome, itself. The height of its frontage is awe-inspiring. As can be seen, young people sit around drinking outside cafes in the square in the middle of what would have once been Vienne’s most sacred ceremonial centre.
We went into the Gothic Cathedral which is plain and imposing where The Order of the Knights Templars were disbanded by the Pope in 1311 for becoming too wealthy and powerful. It unbalanced power structures - just the way things go wrong.
The Rhone, at Vienne, is very fine indeed. The Rhone rises in Switzerland on the Rhone Glacier and runs into Lake Geneva then through the Jura, to Lyon. It is navigable well above Lyon. By the time it reaches Lyon, it has stately wide bends. It is the only river to flow south into the Mediterranean, creating a growing delta, where it meets the sea. Following a single river to the sea would be a good theme for a holiday.
Day Four: Return to Piedmont
We drove for three hours, past Chambery, the old capital of the Duchy of Savoy (which moved later to Turin) towards Mont Cenis (11,000 feet) where Turner’s coach broke down in the winter, on the top. The Mont Cenis Pass into Val’ D’Aosta is high, long and hard: my grandfather’s car broke down on it in 1947 and he had to be towed off it. So we opted to go through the 8 mile Frejus Road Tunnel, even though it cost us nearly £50. Halfway through it is an unseen international underground ‘nutrino’ laboratory but we were unaware of it at the time because road safety is taken very seriously, after the Mont Blanc fire: one is focusing all the time on a set distance to the vehicle ahead. Finally, we emerged from the darkness near Susa in Piedmont, another Roman town, with a small amphitheatre. We parked and soon found a trattoria that served an authentic Cotoletta alla Milanese (admittedly a Lombard dish) in celebration of Paolo being 'home'.
I felt in half disbelief at being in Italy after Covid and all those years of fear and restrictions. It was raining hard but I did not care: we were in 'Bel Paese'. Later we could not see the iconic and fantasy pinnacle of Sacra di San Michele, a monastery, at the bottom of the Aosta Valley which is partnered with St Michael’s Mount and Mont St Michel in a direct geographical straight line. Sacra San Michele figures in ‘The Name of the Rose’, the novel by Umberto Eco, Descending into the plain of the River Po, we were astonished to find lush green grass after a chilly spring and clearly there had been much rain.
Arriving in beautiful Waldensian Val Pellice, 30 miles west of Turin in the Cottian Alps, we found our flat in a borgata, La Draio, a Waldensian long house, with fine views over Val Pellice and Torre Pellice, the main town of the valley. I had read all the reviews and noted in one that one of the flats had a kitchen so I asked for that (always a good move). The whole flat cost only £20 a night each.
We had dinner in the farmhouse of Waldensian friends, who are self-sufficient in food and were introduced to their kitten. Sadly, we heard its ‘uncle’ had been adorable and was killed by a dog (which had made strong men weep). We compared how Covid had been handled in Italy and the UK and the aftermath. We had all seen things in the same light. I fell for their dog who seemed to like me too (which is unheard of for any dog in England).
