Italy

Husband in Denial

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We have been married for a very long time, it has been mostly good, but undoubtedly I have changed during this time. If you are a long-term reader of my blog, you will notice that I have changed since I first began writing—for a start my hair is a different colour. I am aware that I have changed because when I meet people who I haven’t seen for a while, they do not recognise me, and I have to tell them to imagine I have black hair and am thinner—then they usually remember me. However, I am not sure that Husband always notices or remembers that I have changed. Often this is good. But when we go for walks, especially long walks in Italy, this can cause challenges. I don’t find adventures as relaxing as I once did.

Yesterday we went for a walk around a mountain lake. It was beautiful, not too far to walk, no danger of getting lost because we could see the whole perimeter. Lovely—but not without challenges. The first challenge was the lack of facilities—older bodies mean weaker bladders, and whilst this is not a problem for men, it makes for a slightly uncomfortable walk for women. 

Then there was the ground, which was boggy in places where the snow was melting on the slopes. It was very pretty, with steams of water flowing into the lake, but not so easy to navigate in my not-waterproof trainers. There was quite a bit of leaping over stepping-stones, which with my lack of co-ordination and balance is a challenge. (I blame this lack of co-ordination/balance on the brain surgery, but if I am honest, I was never exactly athletic. I did read somewhere that people should practise standing on one leg while cleaning their teeth, to improve their balance. This means I fall over a lot when cleaning my teeth). But it was fine, the stepping stones were not too far apart, they didn’t wobble, my feet stayed dry and I was quite impressed with how far I can still jump.

But then we encountered an area that was basically swamp, with no dry ground at all. It was caused by a large area of snow halfway up the scree slope which was melting fast. The ground above the snow was dry, and Husband suggested we should walk up the slope, along the line where the top of the snow met the scree, then down the other side. It was bound to be a disaster, but I decided it didn’t look too difficult, off I set.

I walked up the scree, next to the heap of snow. As we approached, marmots (groundhogs if you’re American) scampered off and dived into their burrows. How cute. The terrain grew steeper, and less easy to walk, but we were nearing the top of the snow. Husband is very good at offering his hand for the more difficult parts, and he usually goes first and suggests the best footing. But somehow I managed to be slightly higher than him, and I started to slip, and needed to use my hands to avoid falling. I just needed to climb slightly further. My face was now right next to a marmot burrow, and I felt I could hear them watching, just out of sight, gnashing their teeth inches from my cheek. Not so cute. I climbed higher, level with the top of the snow now, maybe we could walk along it? Husband tested the footing and slipped—no, snow is too slippery to walk on in trainers. I searched for hand/footholds in the scree. There was nowhere to secure myself, I started to slip whenever I paused, I needed to keep moving sideways. Husband told me to wait while he found a route. I told him (very calmly, no panic at all) that I could not. If I kept still I slipped. I started to make my way back to where we had started. Sharp thorns were sticking into my fingers, my feet were skidding, there was an Italian man below shouting ‘Allez!’ which might have been nothing to do with us, but it added to the stress of the situation. I crawled/slipped//skidded back down to the swampy land. Avoided being attacked by marmots (they were probably laughing). Found a big rock and sat on it, waiting for Rambo Husband to join me. He went off in search of an easier route. There wasn’t one. We were halfway round the lake, and decided that perhaps this was as far as we could get. Walked back to the car. More of an adventure than hoped, but it was very beautiful.

We drove up to the San Bernado Pass, into France. Stopped for coffee and crepe (and washroom—yaay!). This bit I enjoyed.

Today Husband suggested another walk in another valley. I said I did not want any scrabbling, off we went. We drove into the mountains, and walked into the valley. Gushing rivers with little bridges, meadows full of flowers, very beautiful. The path wound upwards. Not so good, but okay so far. Then the ground got boggy, more melting snow, more jumping across stepping stones. Then, while perched on stepping stones, we noticed cows—frisky ones—walking up the hillside towards us. Worried we might get trampled. Noticed a thin blue line of electric fence and felt safer. Under the fence dashed two large dogs, barking loudly, hackles raised—felt less safe. I kept my arms tucked in, and spoke sternly, telling them to stay down (hoped they understood English). They circled us, but didn’t approach. A farmer further up the hill heard the noise, called the dogs. Husband asked if we were okay to walk, he replied with a thumbs-up, we continued. The electric fence crossed the path. It was nearly too high, but managed to step over it (held onto Husband for support). Then a little further on there was another wire—this one was too high for stepping over, so we crawled under it, hands and knees on the gravel. Old back protested, took some nurofen. 

