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The following morning, feeling much regenerated, we set off on the next stage of our journey, bypassing the busy commercial metropolis of Milan, crossing the flat fertile plains of the Po Valley, passing Parma and the university town of Bologna. We pressed on traversing Reggio Emilia and the rugged Upper Appenines, benefiting from the newly constructed sections of tunnel and elevated stretches of motorway that now slice through the mountains.
On into the quintessential landscape of Tuscany, with its stone farmhouses, olives groves, cypress trees, gently rolling hills and lush wild flower meadows. Soon we saw signs directing us to Florence, a place I had always longed to visit. It had been a pleasantly easy journey down, but once again we found it difficult to locate our campsite, and we found driving through Florence rather un-nerving towing the caravan. Eventually a kindly local gave us good, concise instructions, and before too long we were camped up.
The site was situated on south bank of the River Arno, indeed a very beautiful camping location, and very conveniently placed for walking down into the heart of Florence. Nearby was Piazzale Michelangelo which provided spectacular panoramic views of the medieval city and the surrounding landscape.
The Roof Tops Of Florence
The next day the weather was not too promising, with heavy thundery downpours and a fresh breeze. We set off to do a little site-seeing, but found the city was thronged with groups of tourists from all corners of the globe. There was a long queue to get into the Uffizi Gallery so we headed instead to La Piazza della Signoria. Here we admired at the imposing ramparts of the Palazzo Vecchio and its lofty clock tower, the replica of Michelangelo’s David, the gallery of statues in the Loggia dei Lanzi and the Fontana di Nettuno by Ammannati. We eagerly continued on our quest to find the magnificent domed Duomo dedicated to Santa Maria del Fiore with its intricate green and pink marble façade, and Giotto’s infamous Campanile and the bronze Gates of Paradise of the nearby Baptistry.
Then to Piazza Santa Croce, with its beautifully frescoed Palazzo and to the church itself, which bears the tombs of many famous citizens such as Michelangelo and Galileo.
Ponte Vecchio and River Arno
Lastly we explored the characteristic Ponte Vecchio which spans the Arno with its three wide arches. It is lined with a quaint row of little shops which nowadays house mainly jewellers, artists and antique merchants.
Later we strolled up, once again, to Piazzale Michelangelo and viewed the Florentine skyline by night. As I took one last look before leaving, I vowed I would return again sometime soon to further explore this truly remarkable city.
Then, the final leg of our long journey – our destination being Sperlonga / Gaeta on the Riviera di Ulisse.
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Switzerland
The next morning we continued south until we encountered the Swiss Border Crossing. Here we purchased the required “Vignettes” or Toll stickers, to travel on the Swiss motorway system. Approaching Basel we followed the curious subterranean route below the city streets. Before long the motorway took on the most scenic of routes as we passed steep, pine-clad slopes, fresh green pasture lands, charming chocolate box villages and farms, funicular railways, spectacular gorges, cascading water torrents and boulder strewn steams.
The landscape steadily became more wild and rugged and at Lake Lucerne the road skirted its beautiful shoreline treating us to some breathtaking vistas of the snow capped peaks of the majestic Swiss Alps. As we continued to climb steadily the weather once again turned for the worse, as we drove in slippery sleet and rain before entering the renowned San Gotthard Tunnel which leads through the bowels of the mountain bearing the same name. I was more than relieved to eventually see the light of day at the end of its mammoth 10 mile course, yet we still had to negotiate a succession of such “Gruyere cheese burrows” before triumphantly emerging into the uplifting sunshine of south eastern Switzerland. From here we slowly descended to Lake Lugano with its picturesque backdrop of impressive mountains before finally crossing the frontier at Chiasso into the Lombardy territory of “Bella Italia”.
We realised that we had been somewhat over optimistic with our planned schedule, and decided to rest up for the night somewhere near Lake Como. Thus we faced the challenge of finding a campsite at short notice, so we slowly convoyed into Como’s city centre, during what turned out to be the busy afternoon rush. We needed to find somewhere to pull off the road, so impulsively Paul turned sharply into a car park only to find that it was far too small to swing a cat, let alone manoeuvre a sluggish caravan. This resulted in the caravan taking a slight knock, but thankfully there was no serious damage.
Lago di Como
I decided it would be a good deal safer to proceed on foot and eventually located the tourist office and was given directions to a small campsite on the western side of the lake that was open that early in the season. We crawled along the road edging our way precariously through charming but very narrow, winding streets of pretty lakeside villages, we all breathed in deeply, just wishing that the caravan was just a few centimetres less ample. We eventually limped, mercifully unscathed, into the grounds of the small campsite, where we unanimously elected to stay for at least two nights, before venturing further south.