Day Five: New Views of Val Pellice
We met our friends who in spite of poor visibility due to rain and mist drove us up through The Valley of Groans (Angrogna) to the ridges between Val Pellice and the next Waldensian valley, These were the ‘old paths’ which the ancient Waldensians knew so well and used to escape their persecutors and armies, down the ages. Peering into the clouds to the south, we could not see the head of the mighty ('Paramount') MonViso, the 'hinge' around which the African tectonic plate (on which Italy mainly sits) crashes into the Adriatic plate. The collision raises the Alps centimeter by centimeter and there are constant small earthquakes deep down that no one feels, all around the mountain. We got a good idea of the extent of the higher valleys of Val Pellice above 1000 metres, where there are many holiday homes, as well as ‘bears and wolves’. The view of Val Pellice from some of the properties is breathtaking. It was very tempting to think about living up there, or at least in summer. Properties there are so cheap (£50,000 for a 90 square metre house, terrace, garden and possibly a bit of wood). I would want any garden fenced off, however, with wolves and bears snuffling about. I was talking to someone from Transylvania this week who said it is the same out there and they have a 'bear warning' text system. Back down in Val Pellice valley, we had a prayer meeting in our friends’ farmhouse located the most sacred place in Val Pellice, near The Valley of the Invincibles (which is a barren side valley like something out of Star Wars). There is a distinctly ‘divine light’ in this area, when the sun breaks through - which it did. The fact that the Waldensians were never broken by hard persecution and never bowed to having their rights and free speech taken away from them, even at the point of a sword (they just carried on preaching the Gospel) was inspiring. This place feels touched by divine light, not in the "What a divine place, darling!" but in a real sense, as below:
Day Six: The Get Together
We drove in a party to Avigliana on the plain towards Sacra San Michele, to meet 15-20 people Paolo had been in contact with online through his online sermons who live in the area of Turin. The one-off event was held at a community centre and we all sat around among relaxing families getting to know each other before a Sunday service, led by Paolo, followed by lunch. I met Roberta, her pastor and preacher father and a tax inspector family from Novara. Piedmontese Senator Lucio Malan from Waldensian stock, had travelled overnight from a Bocelli concert in Rome, on a sleeper, to be there before going to see his 93 year old mother. He was taking phone calls and I later wondered whether he had early knowledge of the impending death of Silvio Berlusconi, who he knew well, in his former party. He kindly said none of this would have happened if I had not managed the drive us there. We were delighted with this event 'coming off'.
We were reading and resting in our borgata as the weather improved and were taken for another meal to a hidden restaurant in the hills south of Val Pellice which I would never be able to find on a map again as it is known only to locals. I still felt as weak as water at this point and but I sensed it was very healing that we had come in person - including for us. There was much ‘water under the bridge’ due to Covid and much that we all had in common, over the last three years. I realised that we escaped the worst things that in England, largely.
Day Seven : More delicious meals
We accompanied friends to a cheaper eatery, again the kind of place that only locals know about and bid them farewell - until next time. One should be careful with warm Italian hospitality which can undo three days months of dieting! I read Quentin Letts's most recent satirical book "Patronising Bastards - How the Elites betrayed Britain", laughing out loud, now able to see the UK from a comfortable distance.
Day Eight: Elegant Turin
The sun was starting to break through, but the weather was ‘English’ which suited me. We headed for the elegant centre of Turin and a costly underground car park in the Piazza Vittorio Veneto where we sat in a cafe waiting admiring this view.
Many assume that Turin is still an industrial city of Fiat car workers, but Fiat long ago left it for cheaper labour, in foreign climes which is regarded as treachery by many Turinese. It is a Roman city ('Taurinorum') with a still mighty Roman gate and Roman museum. It retains a kind of Roman permanence about it. Its football team Juventus remained, as a prime comfort to its citizens. It is not like Venice and Rome, which you fall in love with straightaway, but Turin gradually charms one with its wide Baroque covered shopping arcades, galleries, an opera house, palaces, museums and piazzas, on the River Po which rises on Monviso.
All around are Alpine and Cottian mountains and in the Piazza Vittorio Veneto (above), Alpine foothills come right down into the city centre. A famous landmark is the Mole Antonelliana (pronounced 'Molay'), which was planned as a synagogue with a star of David on the top, but turned into the spike-like tower of the fascinating film museum, because films started in Turin (which could explain why Monviso, the mountain to the west of the City looks identical to Paramount’s iconic mountain). It is also famous for its Egyptian Museum and hot chocolate so thick you can almost stand a spoon upright in it Chocolate supposedly originated in Turin, but the Swiss took it over. Turin was for a short time the seat of the Italian Parliament, because the Duke of Savoy (Piedmont) became the King of Italy until King Humberto II fled Rome to Portugal, following the referendum which went against the continued monarchy, in 1946. He never abdicated. His grandson, popular Crown Prince, Emanuele Filiberto (seen dancing on the link) entered and won the Italian version of 'Strictly Come Dancing' ('Dancing with the Stars') but has just handed his notional claim to the throne of Italy/Dukedom of Savoy to his daughter Princess Vittoria of Savoy, a young social media influencer, who lives in Paris. The Savoy royal family were always more French than Italian.