The rest of the walk was very beautiful, with stone bridges over bubbling water, and flowers and mountains, and all boisterous cows secured behind wires. But I felt a bit worn out. I do like walks in beautiful places, but I prefer less adventure. And definitely less scrabbling up scree or under fences. Being upright is very nice at my age. I don’t mind being older—I actually do not want to do the things that I did in my forties, I don’t want more children or to be worried about a career or to be planning to move house. Mostly I like being older. But as I cover my cuts with savlon and top up my nurofen for my aching back, I realise that I do not quite keep up with Husband anymore. I now prefer my adventures in books. I think I will take charge of planning the walks in future. They will involve only walking.

I hope you survive your day. Thanks for reading. Take care.

Love, Anne x

Happy Thoughts

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Today I was cheered by something I read in the news. In Devon, two young bears had escaped. The zoo quickly phoned the police (standard procedure) and ensured all the staff and visitors were safely secured into buildings. When everyone was safe, they set about capturing the bears. This sounds fairly easy. Apparently, the escaped bears went straight to the food storage area, ate a week’s worth of honey in two hours, then went back to the cage to sleep it off. I love stories like this. Who doesn’t love a good bear story?

Image from BBC website.

I feel we need some cheering news at the moment—the rest of the world seems very insecure. I understand that Europe has become very popular for holidays this year, because no one wants to visit America due to Trump’s stringent  border controls, and the Middle East is not looking safe right now.

Europe is nice though, and currently safe and welcoming (with variable food and weather, depending on which country you visit). We followed the trend and visited Italy. So far (two days in) it has been pretty perfect—though we did have bit of a worry the day before we travelled.

We had booked an Airbnb, which we have used several times, and they have always worked out well for us. This one was in La Thuile, which is our favourite place in Italy, and you will remember we have visited a few times in the past. However, the day before we were due to travel, the owner of the apartment contacted us, saying that the cooker was broken, so we were being offered a different apartment, further up the road. This was a worry, because La Thuile is in the Italian Alps, and a ‘bit further up the road’ might turn out to be up a long track, up a mountain, a long drive from anywhere. We asked for more details, and said that as we did not plan to cook, we didn’t really mind if the cooker didn’t work. Not much in the way of reply. Then some videos arrived, showing the new apartment, and directions so we could check the map. It looked fine. When we arrived it was fine, and the previous apartment was covered in scaffolding and had workmen renovating it. It looked to be rather more major than a faulty cooker! 

Another unexpected thing was our favourite restaurant, where we usually eat every night, was shut. No info on the website, no response to phone calls. We tried our second-choice. They replied saying the season has a break in June, they reopen at the end of the week. Unexpected. We walked down the hill into town. This was the day we had arrived, after a 4am start, and a long drive from Turin airport. I was tired and hungry (but still pleasant, good company, completely reasonable, as you can imagine.) We found a restaurant that looked nice, booked a table for 7pm, when it opened, walked up the very long hill to our apartment. I napped.

At 7pm we went back down the hill to the restaurant. We were seated in a sort of cavern, with an arched ceiling, and given good red wine, and tasty food, and all was very good with the world, Well, with our little bit of it. Felt very happy as we made our way back up the hill/mountain (felt steeper than before) to our apartment.

I woke this morning to a view of the mountain, white with snow, and the blue blue sky. I notice how beautiful the world is. We went for a walk, along Rte 12, which is, without doubt, the most beautiful valley in the world. The sun was shining. There were butterflies and spring flowers, and cows with bells clonking on the mountainside. The air was clear, We walked for a couple of hours, This is why we came. At one point there was snow, which had slipped down the hill, covered in mud but still white underneath. It was icy, hard to scoop into a snowball. The path was wet with snow melting further up the mountain, and the waterfalls, which will be tiny springs in August, were racing foamy white torrents that rushed down to the valley.

At one point there was a rumble, distant, a deep shudder. Was it a plane flying high? Thunder? An earthquake? Noticed there was ‘smoke’ from the mountain on the other side of the valley and at first I thought they must be mining. Then I realised it was a rock fall, stones rolling down the mountain (probably due to melting snow), I was more watchful after than—didn’t fancy a rock on the head!

A lovely day, in a beautiful place. It’s good to remember that beautiful places, and good food, and cute animals, exist even when it seems like the world is going bonkers. Humans have not managed to ruin everything, there is still some wonder in the world.

I hope you find something to cheer your week too. Thanks for reading. Take care.

Love, Anne x

Snow in August

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We arrived in LaThuile in bright hot sunshine. It was too hot to walk far, and even the shade was warm (which has not been my experience previously in the Italian Alps). However, within a day, the weather changed: the temperature plummeted and we woke up to snow on the mountains. This was very exciting! I love snow. Never before have I experienced snow in August.

