Yesterday. Monday morning. I was outside Andrea’s garage at 0830.
‘Sono qui.’ I said.
‘So I see.’ His eyes read.
He took Pedders for a spin. Up the street I heard the ABS – and tyre adhesion – being tested to the maximum. Then he almost knocked me down as he drove into the garage – where I was waiting – at the same speed.
Up went Pedders. Wheels hanging floppy and showing his underthings. Andrea pointed to the remains of blobby plastic on the wheel nuts. I explained about the trims melting off. He looked at me stone-faced.
Then I said that perhaps it was only the steep hills I’d been along.
‘Hmmm..piano, piano.’ he said.
Pedro cocked an eyebrow at me in a Grommit-like manner.
But I was unapologetic. He had loved tearing down those colli and screaming the tyres round the hairpins. And he knew it!
Some of you may think I’ve been a little wet in worrying about Pedro. But I started my life with crap cars and had mended them at the roadside. I once removed a damaged tie rod on a 2CV and bent it back in the crook of a tree. All while wearing black tie and my date sitting in the jacked-up car out of the rain. But those days were over. Pedro …as analogue as he was…was now beyond me mechanically. I had a loathing for being stranded somewhere. And I wanted to keep being adventurous in the roads we took. Where both passing help and mobile signal was patchy.
Andrea woke me from my day-dreaming. ‘There’s nothing wrong’ his eyes said. I could see there was plenty of pad left for myself. He spun the wheels to show that they were free. Alrighty then. Good to go.
‘Cosa ti devo?’
‘Niente.’
In England I would have given him a drink. But I was unsure of the etiquette of that here. So I shook his hand and left.
A pleasant drive through country that reminded me of Cumbria on a sunny morning. Difficult farming. A few cows, some scattered sheep, rather welcoming in this weather. The towns we passed through though were all concrete and soulless.
Santa Theresa di Gallura, pretty in a naive sort of way. I wandered around and put on some George Harrison..Wah Wah he warbled.
The place was very quiet. I saw a signpost for a cinema and was intrigued enough to go and find it on the edge of town. But it had been shut since covid.
There was a viewing point with a Martello tower and Corsica a blue smudge on the horizon.
In the main square I sat down to lunch. Some very harrassed Germans on a day trip arrived. They ordered but service was not as they liked. Several tables of them. All making annoying scenes. Some of them had a bus to catch. Others were dismayed by not being served their order within 20 minutes of ordering. Mildly amusing. Schadenfreude.
Eventually they left and all was peaceful. Then an English couple almost had an argument with the waiter about whether they should order from him or inside the restaurant. He didn’t understand their request and neither did I. They took off in a huff believing they were being laughed at. Extraordinary.
Finally a very cool, young French couple with a two beautiful kids sat next to me and shared a bowl of pasta. That’s the way to do it. We chattered away and had a glass of wine together. I agreed with them that there was no agenda or time frame when you are in the company of two under four. At least if you wanted to have a relaxing time. They took it in turns to have a crafty cigarette up the street.
Later I went to find some ice cream. And got chatting to some young guys in the queue and we went for a few drinks at a back street place they knew. Where else but Italy could you find a friendly invitation like that over an ice cream?
Walking back in the gloaming it occurred to me that this was my last day in Italy. But it didn’t really feel like Italy per se. I spent some time trying to think what the real Italy was. But just confused myself.
The Lovin’ Spoonful suited my mood.