In the cafe, we met for the first time Paolo’s co-translator of the Bible into Piedmontese, (a native Romance language spoken by 2m people) who is a former art lecturer, who had also studied theology. He is Signor Gallina (Mr Hen in English) and theirs is the 'Gallina-Castellina' translation of the Bible which actually means the “Hen-Littlecastle translation”. This raises smiles, in Italy.
This is the first time this Piedmontese translation has been done in its entirety (the NT has been translated in past centuries but this new translation is into modern idioms). Soon Signor Gallina arrived. We also waited for a Languages Professor from Turin University who supports Piedmontese, then we all went back to his office in Turin University to order 25 copies of the just published Pentateuch in Piemontese. Paolo is translating the NT and gave out some copies of his Gospel of Mark in Piedmontese. Signor Gallina is sending the Pentateuch out to various significant contacts. They should be very proud of their collaborative labours (Paolo revised it and set it up for printing). People passing, overhearing the three of them speaking in Piedmontese, which was effectively banned in the 1950s as a worthless language (in spite of its rich canon of medieval literature and poetry). They got very excited and bright eyed and some joined in.
The Professor gave us a fascinating short lecture on how Italy has 34 languages and related dialects, how PIedmontese was not officially recognised, how tricky languages research is due to bias (basically people hating their neighbours) and how 'mutual intelligibility' is the difference between a language and a dialect. It seems incredible that there are university studies in Piedmontese in Argentina, but not at Turin University. Then we all went out to lunch, in a small trattoria. In fact, the Professor was very keen to talk to me about Covid and I obliged, having kept up to date on new developments for the last three years (which hampered me finally mastering Italian, a spoken but 'literary language'). There was’ follow-up’ later on this topic on my return home. We retired to the period flat near the centre of Turin to stay with Paolo’s astrophysicist sister and her husband, who is an excellent cook. She is looking for a more retired life in Liguria near the sea - with a garden. Remotely running a garden in dry and sun-soaked Liguria might not be easy, but then I am not used to hardier Mediterranean plants
Day Nine: Turinese fitted shirts and cartoons
We went into Central Turin and wandered into Galleria San Frederico commissioned by Agnelli (Fiat) to house the newspaper La Stampa. It is a perfectly proportioned arcade, typical of the clean sophistication of Turin. It was Paolo’s birthday shortly so I took him to one of the shirt shops in the fashionable arcades and found him two short sleeved shirts. Since they were Italian they were fitted i.e. expertly cut close to the body (which all good quality shirts should be). When he saw a photo of him in one at dinner that night he put it straight on Facebook as is signature picture and has worn them ever since.
We visited in the main square the plaque where Waldensian pastor, Gofreddo Varaglia, the converted son of a military persecutor of the Waldensians, was burnt at the stake, on 29th March 1558. He apparently looked so happy to die for 'the faith of St Peter and St Paul' that people said 'he looked as if he was going to a wedding'. Apparently he was completely fearless - always an inspiration.
We then visited Turin’s La Porta Palatina one of the best Roman gates still standing and had a nice cheap lunch nearby, with homemade bread. After wandering the newly opened gardens of the Royal Palace (with its Mediterranean planting), we met with Signor Gallina in one of Turin's most famous coffee houses where the Risorgimento (Unification of Italy) was planned (with the backing of British masons). There were riots and many deaths when Piedmont was swallowed up in 'Italy' which is still a forced unity. Italians only ever feel Italian when cheering for the Italian football team.