After lunch, we found the car where we had abandoned it in the town garage (because we are staying in a little apartment in the town centre and the narrow cobbled streets barely fit a bike, definitely not a car), We drove up the winding road to St Bernardo’s Pass, and there we found snow! It was jolly cold. I had brought my woolly hat but most of my clothes were the thin impracticable kind that you take on holiday.  (Husband was so pleased to see it again so soon after it had been put away at the end of winter. He loves that hat.) Husband strode off, looking for the best ‘snow photo’ spot. I spoke briefly to some pretty cows with donging bells round their necks (who ignored me) and then went in search of warmth in a cafe. The cafe had a few toys, and I bought a cute St. Bernard dog toy, because this area has lots of them (the real variety) and even I realise that owning one would not be wise given where we live.

The rest of the holiday passed peacefully enough. We returned to the most beautiful valley in the world (Route 11) that we found last year. It continues to earn the title, it’s too beautiful to describe and even photos don’t really show the beauty of the place (especially my photos!) You will have to visit yourself. Just be careful as you drive to a parking place, as the road is very narrow and there are no barriers and the drop is very long if you fall. Nice place to die though.

We were very good, and went for a run every morning. We found a relatively flat road to run along (beside a bubbling river and looking at mountains). But it was hard to breathe. Husband informed me it was very good for my lungs because the high altitude makes them work harder. It didn’t feel good though, it made running very hard work and not at al enjoyable (apart from the scenery). Afterwards we went to Angela’s Cafe, which was crammed with local people all speaking Italian and drinking espresso coffee. I also drank espresso coffee, of which I am rather proud. I noticed a few years ago that only foreigners drink things like cappuccino or latte, and all locals drink tiny cups of strong black coffee. I therefore forced myself to drink it—like a teenaged boy forces himself to drink beer even though he would rather have a lemonade. I now enjoy drinking it, but I especially enjoy the approval I see in people’s eyes when I order it. Husband orders a cappuccino, and often this is passed to me, as the more ‘girly’ drink. Anyway, Angela’s Cafe has very good coffee, and it advertises that it’s grown by women, to help raise the standard of living in families, so I rather like that too. We always reserved croissants for the following day, because they are eaten in the morning by the earlier customers. This then was our routine: run by the river, recover and shower, breakfast in Angela’s Cafe, buy bread for lunch, return to little apartment. Not a bad way to start every day.

We finished each day by eating dinner in La Maison—the restaurant we ate in almost every evening last year. They allow us to have a table in the wine cellar, and they know that I like a chair rather than a bench, and that our Italian is terrible. It’s a friendly place to eat and the food is delicious.

One evening, when walking towards the restaurant, I noticed that my dress felt odd. I ran my hand down the side, and realised I could feel the seam. When I glanced down, a big white label was flapping at the side, and all the buttons were on the inside! I had somehow managed to put on my dress inside-out and not notice. We were next to a little chapel at the time, so I ducked inside while Husband stood guard, and quickly turned my dress the right way round. I was so pleased that I noticed before we arrived at the restaurant. Made a note to always look in the mirror before I leave home in future. (I do of course blame Husband, who really should have noticed.)

Other than clothing issues, the holiday was lovely. The Italian Alps are so lovely in the summer. I hope to come again. Thanks for reading, have a good week. Take care.
Love, Anne x

Thanks for reading.

anneethompson.com

Milan in August

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A Day Touring Milan

Our day in Milan was somewhat spoiled by the heat. I think this is unusual, as we’ve visited before and it wasn’t too hot to walk. It felt more like Seville in August than Milan. But we coped, mainly by searching for the coolest places. (Cool as in temperature.)

Our first stop was the Pinacoteca di Brera gallery—which happens to be the source of the most romantic gift ever. About a hundred years ago, when our children were young, we visited this gallery (mainly because we had not understood that to see ‘The Last Supper’ by Leonardo da Vinci required booking tickets months in advance. This was a less-good alternative). We walked to the gallery, and wandered around, looking at lots of religious art (which neither of us appreciate) and wondering why we had bothered, when we entered the very last room. This room displayed art showing life in the 1500’s, and it was much more to our taste. (This might be because, according to a sign, Gerolamo Induno and his brother ‘were the leading exponents of genre painting which used personal, domestic images to draw the uneducated classes to art.’ I am clearly one of ‘the uneducated class’!) I especially liked a painting by Induno, which showed a teenaged girl sitting in her messy bedroom, with a popular poster on the wall, apparently texting (actually, she was looking in a small  compact). I had a teenaged daughter at the time, and this painting struck a cord on many levels. I loved that even though the ‘poster’ was a popular painting by a local artist (‘The Kiss’ by Francesco Hayez) and the furnishings and clothing was different, the girl was not so different to girls today. I looked at the painting for a long time, and chatted about it with Husband, and forgot all about it.

