We left Castelrotto in good time. That may have been our first mistake. Assuming we were doing fine, we accidentally wound up going the wrong way down the Autostrada. Normally, this would be a simple matter of getting off at the next exit and working our way back. Unfortunately, the Autostrada was a little like being trapped in a twisted game of frogger, only we were one of the logs struggling to keep ahead of the alligators. There seemed to be a dozen trucks for every kilometer of highway, and every would be Formula One racer was making there way to somewhere in northern Italy. And, because there are few exits off the Autostrada, this went on for 25 kms before it was possible to snake my way through a couple dozen trucks and do the requisite U turn to get us going in the right direction.
The rest of the drive was blessedly uneventful, though periodically, I would encounter said would be Formula One drivers. They came barreling up behind me, usually in a luxury vehicle. I swear I could see the colour of their eyes though the rear view mirror. Next time, I'm holding up a sign that reads "nice hair cut". See if that has an impact. Just have to figure out what that is in Italian.
Rather than stop at one of the identical and insanely busy rest stops along the way for lunch, we decided to peel off in Brescia. Why Brescia? Well, it is reputedly the home town of Pirlo, one of Italy's star football players. There was no Pirlo, and given that we got a little lost once we actually got off the Autostrada, I'm not even convinced we were in Brescia anymore. We did, however, find a little pizzeria with a cool water misted patio and a crowd of locals at lunch.
Back in the car after lunch, we determinedly headed for our destination, the Italian Alps and the ever imposing Monte Bianco. You would think that rolling towards the continent's highest peak would grant you the opportunity for magnificent views and a feeling of perspective as the mountain loomed higher and higher with each passing kilometer. You would think that, but you'd be wrong. Approaching Monte Bianco from about 25 kilometres out, you hit your first tunnel, and then another, and then another. In fact, about 90% of the journey at that point is spent under mountains rather than gazing at them.
We did finally make it to Courmayeur at the foot of Monte Bianco, and once we were finally granted a view, it is undeniably impressive.
Courmayeur itself is a small ski town resting in the shadow of the rock that looms above it. We wandered the town slightly after releasing the children from several hours of confinement. It was clear that the long drive had taken a toll on them as evidenced by the hyena like frenzy that ensured one they were actually on their feet again. I'm quite convinced every resident of Courmayeur has been alerted to their presence and they now too are singing the song from that damn Lego movie.
Our hotel actually sits in a suburb of Courmayeur called Pelud. This seems to be a little space that time forgot with streets right out of the 18th century. Narrow cobblestone streets, stone arches, recessed gardens and stone shingles make for the sense of turning back time.
I was looking for horses and hoop skirts when we stepped out for dinner. The hotel is very comfortable and quaint, and I think there may only be a few guests staying at the moment. It also has the added advantage of heat, which I will greatly enjoy tonight after the last couple of nights huddled under an admittedly warm duvet.
The final shot for tonight shows the state of our children after a week and a half of travel with us.
Good night from Courmayeur.
1 comment:
The children look as though they are having a wonderful time! I can't wait to hear them describe their adventures!!!
Post a Comment