Brothers of Italy

Another early start, and after walking the dogs and showering we met up with Chris and various Koreans eating breakfast and cluttering the car park waiting to board their coach. Fortunately, they eventually realised they had to move out of the way if we were going to be able to hit the road. We filled up at a deserted Carrefour petrol station then headed out of Quetigny for the autoroute.

After an hour, we stopped for breakfast at a service station where there was a slight misunderstanding as Stephen told Chris to head for the white bollards. Neither he nor I could see any – then we realised Stephen meant the row of black posts with white tops. Well, he was near enough for jazz. Again we were served by a very helpful and friendly lady – I can honestly say we had none of the British stereotype of French aloofness from any of the people we encountered.

We did, though, have another slight blip at a toll station. This time it read the ticket no problem but didn’t want to accept our 1 or 2 euro coins; we ended up feeding it with 50, 20 and 10 cents ones, which no doubt really pleased the cars behind. Good thing it was one of the cheaper tolls and we had plenty of change.

And so it was we hit what is Stephen’s worst nightmare: the approach to the Mont Blanc tunnel. What made this so terrifying for him was not just that he was driving, nor that the road took some acute turns but that for a great deal of the way, the road either clung to the side of the slopes or was built on towering concrete supports with hundreds of metres to the valleys below. At least I was on the inside of the lane and could concentrate on the fabulous views of the still snow capped Alps – at one point we saw, in the far distance, the fountain spurting up in Lake Geneva. As for Stephen, he manfully faced down his fears, even if his grip is forever imprinted on the car’s steering wheel.

There was a bit of a queue to get into the tunnel, due mainly, I think, to people paying by card. As we paid cash, we were virtually waved through without anybody checking our passports or the dogs’ (which have not yet been looked at by any official) and some twenty minutes later we were in Italy. Unlike Julie Andrews, who had to cross the Alps in court shoes with seven children, we had it easy. I was a bit nonplussed as it looked very much like the part of France we had just left and there was no particular indication that we were in a different country. I guess when we think of Italy we tend to forget that there is a significant part in the alpine region, or at least I do.

Stephen was happier driving here as, while the road still curled down the mountainside, there were not the sheer drops like pre-tunnel. After a while we stopped for lunch in a commercial centre near the autostrada and had our first official meal as immigrants - a sort of pizza sandwich – sitting in the sunshine. Then it was onwards to Monte San Pietrangeli.

The afternoon was as uneventful as most of the rest of the journey had been and we pulled into the drive of la casa Stefoni around 7.15. Flavia was immensely happy to see us while Remo asked if we were ready to go to the pub. Well, it might be an idea to say hello first… We ate round the kitchen table, as ever in the Stefoni household, with Stephen holding forth and me doing my best to give Chris an idea what they were talking about. Elsa arrived after a while with her husband, Giovanni, and youngest daughter, Marcia (5), who welcomed us by singing Head and shoulders, knees and toes to everyone’s amusement.

After dinner, Remo was a happy man when we did eventually head to the pub (yes pub, not bar; the MacIntosh Pub is the long established watering hole for the men of the factory). He took Chris in the car while Stephen and I walked with the dogs. Chris was holding a glass when we arrived and apparently chatting happily with Remo – amazing how international the language of beer is. Various people appeared to meet Chris, to greet us and to fuss over the dogs.

We could have stayed long enough but seeing as Chris has another early start tomorrow, we thought it best to be in bed before midnight. So here we are, back in the Stefoni house in Italy and feeling tired but very happy.