Hotel Emelia was once a grand old house, creaky timbers, thick walls, mimicking the home of my childhood and making me feel right at home. The rambling house was musty, but clean and comfortable.
At the hotel we washed the day off, gulped down a delicious Peroni beer and once again took our lives in our hands crossing just a two-lane road, thick with cars vying to reach home after a day at work.
We didn’t care about finding a supermarket and eating a cold, home-made dinner, we wanted pasta and lots of it. Our nerves were shattered, limbs jangled, our heads spun.
We joined the truck-drivers, queuing for the restaurant to open. Thirty hungry men sat, ordered, and drank. The waiter told us what we were having and disappeared. We didn’t care as long as we experienced Italy – okay it was a truck stop, but it was a family run restaurant too.
A carafe of white wine thumped onto our table. We were in Mamas kitchen. A teetering plate of tomato spaghetti slid under our noses.
‘And that’s just the starter!’
We wondered how we were going to survive, we had one more day of highway battle to deal with. The Tomtom revealed that our journey would double if we took the back roads.
The following day we skirted through Bologna, and the traffic, thankfully, backed off - we were wise now and Noel is an expert driver. Still he couldn’t relax for one second – there were a few unprintable words muttered at the lunatic drivers… as for my lunacy, that's on the next blog. It's a new therapy – three entire days of it! Yikes!
Come and see what goes on in my head – if you dare!
Next: A New Type of Therapy – Three Day Counselling Session!