Day 8 – Time to get Divorced . . .

For better, for worse; in good times and bad times; through the ups and downs; round the many, many roundabouts; in blazing sunshine; in torrential rain; around every route baree; across summits; through shady valleys; I promise to get you there . . . .via roads designated only as roads; to the exclusion of all others; including off the beaten tracks; blind five foot wide alleys; no through roads; height restricted tunnels; weight restricted bridges; farmers fields; single lane mountain passes; toll motorways; especially toll motorways . . . .

Today we head out and upwards from the Alpine town of Brig at 2,500 feet altitude. Only 4,000 feet to go before we’re up, over and through the Simplon Pass. Clouds and mist clear as we reach a view point. Too good an opportunity.

It’s all downhill now. In more ways than one. I over-ride Mary-Ann’s first choice, so we head to a site north of Verbania on the shore of Lago Maggiore. It’s supposed to be “off-season”. The lake side road is heaving. It takes us nearly an hour to get virtually nowhere. When we do, there’s only one pitch left for one night only. Oops. We want three to recuperate. We’ve seen good weather’s on its way. Mary-Ann bites her tongue. I make a very quick phone call.

We “engage” Pat to guide us back along the same road, but now south. We can’t wait, so I key in co-ordinates and select “Fastest Route”. Big, big mistake. Little did I realise part of the A26 motorway, skirts and runs parallel to the lakeside route, but much higher up. You’d have thought I’d have learned this lesson by now.  Before we know it there’s no turning back and we’re on it. You may think “what’s the big deal?” Well. For one, in Italy (like some other EU countries) you need to buy and display a “vignette” ticket on your windscreen. (we don’t have one) For two, without it you not only have to pay the motorway toll, but a hefty fine too. Just before we enter on to the motorway, we flash past two red outlined circular signs housing motorbike symbols with the words “FINO 249” “FINO 149”. Blymey, what must the “FINO” be for a huge MOHO? Ronnie Corbett’s famous words from Sorry, “Language Timothy”, would have been quite appropriate at this point.

We dodge off at the first opportunity. Down into no-mans land. We now rue the passing of the Rues as we become hemmed in via the Vias. Pat & Missy are sent to Coventry. We just need to get back down “there”. The tiny hillside villages are fed by even tinier lanes. We enter nothing more than a hamlet of a dozen buildings. And into its “Piazza”. All sides about as long as Beastie!  There are two exits. To the right a five foot wide option. That would suit Scoot. Ahead and governed by a traffic light on red, a one way through only, signed “Authorised Use for Buses Only” [Autorizzato solo per bus]. In for a penny in for a pound. We edge down cautiously closer and can almost smell the lake. We’re now using the kind lady on our phone’s Maps app. Her linguistic skills are sadly lacking as her crazy pronunciation leads us towards a tunnel. It’s two metres high . . . (!$%**!!) “Sorry”.

We reverse 100 metres or so and by chance find somewhere to park and cool down. I engage Google Earth and zoom in. Not wanting to remain in the wilderness for too long I jump down from the cab and adopt a faster version of an Aboriginal Walkabout and go “Run-About.”Find a Via out. Smiles all round? Not quite yet.

We arrive much later (would you believe?) at Castelletto Ticino. The tiny site has a small, excellent restaurant. Everything on the menu available as a take away. The perfectly cooked sea bass, king prawns, downed with our favourite Turckheim Pinot Gris encourages us to laugh – just a little . . . .