So it’s been awhile (♫since I could hold my head up high♫ For all your 90’s kids). But it’s been a busy few weeks, okay? Not even a few weeks, don’t exaggerate. Okay. We’re gonna do this fast and furious so nobody gets bored. Friend Josh’s university town was as cute as promised, all learning and markets and old German buildings, and it was great to get some combo downtime/hangout time with him. Possibly the best thing that happened there though was him convincing me (assisted greatly by the steadily cooling weather in Germany, sorry to all you non-Vancouverite-Canadians who may not sympathize with me here) that I should head south towards a little ecovillage called Torri Superiori on the northwestern edge of Italy. Good. Call. This last-minute decision was followed by an even more last-minute decision leading to Josh and I standing beside the highway between Lake Konstance (Germany) and Zurich (Switzerland) at 10:00 pm with 100 Swiss Franks burning a hole in our collective pocket and our thumbs extended. Hitchhiking in Europe turned out to be easy, thanks to our combined stunning good looks and charming smile, and we made quick if rather indirect process towards the city. Zurich was a beautiful town, a good if extremely expensive romp about, and then it was onto the slow train through the mountains for me, and a bus back to Germany for Josh.
Hell of a train ride, even if it was half in the dark. beautiful mountains, cute villages and churches, bloody huge castle in the middle of some nowhere town. I made Torino without issue, found my couch, and spent the next day exploring said town. Torino has a great vibe, just old enough to be interesting but with extremely novel straight streets and loads of open squares. Had italian coffee on a patio, ate part of a pizza bigger than many tables, got lost at night in the sketchy part of town but powered through, and generally enjoyed everything about the place.
Onward, have to stay on pace. Took an even slower train through the mountains the next day, to Ventimiglia via Cuneo. Hell of a train ride. Got to experience all the seasons, from snow in the highest parts through stunning colours through palm trees on the Mediterranean. Ventimiglia reminds me quite a bit of southeast asia… the smell, the plants, the scooter, generally bustly chaos. It’s a refreshing change. But before too long it was time to bus up to the small village of Torri, above which perches the tiny restored medieval village of Torri Superiori. The fine gentlemen sitting by the river/church/busstop/main square were kind enough to explain to me the way, and, thanks to the Italians trademark conversation style, I didn’t need to understand a word to understand exactly what he meant.
I could say lots about Torri, and will add more later, but for colour – Italian medieval mountain villages are more like castles than villages. It’s all stone and steps and everything’s connected in a couple of different ways. Mostly individual rooms, but spacious eating areas and a lovely terrace (from which I write this missive). The view down the valley over the village is completely tranquil. Traffic is very rare, birdsong nearly constant, and there is always the gentle rush-roar of the river over the rocks far below.
I have come to harvest olives, and harvest olives I have. It`s probably the best thing in the world to harvest, as it`s mostly clambering into trees and physically abusing them with their own severed limbs to encourage them to give up their juicy fruit. Tiring, but the food is more than energizing, and it`s nice to be doing something productive (for awhile). The walk (or tractor ride) to and from the field is always a highlight, as the village two ridges over is a picturesque little thing of stone and red stone shingles, warm in the morning sun. On the flip side, I`ve never hated blackberries more than I do now. They`re sharp and they snarl the nets and they`re everywhere and hard to remove and the berries themselves are long gone. If you see one of these hellbushes, please lay your best curse upon it.