However, Husband, who is not usually given to especially romantic gestures, surprised both of us. Using his work computer (because at the time, we shared one and he wanted it to be a secret) he contacted the gallery, asking if it was possible to buy a print. It was not, but if they were willing to send him a photo for personal study. This was all in Italian, which Husband does not speak. He agreed, and they sent him an invoice and a contract to sign (again, all in Italian, which he does not speak). He signed it (a bit risky!) and sent off a large amount of money (very risky!) and waited for the image to arrive. It never arrived. He then realised that as he was using his work computer, the IT security blocked files of a certain size. He had to contact the IT department, and admit improper use of company computer (luckily he was very senior, so they forgave him) and ask them to release the file. They did, and the image arrived. Husband then printed it off, and gave it to me for Christmas. What a lovely gift. We bought a frame for it, and hung it in the bedroom (because then it really is for personal study, and doesn’t break the agreement). Romantic, huh?

This year, we found the painting again. It was interesting to see the brush strokes (because they don’t show on my copy) and the slight variation in colour. The guard shouted at me for standing too close.

After the gallery we walked past the shopping arcade with the fancy roof, and to the cathedral (the Duomo). The queue for the cathedral stretched out across the plaza, the sun beat down, we decided to just look at the outside. We enjoyed seeing the gargoyles and statues (which I wrote about in my blog on Milan a few years ago). We walked down towards the castle, and I thought I might melt. So hot. We detoured into a lovely cafe, and ordered desserts and drinks, and spent the whole afternoon chatting and eating ice cream. Which frankly, is not a bad way to spend an afternoon.

We ended the day with drinks in the hotel bar (which is rather nice because they brought plates of snacks to eat with the drinks). We ate in a cafe near the hotel. Went to bed tired—it’s surprising how heat saps energy even when you don’t do much. Tomorrow we head for the Alps, where we have a little apartment for a couple of weeks. I am hoping it will be cooler.

Thanks for reading. I hope the weather is good for you today.

Take care.

Love, Anne x

Another painting I like.
It shows a mother saying goodbye to her son as he goes to join Garibaldi’s army.

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Milan was Hot

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Milan was hot. As in, really, really hot. We flew to Malpensa Airport, with the excellent plan to catch a train to the city centre and then walk to our hotel. The airport part went well. Milan airport has a walkway, which is basically an art gallery, with sculptures and music and atmospheric lighting. An unexpected interlude as you pull your luggage towards the railway station. Only in Italy.

The rest of the plan was less interesting. We managed to buy tickets, and found the correct platform, and boarded the train. But as we perched on seats around the luggage (that we were too worried about leaving in the rack next to the door) we realised the journey was long, and it was past lunch time, and we had been awake since 4am. I tend to wilt when I miss meals, so had brought some snacks, but they were warm and squashed and tasted of plastic.

We arrived at the massive station in Milan, and eventually managed to find the exit (though not the correct one). Walked around the exterior of the station, pulling heavy case over ruts in the paving stones while the sun burned down on us. Followed Husband along many hot streets, over many major roads, with suitcase wheels sticking and clothes soaked with sweat whilst passing pristine-looking beautiful Italian people. Italian people always look like they washed their hair this morning and have dressed in the latest designer clothes and are just taking a break from looking beautiful to meet their friends for an espresso. Felt very English.

Arrived at the end of the slope up to the hotel. It was steep, and cobbled, and I thought I might faint. Luckily, a porter spotted us, and came to the rescue. Usually we bat away porters and cling on to our bags as though they contain the crown jewels; this time I relinquished my luggage with thanks and offered to buy him dinner. (The dinner bit isn’t true, but the emotion was there.)

We stayed at The Westin, which apart from the steep cobbled drive, was very nice. Our room was clean and comfortable, and they provided ‘White Tea’ toiletries which I especially like.

After a shower and a change of clothes, we went to meet friends for dinner. I had been very clear when explaining that walking far was not going to happen, and thankfully the restaurant was very near the hotel. We sat  under a sunshade, and had drinks and ice-creams and watched the trams carrying beautiful people to wherever it was they were going. It was still hot, but as long as I wasn’t required to move, it was fun.

Dinner was pizza. I don’t much like pizza, but having said I wasn’t walking more than 2 1/4 minutes from the hotel, I didn’t feel I should give further input. It was actually very tasty pizza. Unfortunately, the local insects also found me very tasty, and in my rush to shower and change, I had forgotten insect-repellent. Luckily, I was so tired that even itchy bites couldn’t keep me awake, and I slept well, ready for a day exploring the sights of Milan.

In my next blog I’ll tell you about the most romantic gift I have ever received, where the coolest parts of Milan are, and how to make an ice-cream last an entire afternoon.

Thanks for reading. I hope you manage to struggle through an difficult parts of your day.