Lake Como and the Snowcapped Italian Alps
The next day the weather was crisp but clear and we spent a very agreeable time exploring the picturesque shores on the western side of the lake, adorned with opulent villas and ornate gardens embellished with pavilions, statues, grottoes, cascades, topiary hedges, spring blooming azaleas, rhododendrons, magnolias, mimosas, flowering fruit trees and trailing wisteria. We drove to the northern reaches of the lake, and enjoyed the splendid views of the lake ringed with snowy alpine peaks.
Menaggio
We stopped to investigate the port of Gravedona and particularly liked the resort of Menaggio with its tree lined waterfront promenade, and colourful flower beds planted with spring bulbs. From here we admired the views across the shimmering lake and watched the various ferries crossing back and forth.
On the Sunday afternoon we found the lively town of Como far too busy for our liking, when Italian day trippers were busily “passaggiata-ing” with their family. What it must be like during the summer months I would not like to imagine.
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Almost Ready
A few days later Paul and I, our younger son and our two faithful hounds prepared for the off. We were to lead the way, towing the caravan, I was to navigate, and our son was to follow behind in a second car. Thus our mini convoy rolled out on the first leg of the journey to West Sussex. We were in high spirits as we trundled out of Wales, over the Old Severn Bridge and into England.
We stopped over night with family in Storrington and the next morning, feeling re-energized, we set off again heading for Folkestone and the Channel Tunnel. Here all went extremely well, the dogs’ Pet Passports were hardly required. The “crossing” was remarkably painless, considering how concerned I had been about feeling claustrophobic during the subterranean train journey.
Entering Channel Tunnel Train Carriage
However, as we emerged on the other side of “La Manche” we found that the French weather was set against us, as the rain lashed down while we struggled to fit headlamp converters to the cars whilst endeavouring to shelter under numerous jackets and coats. Foolishly we realised that it would have been so much easier to have done this task during the boring but dry train journey. With window-wipers vigorously swishing back and forth onwards then into Belgium, to the Flemish city of Ghent, where we spent the first night of our journey in our compact caravan home in a distinctly damp campsite near the waterway at Blaarmeersen.
The next day as we progressed on our journey, we were buffeted by mischievous side winds which made towing the caravan something of a challenge. As we traversed the seemingly endless flatlands, we saw signposts to some of the renowned Battlefields of the First World War. It seemed incredulous that this now peaceful pastoral landscape had once been a quagmire of muddy trenches, a site of horrific slaughter and carnage, where countless good young men had been savagely cut down in their prime.
* Alsace
We entered the Wallonia region of Belgium before heading south, through the wooded hills of the uplands of Luxembourg. Finally we reached the Alsace region in situated in the north eastern corner of France, where the blend of French and German heritage was very apparent. We opted to take a slight detour towards Colmar, wandering through the charming verdant countryside passing small farmsteads, vineyards and blossoming orchards along the way.
Then on to the small city of Mullhouse, on the Rhine, near to the German frontier. Locating this campsite proved to be tricky, as we found our convoy repeatedly circumnavigating the bustling town centre desperately looking for campsite signposts. Eventually we parked up near the train station and were fortunate to be rescued by the owner, who sportingly came out in search of us and kindly escorted us to his premises.
* Alsace (www.all-freephotos.com)
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So, we decided to sell our house in Wales and set about sprucing it up before putting it on the market. Next we planned a much needed break in Italy and rented a villa by the sea in the Sperlonga area, just along the coast from Gaeta. We were soon winging our way to Naples Capodichino airport. With our feet firmly back on Italian soil we set about carrying out some more research of the area. During our two week stay we managed to view twenty or so properties, in order to get a feel of what was available on the market and get some idea of property prices in the area. We were reassured that many of these houses seemed to be within our means, and many seemed to come with a sizeable plot of land attached.
When we returned to the UK, we were bursting with enthusiasm for our new venture. We talked with my parents who said they would like to join forces and come with us, which was a very brave decision, considering their age. However soon we were to discover that there had been something of a down turn in the UK housing market and our house was slow to sell, despite there having been several viewings. Our spirits dropped, as weeks turned into months and Christmas came and went. Finally in the New Year some good news arrived at last, a couple were very interested and had made an offer on our house. We were elated.
At the end of January we flew out to Rome for another week, to start house hunting in earnest. Our younger son had chosen to tag along with us to see the area for himself. On this occasion we found that the mountains around Itri were delicately dusted with sparkling snow, yet the daytime temperatures remained mild, skies sunny and blue.