As a former art lecturer, Signor Gallina then took us to see the Accademia Albertina, the art school and gallery, which we would never have found on our own. This was the artistic highlight of this trip. The Cartoon Room is filled with drawings (preparations for oils) dating from the 1500s and they are thrillingly like 'Leonardo'. I particularly liked this dead Christ ('Pieta' by Gaudenzio Ferrari from Vercelli which is now in Piedmont). Christ is looking content because "It (vicarious payment for our sins i.e. once for all salvation) is finished" - while everyone around him is moaning, groaning and mourning. Something to think about when we are bereaved.
Paolo liked this lady who apparently looked like his grandmother. It is Signora Luisa Chesa (1909) by Giacomo Grosso, once principal of the Accademia Albertina.
I liked this watercolour by another of the school’s old principals, Luigi Vacca showing old Turin looking westwards to the Waldensian valleys, Monviso and the Cottian Alps.
There is a final room there were life-size projections of actors dressed like Jane Austen characters, talking together (Turin has always been on the cutting eldge of film). I can imagine, in the future, visitors and school children will take part in mini plays interacting with these projected characters from the past (what fun). That evening, we all went out for a rather expensive meal. I had Piedmontese nut cake which was, unusually, far too nutty for my liking (how it held together without flour and eggs was beyond me). It was at this point that we both felt we must eat nothing more, for a month or even for six months. The warmth of the hospitality was much appreciated, but the calories were excessive for us.
Day Ten : Como Tunnels
Bidding farewell, the next day I drove most of the way to Chiavenna, via Turin to Milan on the motorway and then north through the 40 or so miles of Como tunnels, all along the side of Lake Como. This delivers tantalising glimpses, now and then, of what is a very chilly and deceptive mountain lake, the second deepest lake in Europe - a ravine - which instantly kills anyone who jumps into it to cool off, even in June. We stayed in a decent B&B with a kitchen, which proved useful. All around were splendid views of the Alps. Along the way, we remembered a dear, devout Bible-loving friend, Lucia, who lived in a lovely flat in Lecco, at the south end of Lake Como and worked as radiographer. Some years back, she suddenly developed leukaemia and died, in Monza hospital. She was in her mid fifties. She is now in a far better country with the Lord she found and loved.
Day Eleven: Soglio, Florio and Sogliardo
We wandered through Chiavenna market and I bought a spacious white handbag. In the afternoon, we climbed into Switzerland to beautiful Soglio, to the house of the friend (and even Italian collaborator/ adviser) of Shakespeare : Anglo-Italian language teacher, John Florio (translator of Montaigne) and of his pastor/teacher father, Michelangelo. The latter had been Paolo’s predecessor as pastor of Soglio, in the mid 16th century and he taught Italian to Elizabeth 1st and Lady Jane Grey.
The Florios manse (vicarage) is now 'La Grande Stua', a restaurant where we met family and Paolo’s first grand daughter. It was only due to Paolo and myself getting together that the Florio connection was understood by academia. There is a big hint of the friendship of Shakespeare and Florio in 'Sogliardo', the character in Ben Jonson's 'Everyman in his Humour', who is a cross between Shakespeare and Florio due to a) mockery of a country bumpkin with a coat of arms and b) someone who loves tobacco. Florio, who was doorkeeper to Queen Anne later, could be persuaded to give access to her by a gift of tobacco. Doing this with a place name i.e. inserting a syllable or two in the middle was common so Sogliardo really means "man from Soglio". John Florio was probably half English and born in London, but he grew up in Soglio, taught by his learned father. His mother was probably a kinswoman. of William Cecil, the English 'Prime Minister'. John probably barely set foot in Italy, itself. because Protestants in Italy were 'personae non grata', except in the Veneto.
Day Twelve The most beautiful garden
The baptism of Paolo's grand daughter was in a small church in Bregaglia on the border with Italy and was part of the regular Sunday morning service. Paolo as the former pastor said a few words to the families and gave the parents the Bible, ‘the most precious thing this life affords’, with a handwritten note in it.
