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.
So 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