Take care,

Love, Anne x

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anneethompson.com

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LaThuile in the Summer

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Things to do in LaThuile in the Summer

LaThuile has the most beautiful walks. You can find a map at the Tourist Information but this is relatively unhelpful as the walks are miles and miles long, and are more serious hikes for serious hikers than the sort of walk that’s actually enjoyable. However, it is possible to cheat, and drive part of the way.

I write this after a beautiful 2-hour walk through a valley, a short drive from the town.

  1. Leave LaThuile on the SS26 towards San Bernardo pass. After passing Ristorante Lo Riondet, start to look for a parking place on the right—it’s at the next big corner.
  2. Follow the track through pine trees, catching brief glimpses of the most beautiful valley in the world (see previous blog).
  3. When you see a bridge over the river on your left, turn off the main track and cross the river. If you look up, you will see a cave above you. (If you venture up there, let me know what was inside.)
  4. Follow the track to the left. It goes uphill slightly, but nothing scary. You will pass some derelict houses and some cows, and depending on where the farmer has laid his electric fence, you might need to cross it. (Note on electric fences: If you touch the wire, it hurts. A lot. However, the stick securing it to the ground is not usually electrified—so test this theory by touching it with a blade of grass, then you can lift the stick, shimmy under the wire, replace the stick in the ground.)
  5. When the path forks, take the left fork, which heads down towards the river.
  6. Cross the river on the footbridge.
  7. Either turn left, and follow the track back to the car, or continue right for a while until you reach the farmhouse/viewpoint, then retrace your steps.
Road from La Thuile.
Parking.
Turn right towards the bridge.
Don’t be tempted to go into the derelict houses, they look like they will tumble at any minute.
Marvelous views.

Another good walk, that’s slightly shorter, is to Lake Arpy. Take the SR39 from LaThuile, and park at the top of the mountain, where there’s a pub and a couple of car parks. (The car parks are easy to find, a space is less easy, so you might need to abandon your car on the road somewhere.) The footpaths up are clearly marked, and relatively easy (though slightly steep in places). The lake is very pretty, and in the summer people sit up there, reading or chatting. Some (silly ones?) even swim in the icy water (but not for long!) There are good views of Mont Blanc as you walk back down. It takes about 30 minutes to reach the lake from the car park.

Lago d’Arpy.
I am never sure which of these mountains is Mont Blanc!

If you fancy a drive rather than a walk, then going to look at the glacier in Courayeur is fun. You never manage to get especially near to it (unless you’re a climber) but the road, Via Val Veny, rises above the town to opposite the glacier. You have a good view of the Mont Blanc tunnel.

There is a little church on the hillside: Notre Dame de Guerison. Inside are lots of votives left by climbers who are thankful to still be alive. There have been icons there since 1753, and a chapel since 1781. When we visited, there was a service, and a surprising number of people had driven up the mountain to attend it. Opposite is a small gift shop, for people who want to buy a fridge magnet with a saint on it.

Notre Dame de Guerison.
Miners having a smoke. (Not sure of the relevance.)
You feel like you will reach the glacier, but it’s further than it looks.
Little church on the hillside above Courmayeur.
Looking down on the Monte Bianco tunnel!

You might enjoy Courmayeur itself. I didn’t. It was okay for a quick stroll, but there were too many designer shops and designer people (the sort of people with matching socks and weekly pedicures and a touch of plastic surgery). I enjoyed our first visit (see previous blog) but was disappointed when we went back. Perhaps it’s better in the rain, when you just want a cosy café and a decent coffee (those, it has).

Hope you have some fun days this week. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

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anneethompson.com

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The Prison Camp in La Thuile

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At one end of La Thuile, away from where most tourists would wander, is the remains of a prison of war camp. There are a few worn signs, which are all in Italian, so I photographed them and typed them into Google Translate. It seems that the camp was in use during both wars, and the prisoners worked in the local mines. During the second world war, prisoners came from Yugoslavia. I’m not sure who they would be, though I have read elsewhere that Jewish prisoners were used as slave labour in Italy, for things like keeping the mountain passes open, and in mines. I guess it’s possible they were also part of the camp in La Thuile, and used in the mines here.

There’s not much left of the camp, and it’s hard to see whether the buildings were barracks for guards or dormitories for prisoners. Most of the buildings are on private land, so it wasn’t possible to get very close. Below are some photos, and the translation of the information signs. It’s hard to glean many facts from either.

I believe the site was later used as a holiday camp for young people.

Translation of Prison Sign:

First World War

Already during the First World War it is known that over 50 prisoners of war were employed in the work of the mines. In 1918, “the 31 prisoners of war were awarded a wage of just under 1/3 of the normal worker, ie 3,400 lire per day. By making a downward calculation it is possible to establish that, at the end of the First World War, the prisoners of war who find employment in the anthracite mines of La Thuile amounted to about one hundred units. They were guarded by military personnel and housed in special barracks in the Villaret region.”

