All four seasons in one. A day or two out on the road can be just like that. Changeable from one minute to the next. It’s what makes MOHOing so interesting. So much fun.
Our one nighter, Camping Valmilana – Valmadonna, just north of Allesandria, sits south west of Milan and south east of Turin. We’re greeted by a very cheerful ‘fellow’. A Sri Lanken. With an Italian mother. A Sri Lanken Wildlife expert for ten years to boot. On leaving, he suggests it’s a good place for a holiday. Hands over an info leaflet and his card. Seems he might have tourism connections. “What about the Tamil Tigers?” I ask. “Oh, they’re long gone and defeated.” “In fact they’ve just opened up Jaffna International Airport only yesterday. It’s in the Tamil region.” “Does that mean they’ll now be able to export their terrorism worldwide then?” He falls about laughing as my tongue in cheek obviously hits his tickle spot.
When away, Mary-Ann has a soft spot. Cats and dogs. Especially cats. So much so that she always packs a packet of cat biscuits! We’ve not long pitched up before we have company. A handful of biscuits, half a tin of tuna and a saucer of milk later and her new friend soon discovers Beastie’s cat flap . . .
Today we head towards Monte Bianco. A weather window of opportunity forecast for tomorrow. We don’t want to miss it. Hoping it’s third time lucky. Courmayeur’s Skyway the plan. Missed it on two other trips. Our day’s travel lengthens. Discover our planned site is closed permanently. Soon, it gets lengthened a little more. Mrs S does a Tigger. Bounces down and outside. Probably the next time she’ll see this lot is in LIDL . . .
Aosta valley is stunning. Our afternoon run into camp. The SS26 straddled on all sides by fantastic scenery. Crazy concrete pillars span the mountain terraces. Support a myriad of vines. A planted roundabout shows how.
Suddenly, Missy instructs a right turn. It seems two sections ahead have a height restriction. Too low for Beastie’s 2.9m. Seems strange. We comply. Of course. Wouldn’t you? It’s a minor road. A very, very minor road. We go up. And up. And up. But not straight up. It gets tricky. Very tricky. It’s madness at its maddest. In an instant the weather has changed. A different season blows our way. If you get the drift. A tiny hillside village beckons. The house walls on either side of the road a milimetre wider than us. Need both hands to steer. I don’t have the courage to film. Nor to ask Mrs S to film. In any event she’s busy. Eye popping. Her repetitious rendition of the chorus from the 50s Witch Doctor does nothing to boost my confidence . . . all I hear is “oo ee oo ah ah” as we [almost] scrape through. Joyfully without one walla walla bing bang. At our highest point Mrs S regains her composure and starts filming . . .
Relieved to be back down on the SS26 we approach the final turn. 700 metres more isn’t a lot to ask for. Is it? But the answer is no! We can’t go this way.
With two minutes of today’s trip left we get thwarted – again. Another venture into the hilly side required. In comparison it’s pipsqueek! Ten minutes later and we’re pitched up at La Salle Camping – International Mont Blanc.