The lady pastor's sermon was about refugees and empty boats which, somehow, I could not compute from the text, not that I could understand all of it. We then retired to the beautiful garden of the baby’s mother’s parents for a barbeque, a garden which must have the most beautiful views in Europe.
We caught up with family members and while we were there we were visited by another retired preacher, Rev Dr Paolo de Petris, and his wife, a former Waldensian, who gave us his new theological book which we are studying. He has a PhD from McGill University and has written about commentaries on the Book of Job (which interests me).
We had given the baby Marks and Spencer’s toy 'Peter Rabbit'(and a matching dress) and the rabbit was rather appealing to Paolo’s five year old grandson.
Possibly imitating the 'il coniglio' (the rabbit), he proceeded to dig up a carrot in his grandmother’s kitchen garden (this valley is ‘Swiss kitchen garden heaven’) and happily, when it was washed and cleaned for him, he ate it. We proceeded to dinner up in Soglio, with other extended family members. I could barely eat anymore and vowed to go on a diet for a year.
Day Thirteen
My itinerary took us to Besancon that night and Paolo said we must cross the Alps by climbing the Spluga Pass which started life as military Alpine pass. It is thirty hairpin bends one on another, up the side of the Alps, with increasingly beetling depths, below. I bid farewell to Italy as we climbed, unsure if I can return, if travel is restricted again, by certain ‘passports’. Our little car made it, if slowly, and we motored down to Zurich and then into France. We stayed in a nice hotel in the heart of the old town of Besancon, almost completely circled by the River Doubs. I scouted out the elegant old town which has been the backdrop for WW1 films. It had been the clockmaking centre of France. It is very like Fontainbleau and belongs to the ancien regime of French monarchy. I went into Les Galleries Lafayette and came straight out, as there was absolutely nothing costing under 150 euros/£130. I could understand why young Frenchwomen are no better dressed than in England. Wealthy women in their eighties are the only really elegant ones, now. We found a restaurant in the main leafy quare which was very pleasant, surrounded by English speakers. Clearly Besancon is a useful stopping off place on the way back from mid-Europe. A superb opera festival was on TV later from a Roman Amphitheatre at the Orange Festival in southern France, another place to explore, on another slow holiday.
Day Fourteen - Monet's Garden
This was the day we needed to reach Monet’s Garden in Giverny in the Seine Valley by mid afternoon having driven 312 miles since breakfast (with comfort breaks and lunch). I doubted I/we could do it, and pacing myself I held it lightly - but thanks to Paolo’s exceptional navigation through a splendid car-only tunnel all under the west banlieu (suburb) of Paris (which seemed to be about 5 miles long) we did reach it in time. Soon, we were into beautiful, open countryside approaching the ‘theme park’ of Giverny, a French shrine to Monet, which comprises his house, his lily pond, this garden and a museum to the Impressionists.
We had not much time there but I managed to see the large lily pond he made so famous by his paintings, with its green bridge and also the rose arch, in full bloom. The planting is like in his paintings - a chaotic mix of plants that Chelsea Flower Show Gold Medal winners would probably never put together - but ideal for visual effects, in paint. The lily pond is huge and over the other side of a main road from the garden, so one goes through a tunnel to reach it. I realised we had visited the garden at its peak in June (the time to see it), as there are many roses. How many gardeners must Monet have employed? I would estimate “at least ten”.
We proceeded then to the Chateau of Bonnemare at Radepont, south of Rouen. This is a very romantic place, in beautiful Normandy. Soon I was talking to its doyenne, Sylvie, whose family had lived there since the 1880s. She does the cooking, too. It was all very ‘Jane Austen’. The round chapel was designed by a protegee of Palladio.
Day Fifteen
Breakfast used my grandmother’s Royal Albert tea set (the BBC uses the same set for its period dramas). I asked Sylvie where she found it and she said “In an antique shop in Rouen”. That is clearly a good place to go to look for antiques - even English ones.