Unfortunately there is no other news, it is not known where they were housed, where the special barracks were, but the presence of prisoners and their work in mining are attested in the first as in the second world war. Surely it was a place near the mouth of the mine, perhaps the place was already this … [sic]

Second World War

The set of buildings that insist on this area were born between 1941 and 1942 when the Cogne, “for exceptional needs, had to undertake the construction of barracks for housing prisoners of war, militarized workers from the army and military surveillance personnel at the concentration camp for prisoners” who will work in the mine. The building project is dated November 1941 and the request for the concession is presented by the Cogne Society to the Municipality of La Thuile on May 28, 1942.

The document shows that the constructions are “partly carried out and partly to be carried out. […] These are temporary barracks raised to a single floor above ground and will be built in timber with walls covered in” Eraclit or Populit “slabs. 2 cm thick, plastered, with a roof covered in Marseilles tiles on a timber frame.” The camp consists of the dormitories, the refectory, the prisons and a small infirmary inside the fence as well as the building for the guard, offices and lodgings of the Commando, non-commissioned officers and troops. From military archive documents it is clear that this is the camp for prisoners of war called Campo P.G.N. Porta Littoria.

The opening date is not known but on 1 March 1942 there are 250 ex-Yugoslav prisoners of war, more precisely 131 Serbs, 113 Montenegrins and 6 annexed Italians; in the following months the number and the provenance will be constant. The P.G. 101 and a mandatory work camp in the mine. The prison camp was closed on August 8, 1942 ‘following the cessation of use of labour by prisoners of war in the mines of the Soc. in Cogne.

Consequently, they are probably sent back to the camp, where the interpreters return. It is therefore open for a few months, a part planned on the south side will not even be built. [sic]

***

If you happen to know anything about the prison camp, please let me know. It doesn’t quite fit with the beautiful village in the Alps that is La Thuile today. I suspect in a few years, all remains will be removed, as the new houses being built are gradually getting nearer. LaThuile is beautiful, but I wonder what secrets it holds.

Thanks for reading. Have a great day.
Love, Anne x

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anneethompson.com
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Having a Laugh in Turin

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Continuing my travel blogs, written whilst in Italy.

Taken from next to the Roman wall. The big dome with windows is part of the cathedral.

Some friends from England were staying just across the border, in the French Alps, so we arranged to meet them in Turin. It was such a fun day.

They were arriving by train, and we drove from La Thuile, so I used Google maps to search for a nearby car park. It directed us to one very near the station. As we approached, it was difficult to find, then at the last minute, we spotted a ramp descending under the buildings, advertising parking. We took a ticket, went through the barrier, and disappeared under the building. It was all a little scary. There were spaces, and nothing to indicate they were reserved for residents, so we parked. Checked the prices on the pay machine (just in case) and it all looked fine, so we left and hoped the car wouldn’t be clamped when we returned.

Met friends and wandered towards the old part of town (which was very near to excellent car park). We came to a square, with two nearly identical churches (this seems to be a thing in Italy) and found the cathedral, Cattedrale di San Giovanni Battista. This is where they keep the Shroud of Turin, the shroud that some think wrapped the body of Jesus after he was crucified. I knew that it wasn’t on display, but I was interested to see where it was kept. There is also a replica shroud, in another church, so I hoped to see that too. Just out of interest. I am not sure what I think about the shroud (other than that it’s interesting). Some people claim the shroud is miraculous. Others say it’s a hoax, and dates from mediaeval times. I understand that several universities tested it, and all found it dated much later than Christ, but it was also thought to have been in a fire at some point, which would mess up carbon dating. Personally, I have no idea. If a shroud was ever used (I’m not sure how bodies were wrapped in those days) then it’s possible that it never decayed because Christ was holy—but it’s equally possible it did, as I don’t think everything he touched still exists today.

Anyway, the cathedral had a special side chapel where people could sit and muse the idea. I think the shroud was in the box in an alcove, but I’m not sure—the signs were all in Italian.

Then we went for lunch. We found a café in a square, and ordered focaccia. Some ordered enough for six people, and then ate them all. (No judgement.)

Perfect size for a normal appetite.
Some people ate the six-person portion…

Our next stop was Galleria Sabauda which was accessed via Musei Reali Torino and we had to buy a ticket that included several different things. Our friends were keen to see a particular painting (Passion of Christ by Memling) which none of the guides seemed to realise was there. We found it eventually (it looks smaller in real life than online!)

Lots of different scenes from The Passion of Christ, all in one painting. By Hans Memling.

