Canadian Affair.gif

 

by Laurence Phillips

 

Costa Concordia in Context

 

Although I have made a career out of an unabashed romance with France (anyone who Googles me correctly finds a chain of Amazonian links to my books of the land, its regions, cities and people), IÕm known to have my head turned by a secret passion for Italy. The accent (in native tongue) is seductive, redolent of much-loved 19th century operas; the map a gazetteer of my favourite chunks of Shakespeare; the very scent of the country causes my heart to skip a beat. Even motorway service stations bear the fragrance of espresso and vanilla, sugar and soft baked bread.

Italy is the epitome of the truism that it is far better to travel than to arrive. My last cruise across the Eastern Mediterranean had every luxury from table to stage, and took me to lands hitherto visited only in picture books. Yet the abiding memories of the trip were neither the honeyed stones of the Holy Land, the back street markets of Alexandria nor the touts offering me genuine fake Rolexes, sharp leather jackets and a trip to the Virgin MaryÕs house in Ephesus. That magical November has been indelibly stitched into my lifeÕs fabric through the wonderful home cooked soups, pastas and rice served by an open fire in the farmhouse restaurant at the Agriturismo Terensano amongst the vines of Monleale, patiently presented after we had arrived four hours late for supper.

 

Costa-concordia.gifSo many other hamlets and villages, cities and resorts that have punctuated diversions to and from the cruise liner ports of Venice and Genoa came to mind these past weeks as the simple modesty of ItalyÕs welcome to holidaymakers was thrown into sharp contrast to the brash backdrop of the fall of a once proud cruise ship.

Much was made of the opulence of the Costa Concordia, and its saloons, staterooms and staircases. But as the rescue and salvage work continued off-shore, the simple, kind and heartfelt welcome of the Italian people on the jetty, the church halls and private houses on the holiday isle of Giglio was emblematic of the true richness to be found when travelling. A beauty to eclipse even the most stunning Tuscan land and seascapes,

I have found this honest welcome wherever I have explored this very special country – though each region be a land apart, the integrity and totality of welcome has always been a constant.

I recall simple country folk offering a tender embrace on hearing our English voices in the hitherto tourist untrodden paths of Puglia on the morning after the death of Princess Diana, and humanity and charm amidst the Milanese glitz and the chic of lakeside resort Desenzano del Garda, where we were welcomed as though first arrival of Spring.

Even in the cities one finds a vicarious love of life in the metropolitan embrace of the busy and the young amid a tide of city traffic in Turin, Bologna or Naples, as the yaps of a hundred Pronto smart phones syncopating the impatient fanfare of taxi horns are belied by the unspoken promises passed across coffee cups and ipads on pavement tables.

Economics and the personalities of politicians will always colour our images of lands and their peoples. And at the time of writing it was too early to know the extent of any potential environmental damage to the fragile and beautiful shores of Western Italy as a result of the capsized cruise ship catastrophe. And it is still early days as to determine the future of winter cruises from the ports of the Mediterranean.

But whether you choose to take a seafaring holiday aboard another great liner, or simply travel in search of finding a private paradise, do not let the sensationalism of hard news obscure the gentle beauty and infinite variety of pure simple pleasure that is Italy.

 

Laurence Phillips is author of How to be Very Very Lazy in Marseillan and A Lot of Languedoc, £14.99 at www.lazyfrance.com