Day Four: Aosta Valley

Leaving the campsite, Dani was again shouted at by the bitter old lady in this deceptive paradise. We left faster than usual and had a recuperative breakfast in the town on top of the hill. Sitting on a wall eating pastries and drinking peach juice, we spread out our map on the road and planned our day’s journey through the back routes.  This way of driving was much better. It took us through all the little towns, each one different. When our tummies made us aware of the time, we turned off to a town called Tromello. Driving into the main square we saw two cafés on adjacent sides. Outside one was a long line of old men on plastic chairs who leaned back, talked and shouted at each other in loud, happy voices. We decided to sit at a table at the other cafe where there was more space and shade. Before we’d even managed to fully throw off the leather jackets etc we were intercepted by a small, sinewy old man with a sweet smile. He was trying to explain/ask us something with great urgency. We became worried that we had parked in the wrong place, or done something forbidden for some reason. He changed tack and told us to wait while he fetched someone who could speak English. 

Back he came with another lady in tow. Lina, as she introduced herself, was from the Ukraine and had lived in Tromello for the last five years. She explained that Giancarlo, as we later knew him, was asking whether we were pilgrims on the Via Francigena. At first we didn’t understand at all what they were saying ‘Peregrine?’ ‘What?’ Eventually we were made to understand that his concern was that we should have our little books stamped with the appropriate Tromello stop stamp. When we told them we didn’t have such a book, Giancarlo immediately jumped on a tiny bicycle painted red green and white and cycled off across the square. Minutes later he returned, spritely and smiling, with two certificates in Latin, each with a stamp, and two pilgrim badges. 

We spent a long time in the warm square happily talking to Lina, and through her, to Giancarlo. We heard about their lives, and their friendship and life in Tromello. We drank Crodino, a kind of aperitivo without alcohol, and ate a plate of little delicious things.   Eventually we had to tear ourselves away from our new friends and left in high spirits, with the day reaching peak heat, on the next leg of our journey. 

After a couple of hours, the road carried us upwards and into wine country. The day was hot. Perhaps the hottest yet, and we were exhausted, sticky, and dusty by the time we stopped at the B&B we had booked. Welcomed with wide arms and wide smiles into their cool and charming house, bottles of cold water pressed immediately into our hands, we felt as if we had arrived by accident in paradise, or at least to a place inhabited by angels. 

After a quick siesta in our Marilyn Monroe themed room, we were invited to sit downstairs and drink a bottle of fresh, slightly effervescent white wine grown on the vineyard next door. Maurice, our host, always addressed his round, giggling wife as ‘amore infinito’ prompting huge grins from me and Dani each time.   

We sat in the horizontal evening light, amazed and happy that we had reached this magical place. Luisito, a cat, sauntered up and stretched out next to the motorcycle, his relaxation an embodiment of all our states.   We ate dinner together with the angels in a pizzeria that they had gone to on their first date after moving into the area. Our Italian was improving, and the pizzas were delicious and tasted of anchovy. After our meal we drove a circuitous route home in order to be shown a panoramic view of the surrounding country. The blue hills had grown soft and immaterial in the dusk, and glittered with the lights of many happy hearths.