One’s own little spinning world, calmly going about its usual daily business, can easily and brutally be blown off course and into alien orbit. All it takes is the slightest oversight.
With the aim of reaching the coastal area around Cinque Terre we set off early. Planning to call in on route to visit that clever Mr da Vinci’s home town and museum. An hour should do it. We are fascinated by the display of working models and screen visuals. His genius helps us to lose all track of time. No chance of reaching port before dark.
The town of Vinci, set deep in the heart of Tuscany, in more ways than one, delights us with typically Tuscan views.
We decide to “wild” camp again. Doubting if we’ll find a spot quite as perfect as Lake Bolsena. Our route up the west coast is a mass of towns. All lined up like hindering hurdles. Our progress is slow. We don’t mind – it’s interesting. Italian way of life is much different to ours. Families come out to play at 5pm. Roads, streets, piazzas teaming. Shopping, eating, drinking and generally socialising the order of every evening. There are no pubs to go and hide in. They don’t need them. All making the most of what’s left of the day’s warmth. Creating their own warmth.
We pick up some pre-cooked goodies to warm up for dinner later. Moving on we stay alert. Hoping for a spot to park up. A “camper” sign leads us to a car park. One other camping-car there already. It’s a bit of a strange place. Opposite what turns out to be the biggest supermarket we’ve been inside in Italy. However, it’s flat, safe and probably as good as we’re going to find at 7.30pm.
Mary-Ann starts to prepare supper and I pop outside to check for somewhere to let Beastie have a pee. (Hmm – better rephrase that) To discharge the accumulated grey water from our MOHO. As I turn around. the central door crashes open. A fiery Hale Bopp-like ball hurtles out of Mary-Ann’s hands and down towards earth. Ejected as firmly as a drunken gatecrasher. On impact this mini meteorite splatters into flames. My confused and shocked brain can’t quite reconcile the scene. A few seconds later, the ashes reveal one of the aluminium cartons containing part of our dinner.
Our three paper packets of pre-packed goodies were in the unlit oven while we looked for a place to stay. Transpires that Mary-Ann lit the oven thinking she’d removed all three. The oven has a faulty ignition, so she looked in to check it was lit. Indeed it was. Along with the packet! Her superhero speed of thought and action saved Beastie’s bacon. Along with ours. (Although it was actually chicken)