There was another painting, which Husband said was called ‘The Shocking Spectacle Following Unexpected Gust of Wind’ but I’m pretty sure he was lying.

We then wandered back towards the royal palace (because we had tickets). On the way, we popped into what we thought was a chapel, and it turned out to be an amazing part of the cathedral, where originally they had kept the shroud. There was a massive dome, with a dove at the top (which Husband said was a leftover Christmas decoration that the caretaker had refused to get down because it was so high). We considered the possibility of smuggling a helium balloon in and releasing it before running away. It was very opulent, with lots of black and gold. It didn’t feel very holy, I didn’t feel inspired to pray, but it was impressive.

A really cool dome. There is a glass dove, right at the top.

The royal palace was the same as every other royal palace that allows tourists—lots of interconnecting rooms, lots of gilt and dusty curtains. The sort of place that makes you feel glad you’re not royal and forced to live there.

We were then at saturation point with museum/galleries, so went in search of ice creams. I ordered a bicerin (pronounced ‘bich-er-in’) which is a traditional drink in Turin. It’s basically very rich hot chocolate with a shot of espresso and topped with cream. It was delicious.

Bicerin. Delicious.

Then we sat near the river and chatted, very lovely. We had a quick McDonald’s (very nice, but probably not what you should do when in Turin) before our friends left to catch their train back to France. We found our car (not as easy as it sounds) and it wasn’t clamped, so we paid (17 euro) and drove back to La Thuile.

Turin is a lovely city, and there’s lots more to see. Definitely worth a second visit, would make a good weekend away.

Hope your day goes well. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Thanks for reading.
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Best Lunch Date, Ever…

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I have just had the most amazing lunch. Not the food perhaps (though there was nothing wrong with it) but the venue? Wow! We have just arrived home, and I have a slight headache (you will understand why in a minute) and I am bursting to tell someone.

We had lunch at the top of Mont Blanc!

Preparing for the descent.

It was such fun. First we drove to Courmayeur. Well, strictly speaking, first we went to the local Pharmacy in a panic because we read on the website that it was essential that we wore the correct type of face-mask—but after that we drove to Courmayeur. We followed signs for the cable-car (the funivia) and there was plenty of parking underneath. Italy seems to do parking very well (either that, or we have been very lucky so far).

There was then some confusion, with a ticket office, and several different queues which didn’t seem to lead anywhere and no helpful signs, and loads of people. We had already bought our tickets online, so we joined a line that looked promising, and managed to get the piece of paper we needed to walk up to the cable car. I don’t like heights (as you know if you read my blogs regularly) so I was extremely pleased to find a seat, in the middle, where there was hardy any view through all the standing passengers to the scary plummet as we ascended the mountain. Hardly anyone wore masks, I think only the foreign tourists, who had also read the website, were wearing them. The website should perhaps be updated (I write this in August 2022).

The cable car stopped midway. There were amazing views, and paths you could walk along, a little botanical garden, and deckchairs. The deckchairs were full of lounging bronzed people who had stripped down to their underwear. I don’t think any will make the cover of Vogue, so I will spare you a photo!

Edelweiss
Okay, so they were statues!
Best to keep eyes shut until you land.

We then caught another car up to the top of the mountain. Again, not too scary if you kept your eyes shut the entire time. It was crammed full of tourists, and athletic looking people with climbing gear, and dogs. I love that in Italy, dogs are welcome just about everywhere.

The top of the mountain had various viewing platforms, but we went straight to Bistrot Panoramic. It sits on top of Pointe Helbronner (which I understand is one of the peaks of Mont Blanc). The views were amazing. The restaurant walls were glass, and the seats were transparent, so wherever you sat there would be views. We were slightly early, and managed to have a corner table. After a quick gin and tonic, this was fine, and I rather enjoyed it. I had some red wine too to prepare for the descent (hence the slight headache now).

The meal was a set menu: a potato dish (like Dauphinoise potatoes but with bits of ham), a soggy-bread-and onion dish (nicer than it sounds) and a vegetable soup over pasta dish. We chose a mushroom dish and a sausage in tomato sauce dish, to accompany the cheesy polenta (which all went together very well, but would have been not great alone, as the mushrooms were a bit slimy and the polenta needed more salt). Dessert was apple cake (which was apple pie!) and tiramisu. We finished with coffee. All very nice, and when put together with the view, completely fabulous.

The table next to us had a huge dog curled up asleep. Next to the door of the restaurant was a bowl of dog water. I now plan to return, with my dog (maybe not Kia, as she’s a bit old now and would snarl at everyone).

We spent some time taking millions of photos, then went back to the car. As lunch dates go, it was perfect.

The peak of Mont Blanc is behind me.
Can it get much better?
Wow!