Itri
We embarked on doing the rounds of the local estate agents. Generally Italian estate agencies differ greatly from those we are familiar with in the UK. There are no eye catching photos of properties in the shop windows, and no pamphlets detailing the descriptions and specifications of each property for sale, rarely are agents signs displayed outside property for sale. The typical Italian estate agent just thumbs through his list of available houses, and selects some houses he deems suitable to show you. Often these are not at all what you are looking for, and often we found ourselves going to see houses that we had already seen with other rival agents. However, we viewed as many prospective properties as was possible in the limited time available.
We were seeking something that could easily be divided into at least two separate apartments, Paul wanted a property with some land, and our son wanted an extra room or two for himself and his musical equipment. We whittled the list down to a couple of properties which really impressed us all. The best option was a relatively new house, situated in open countryside with spectacular, scenic mountain views. It was just a 5 minute drive from the centre of Itri and just 15 minutes drive to the beautiful sandy beaches that line this region. It came with a large driveway and sizeable plot of land, planted with numerous fruiting olive trees. We met with the owner and estate agent several times, and we finally decided to put in a Proposito or offer, which the vendor seemed very eager to accept. We learned that in Italy it is normal for the prospective buyer to put down an Acconto (deposit) with the Proposito, which can range from two to five percent of the total purchase price. We explained that we were not in a position to supply such a deposit until the money was released from the sale of our house in the UK. The vendor said not to worry, and forcefully shook Paul’s hand said that we had his word that he would stick to this offer.
We returned home once again to the UK and we realised that we had now fully committed to uprooting ourselves from our safe, familiar surroundings. We now had to commence organising ourselves for the big move. Firstly we needed to organise European Pet Passports for our two dogs, who were to come and live in Italy with us.
We consulted the DEFRA web site http://www.defra.gov.uk/animalh/quarantine/pets/index.htm regarding the Pet Travel Scheme and discussed matters with our local vet. We discovered that firstly the dogs’ general vaccinations needed to be up-to-date and that they were required to be fitted with Microchip identification. Then they had to have Anti Rabies injections, followed a couple of weeks later by blood tests to confirm that the Rabies vaccine had in fact been effective. Then the vet could issue them with Pet Passports, recording all of the above information. This service did not come cheap, amounting to over £200 per dog.
A huge milestone was when Paul actually handed in his notice at work. With just five weeks of work left to serve, he started to feel a little jittery. “What am I doing, giving up a steady job and a steady income, and heading off into the unknown!”
We started the laborious task of sorting through the house prior to packing. What a lot of stuff we seemed to have accumulated since our last move 12 years beforehand. We categorised as follows :
1. Things we wanted to take with us to Italy.
2. Things suitable for a car boot or garage sale.
3. Things to donate to charity shops.
4. Things designated for the dump.
As we began to pack we carefully numbered and recorded the contents of each and every box for future reference. They soon started to pile up and we began transporting them to a friend’s house, who had kindly offered us some valuable storage space in their sizeable garage.
Then, just two days before Paul was due to leave work, our hearts sank as the rug was well and truly pulled from under our feet. Our solicitor rang saying there was a problem (in the UK) with our buyer’s buyer failing to exchange contracts on the house sale, which meant that we were unable to exchange contracts on our house either. Things then went from bad to worse, when shortly afterwards an email arrived from the estate agent in Italy, with the news that the Italian vendor, who apparently was suffering from health problems, had decided that the stress of selling his property was all too much, so had decided to withdraw his property from the market. The following week we were still waiting to exchange contracts on the houses in the UK, we no longer had a property in Italy ear-marked to buy and move into, and we didn’t have an income! Someone had suddenly moved all the goal posts !!!
Still, we had a wonderful couple of days over Good Friday and Easter Saturday, with lots of friends and work colleagues visiting our “Garage Sale” and “House Cooling Party”. Long busy days, but it was so enjoyable to meet up and have a farewell drink with so many people we had the pleasure of knowing over the years. The “Garage Sale” was far more successful than we could ever have imagined. It was quite astonishing just what people will buy!!! Then on the Easter Sunday it was the turn of family to party, relatives travelled from far and wide to gather around us to wish us well, and quite a few tears were shed that weekend I can tell you. These celebrations were followed by another couple of good days packing, with the emptying house packed into boxes we were almost ready for the off.
We nervously waited on tenter hooks for the all important telephone call from our solicitor to confirm that the contracts had finally been exchanged. We were so relieved to discover that this time all had gone smoothly and at last a firm date was set for Completion. In fact we found the extra week gained was a great bonus as we packed up the towing caravan, which was to be our home for the next few months. We checked and double checked that our passports and other important documentation were all in order and to hand.
