Coming Home

So... A and I have just returned from a spa break in Trentino, Italy. Using the last of our "play money" from wedding gifts, we celebrated our 6-monthaversary (any excuse will do) by taking advantage of a great cheap offer: 3 nights' off-season bed and full board at an exclusive 4-star hotel with its own thermal pool, saunas, workout room, etc. The only catch was, you had to get there under your own steam. No problem, I thought. Google says it'll take about 5 1/2 hours to drive there. It's a school/work day so traffic should be fairly light.
I had forgotten: this is ITALY we would be driving through!
Up to the Austrian border it was relatively straightforward, though the skies had been darkening and we'd driven through a few minor rainsqualls. But once we crossed into Südtirol, the weather, the roads (particularly signage) and most of all the quality of the other drivers rapidly deteriorated.

I have never understood this cultural divide. Italians as a nationality are generally an engaging, familial, friendly and laid-back people. But put a steering wheel in their hands and they suddenly seem to become these slavering, testosterone-driven, irrational creatures who think nothing of endangering everyone's lives for the sake of passing that next truck (which is also already exceeding the speed limit). I even saw mothers with small children in carseats execute insanely risky road manoeuvers. Passing at high speed going uphill on a blind curve or in a no-passing zone seems to be de rigeuer, whilst "yield/give way" or even stop signs are mere suggestions --generally to be ignored.
All this time the weather had steadily degenerated until we were driving, in the middle of an autumn afternoon, in near-darkness and through blinding torrents of rain (which small detail didn't seem to slow traffic down perceptibly). Several times I heard A mutter bitterly "Thank you so VERY MUCH" to the next downpour as it arrived. Somehow, in the driving rain, we had missed our entrance to the Autostrada and passed agonizingly slowly through 30 km of villages on a 2-lane side street from which we could frustratingly look up and see the road we were supposed to be on, but could not for the lives of us find a way to get onto it. It turns out that the Auostrada in Italy is a toll road, with entrances only in major towns, and we must have driven right past the first possible one 30 km back. We finally managed to enter it over halfway further on.

Add to this that most road signs are either poorly placed, written too small to read on the countless roundabouts or missing entirely. When we finally reached "our" exit from the Autostrada, for example, we found it was --surprise!!-- closed, with no diversion in place and no other options offered. There had also been no indication on any of the many signs leading up to it, that this major exit would not be in use. C'mon, guys, how hard could that be?! We had to drive through to the other side of Trento and figure out how to get back through the city to the smaller road which would lead us to our destination 25 kilmometers further on.
Stopping at a gas station to ask directions proved at first very frustrating, but ultimately not entirely fruitless. Somehow we found our way up the correct very winding mountain road in the rainy gloom, and fully 8 hours after leaving home, we arrived at the Grand Hotel Terme de Comano.

Oh my word.

I have very rarely stayed in a proper 4-star hotel in my missionary life, this stay itself only possible through the package deal we snapped up. I have been in hotels in Eastern Europe which claimed to have three or four stars but were actually only shabbily glorified B&Bs. But this Grand Hotel lived up to its name. Although it was off-season and many summer attractions had closed (the outdoor swimming pool was closed, and part of the extensive, beautifully landscaped grounds were being refurbished before the snows set in), clearly no expense had been spared to make sure guests felt they were being pampered. Although end of September, the gardens had been planned so there were still plenty of flowering shrubs, plus fountains, winding paths...
The entrance hall alone, all done in marble flooring, warm woods and inviting-looking, overstuffed furniture, would have been enough to convince me. But when we entered our "standard" room, I was really impressed: it was huge and sparkling clean, the bed was king size, and we had a balcony (though overlooking one end of the car park) directly across from a forested mountainside. Oh yes, I thought, I could far too easily get used to this!

Our plans to arrive early enough in the afternoon to have a nice soak in the thermal waters after our trip and then a leisurely shower before the evening meal had been thwarted. We nevertheless, after a brief lie-down (and munching the chocolate left on our pillows), changed into nicer clothing and made our way down to the dining room-- where we were not disappointed in the quality of the food served. Throughout our stay we ate far too much excellent Italian food, but then burned it off in the swimming pool, workout room, walking (it did clear the next day) and --for me-- the sauna.
I really enjoyed myself, but after 3 nights I was ready to come home, as was A.
The drive back home was uneventful and much faster on the road, since it was much better weather and we knew the tricks by then. We still witnessed, and braked to avoid, several situations which by all rights should have been life-threatening. I have no idea why one doesn't pass fatal accidents every 2 miles or so in Italy, but I suppose Italians drive very defensively (they can certainly be very offensive!). I did insist upon a stop at an Interspar, where we loaded up on extra-virgin olive oil, unusual pastas, Mozzarella and Parmesana Reggiano to take home with us. I think we will be eating Italian for awhile...

Once we move to England it won't be as easy to just bop over to another country (excepting France), so I'm glad we took this opportunity. But I was also so very glad to get back home, and to know that we don't plan on going anywhere else for several months. During the years I traveled a lot in ministry, I discovered I'm not really cut out for living out of a suitcase for very long. I can handle two weeks pretty well, but any longer than that started to feel like a hardship. I love to travel, but I also love having a home to come back to.
And that is not necessarily a physical place. I can make pretty much any place homey; it's who I am with which makes it feel like home to my soul. Next year we will be leaving this flat which was a real God-send for me in my transition time, and I won't miss it as such. I value all I learned here and I have enjoyed being in the newest place I've ever lived-- if something is broken, I did it, not some tenant before me-- but I always knew this was temporary.

Dad is my home. A is my home. And we can live anywhere, so long as we are together.
That's a rather comforting thought.