I removed 'Honfleur' from the itinerary, in favour of a resort that Sylvie’s husband recommended because it is nearer Dieppe. It is Veules-les-Roses, which has canals (which we missed) and roses everywhere. It was its market day. Its pier, white cliffs and a beach were very pleasant for lunch al fresco.
Then we went to Dieppe and had a drink on its long rather splendid beachfront watching the yellow DFDS ferry coming in from Newhaven, remembering the Dieppe raid in WW2 which cost so many Canadian lives commemorated by Canadian flags flying to this day.
Our car ferry (the one coming in above) left at 1800hrs Continental time and arrived in Sussex at Newhaven at 21000hrs GMT, so the crossing took four hours because of a one hour time difference.
The Channel was misty and very Monet-esque. One of the most beautiful sights of the entire trip was seeing Beachy Head at Eastbourne hazily and mysteriously hove into sight, then the white cliffs of the Seven Sisters, like pearls on the watery horizon. Maybe I mean it was Turner-esque? Of course, it was Turner who really inspired Monet....
We have definitely fallen for Normandy and some quick trips back there are 'in planning'.
Comparisons between driving and flying
The return petrol cost was £270 and the road tolls and Alpine tunnel bills cost another £240 (tolls in France and Italy seem to have gone ‘through the roof’). Add £180 for the car ferry (total £712 return for fuel, travel and tolls).
Flights to Milan with British Airways with car hire would have cost a similar amount so driving saved little but we got to see French chateaux, Vienne, Monet’s Garden and had a taste of Normandy along the way. We also avoided ‘airport hassle’ and managed to take more luggage, gifts and computers.
We could have used non-toll roads for nothing but it would have taken us longer and saved < £200. By driving, we were able to take a lot of luggage, see many places along the way we could not have done, flying.
In terms of emissions, two people in a car is similar to going by train. One should factor in car ‘depreciation’.
Taking the car was a success. The whole holiday of 16 days with hotel or booking.com accommodation (sometimes luxury) without most of our food (meals out were extra) cost us £700 each. As a friend in Sydney said: “Staying at Claridges in London costs £1000 a night”. I had taken out full European car rescue for £90 with RAC so we were covered for breakdowns.
My big fear of an extra expense was losing my garden, back home. The news of the hot weather in England confirmed my worst dread but on my return I was delighted that I had lost no plants. I think there were intermittent thundery downpours which kept them all watered. Even a newly laid lawn was exceptionally green.
Key Comparison:
Driving to Italy or Spain from the UK is currently comparable in price with flying + hiring a car but driving one sees many interesting things along the way, in France.
One can only save serious money e.g. £600-£800 in driving to Italy (return) in comparison with flying by a) pacing the driving b) taking non-toll slower roads and c) using campsites. Non-toll roads will typically take 1-2 hours longer over the course of 5-6 hours and they may not be motorways, so they are more stressful to drive.
The downside of taking non-toll roads is longer days driving.
Driving alone to Italy would be difficult because of navigation (interpretation of the sat nav) and lack of a co-driver.
Having a co-driver is best because regular breaks (particularly for drivers of a certain age) are crucial.
I had planned the itinerary for this trip as an experiment in pacing and ‘slow travel’. I worked out that it would be simpler to take our car, since it was a multi-centre holiday and there were mobility issues for Paolo. I did not think we could drive for 8 hours a day: as it turned out I was right because I myself had to do most of the driving. The whole journey takes about 14 hours from northern Italy to South East England that increases to about 20 hours, with sufficient breaks. So we decided to take 3 days to cross France, both ways, at a quite leisurely pace. I had to find interesting things to see along the way and I used Michelin Guides for my research.
We had worries in advance about taking our low-carbon automatic ‘city’ car for alpine driving but we need not have worried. It turned out to be able to cruise at 80mph with ease on French motorways (their speed limit) and it has no trouble getting over very high Alpine passes.
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