We finally vacated our house on the same day that the keen new owners took possession. It was all rather frenetic, despite the fact that we thought we had been so well organised. Everything seemed to take an age, far longer than anticipated, and as the new owners were moving in – we were still trying to move out – it literally was “in one door and out the other”. Eventually we were left “out on the street“, with several of our belongings spread out on the pavement outside, awaiting transportation. We were so utterly exhausted after such a long, stressful day, that we decided to delay our departure for Italy by a couple of days, in order to refresh ourselves before embarking on our long arduous journey. This also enabled us to spend some extra special time with our nearest and dearest before our departure. For the time being my elderly parents were staying put in Wales, until we had found “the perfect little home in Bella Itri” to call our very own.
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For years, we had been avid viewers of those programmes about relocating abroad and starting a new life, and we had told ourselves that perhaps, one day, we would up sticks from our home in the UK, and move to a more temperate climate.
We had holidayed several times in Italy, however our initial trip was to visit and meet, for the very first time, some of my mother’s family who lived in the small mountain town of Atina, in Frosinone. A century had passed since my Nonno and Nonna had left behind their beloved homeland in search of a new life in London.
During our wonderful sojourn there, cousin Mario kindly volunteered to escort us on several enjoyable outings, a day trip to Rome, a visit to Pompeii and the Amalfi Coast.
Gaeta Old Town
Another day he drove us westwards to a stretch of coast which is known as the “Riviera di Ulisse”. Here Mario treated us to a tour of the resorts of Gaeta and Sperlonga and we soon found ourselves being charmed by the atmosphere of the ancient medieval quarters, the colourful ports and numerous sandy beaches. We took a gentle stroll along a stretch of Sperlonga’s golden shore which was gently lapped by the crystal clear waters. It seemed that this beautiful area had not yet been discovered by many foreign holiday makers. So enchanted we were with this beautiful stretch of coast, that we vowed to return again to explore this area in greater detail.
That Autumn we decided to sign up for evening classes in Italian in an effort to improve our language skills. A year or so later we set about planning a cheap break to further investigate this area. I scoured the internet for a small villa or apartment to rent during our stay. We ticked off a few advertisements and sent off emails, in pigeon Italian, requesting more details. One fine chap, by the name of Guido, replied saying that he had a small apartment to rent in Gaeta, near to Serapo beach. Thus we began to correspond via email and he was intrigued that we had previously visited Gaeta, and that I had family still living in Atina. He wrote, saying that he and his family had always hoped to visit the UK, and they were very interested in meeting up with a British family. Then out of the blue, he came up with a proposition – “What if we were to invite them to come and stay with us in Wales for a week over the Easter holiday, and in return he would invite us to stay with them in Gaeta?”
After some initial hesitation we threw caution to the wind and decided to go along with this mad cap idea.
Thus this Italian family, namely Guido, his wife Giovanna and their two teenage sons planned their Easter trip. We had rather assumed that they would be flying to the UK, however they had their own ideas – to drive all the way from their hometown of Gaeta, situated two hours south of Rome, to South Wales. When they arrived late in the evening, as you can imagine, they were utterly exhausted. We were astonished to discover that somehow they had successfully achieved the 2135 km journey in a mere 24 hours, only stopping very briefly for petrol and the odd comfort stop! With them they had brought copious gifts of olive oil, wine, buffala mozzarella, other local cheeses and delicious Gaeta olives.
Over that week we took them out and about to visit local places of interest and gave them the opportunity to experience a little slice of the British lifestyle. Over the week our two families had really forged a special bond, and by the time their holiday was drawing to a successful conclusion, we had come to regard each other almost as family.
In the Autumn our hospitality was generously reciprocated when they invited us to stay with them. We flew to Rome where we hired a car and drove south towards Gaeta. Guido and Giovanna were remarkably generous hosts, who wined and dined us, and showed us many of the fascinating local sites and attractions. Once again we were completely mesmerised by the sheer beauty and enchanting atmosphere of this region of South Lazio which seemed to have so much in its favour. Even in September / October the weather was so gloriously warm yet we were astounded to find that the numerous sandy beaches were virtually deserted, as by early September the Italian summer season was already over.
Itri
Paul and I decided to take an exploratory drive and we intrepidly ventured inland, winding our way along a particularly tortuous road that rose steadily from the coast into some magnificent mountainous countryside. We finally pulled into the historic town of Itri, sited on the ancient Roman Appian Way. Whilst relaxing outside a jolly little bar, sipping our ice cold beers, I declared that if ever we are able to realise our dream of living in Italy, Itri would be the place to make our home.
Yet, far too soon, our holiday was over and depression began to set in as it was time to return to our humdrum life with its all too familiar routine. We just had to face the stark reality – we would have to wait, until some time in the distant future before we could consider moving abroad. Otherwise all we could hope for was that our £1 stake in the weekly national lottery would one day come up trumps.
However nothing could prevent me from dreaming !!!
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