Thanks for reading and have a great day.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

And we saw Maria!!!!
Thanks for reading.
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The Best of Days, the Worst of Days…

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Today has been a mix of highs and lows. Mostly highs, so I will start there.

As you know (if you read my blog regularly) we had booked a house in Italy for the summer, but popped home after a couple of weeks to attend my niece’s wedding. After the wedding, we returned to La Thuile for the rest of August. It felt like coming home as we drove from the airport, past ‘our river’ that races through the valley, to the view of ‘our mountain’ with the glacier that reflects all the moods of the sun.

Anyway, today I suggested that we should go to a café for an espresso (which is one of my favourite things about Italy—sipping a coffee in the sunshine, somewhere beautiful). Husband suggested that rather than walk to the nearby café (‘our café’) we should try somewhere new, on the other side of town.

He directed me along lanes, through the park next to the river, up narrow streets. We arrived at a pretty building next to the river, with a family sitting in lounge-chairs in the garden. At our arrival, they all jumped up, assured us that they were open, and the man showed us to a table in the shade. He then disappeared.

I looked around. On one side was the river, on the other was mountains—all very pretty, perfect for a leisurely coffee. The man then reappeared, carrying cutlery and glassware, and a basket of fresh bread. He smiled welcoming as he set our table. Lots of eye-contact between Husband and I, neither of us spoke. The man hurried away.

Now what? The man was so welcoming, the bread looked freshly baked, dare we say that we only wanted a coffee? Husband said we should just order something small (we already had dinner reservations for the evening at ‘our restaurant’). The man reappeared with the menu, and we chose a couple of dishes. Neither of us understand much Italian, so it was a bit random. What arrived were platters of cheese and meat, which went perfectly with the house wine. We finished, an hour later, with the espresso that we had come for. It was all very unexpected, and very lovely. A good time.

After our lunch, we discussed what to do, as I have hurt my leg and can’t walk far. Husband suggested we went ‘up the mountain on the cable car.’ I knew this was something he really wanted to do, and we had just enjoyed a lovely lunch in the sunshine, so I agreed. I hate heights. It was even worse than I imagined.

The ‘cable car’ is not a cable car, it is a chairlift—designed for skiers in the winter, and mountain bikers in the summer. I watched the chairs as they flew down the mountain, turning at the bottom, slowing for passengers, then continuing back up the mountain in a continuous loop, never actually stopping. I saw a few people nearly getting bonked when they stood up but didn’t move out of the way quickly enough, and I tried to learn from their mistake as we joined the line of young men with bikes. We fed our tickets into the machine, and stepped forward. A man appeared from his cubicle and hovered near the emergency-stop button. We stood in place, the chair arrived behind us, we sat back, a bar was lowered in front of us, and we rose towards the sky.

I decided it would be best to keep my eyes shut. This worked fine on the way up. It felt like flying, I could hear birds and smell the pine trees, and the temperature grew gradually cooler as we rose. We reached the top, Husband yelled at me to let go of the safety-bar, a man hovered near the emergency-stop button, I leaped off the chair, remembered to hurry to the side, the chair sailed past me and I was on solid ground. All great. I felt rather pleased with myself, and enjoyed looking at the views and watching the young men as they raced down the mountain on their bikes. Then we decided to go back down. Then it all went wrong.

As we fed our tickets into the machine, the man emerged again to hover near the stop-button. Obviously we looked incompetent. The chair swept behind us, I sat, the bar was lowered, I shut my eyes and pretended I was flying. Then Husband (who I have now forgiven) mentioned that the safety bar was raised and lowered by the passengers—in other words, him. That felt very unsafe. If you have a fear of heights, you will know that the fear is connected with falling, and the belief that somehow you might fling yourself over the precipice. I am not scared in airplanes, because I cannot fall out. I am terrified on cliff edges because I might fall over. Now I was being told that if I lifted the bar (yes, I know that this was entirely in my control and wouldn’t happen, but fear is not rational)—if I lifted the bar, I would plummet to my death. I took deep breaths. Then Husband mentioned something about the view below, and fool that I am, I opened my eyes. I was not flying. I was suspended on an insecure chair, miles above ground, with nothing but a moveable bar between me and certain death. My heart stopped, I thought I might vomit (pity the mountain bikers below!) and I started to shake all over. I think I whimpered.

For the next few terrifying moments we sailed through the air. I shut my eyes and prayed very hard and tried not to think about how it would feel to fall. Then we arrived. The same man hovered near the emergency button (they didn’t seem to do that for anyone else!) and I managed to stand, to move out of the way, to walk to the nearest bench. I didn’t speak. Somehow, I survived. But it was bad, very bad.

Enjoying the top of the mountain.
Me, having a heart attack.

I hope your day is full of good things, and that you cope with the bad things calmly.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Anne E. Thompson
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