The real reason I have come to Italy

Perhaps I have a serious case of narcism, only others will be able to confirm, but I have enjoyed writing the blogs about our ‘adventures’ in Italy.  It is fair to say though that the blogs have probably been a little lop-sided in certain points of view about our experiences in Italy.  That’s because it makes for more interest to a reader to have facts detailed but to ensure the facts are splattered with teeny bit of cynicism and humour.  And, maybe every now and then, stretched to make the story seem all the more interesting.  What harm is there in that?

And besides, reading a step-by-step, day-by-day journal about someone’s excursion and travels around the world is boring.  It’s like people who love to talk to you about their dreams, it’s boring. You subconsciously tune out within seconds.  Who cares what someone else dreamt about?  It was only a dream.  So who cares about what a carefree time someone else is having when you are at home having to face winter weather and work! Therefore whenever I do write something I endeavour to consider the reader and consider how the story may be told to make it interesting enough to keep the reader reading to the story’s end.

Despite that, those who really know me do manage to read between the lines and fathom out how much is stretched and how much is not in the least bit enhanced; they can then enjoy and appreciate the true reality in between the lines of the words I have written.

And the true reality about this travel log and my coming to Italy is, in itself, a very real and true story of love that needs no stretching or enhancing.  Coming to Italy was not a whim of mine to enable me to write frivolous holiday stories. This trip has had in all its planning and execution a very strong purpose of a promise to myself, and to Tony, that I will one day get to Italy.

When Tony and I planned our 10 month trip to the Northern Hemisphere back in 2010 we had many options of wants and must dos during our near ten month period away.

We knew we wanted to spend much time with Tony’s family in England; we knew we wanted to visit friends in Dubai; we knew we wanted to visit other dear friends in their homeland in the United States; we knew we wanted to spend time with other dear friends in Wales; we knew we wanted to experience the Edinburgh Tattoo and festival together; and we knew we wished to follow le Tour de France while it was on.  And tucked in amongst those ‘must dos’ was a trip together to experience things Italian.

I had never been to Italy and of all the European countries Italy was the one I had, for many years, had a desire to visit. There had been previous opportunities when travelling to the Northern Hemisphere for me to visit the country but for various reasons never manage to cross to the Italian borders.  Tony had been to Italy in his earlier life and assured me that with the ten months we had in the Northern Hemisphere we would easily manage at least a week, or more, somewhere in that desired country.

I was buoyed by Tony’s enthusiasm to take me to the Italian countryside; to take me to real historic Italian cities, to share the history of one of the world’s oldest nations and of course, to share with me the enjoyment of Italian food and wines. This preplanning was enhanced when a distant associate had one evening kindly offered us accommodation in a house he owned in Italy that he insisted we utilise at his compliments. 

Before we left New Zealand for that ten month vacation we spent quite some time pouring over Italian travel brochures.  We looked at the kind offer of accommodation and at perhaps adding on a bus tour of Italy, but dismissed that as being for old people only.  We very seriously looked at a number of options of cycle tours in various parts of Italy.  That option enthused us greatly as, if you were a triathlete, who would not want to enjoy cycling the Italian roads whilst pretending to be taking part in Tour of Italia bike race?  Thus we began defining which cycling tour was the best option.  Northern Italy?  Southern Italy? Tuscany? Sicily?  There were many options available. 

During the days of perusing all the various brochures Tony noticed one particular cycle tour of Holland which he considered to be the ideal and perfect holiday, for him.  To me Holland would be a boring  option, all that flat land and dykes.  But Tony’s heart began to really settle on cycling the Dutch canals via a canal boat that would drop us off each morning then tug itself up along a major canal and wait for us at a preset meeting point. They would provide the evening meal, we would head off to our cabin each evening and by morning the canal boat would have motored to some other township where we would disembark with our bikes and set off on a day’s adventure to another eventual destination where the canal boat would be waiting for us yet again. 

After seeing the brochure on this cycle holiday Tony’s heart was set on Holland and the canals and biking. I did not try to persuade him to change his view.  This entire ten month trip was after all, a trip of a lifetime, and I knew that he had such a short life time left that all I really wanted was to make him happy and for him to enjoy every moment.  It was important to me that whatever we planned and did was what Tony wanted to do.  Little else mattered.

By this time the seemingly generous offer of Italian accommodation seemed to have vaporised between the initial offer and my attempting to formalise with the associate, which did not enhance my chances of confirming any specific Italian dates. It had become a little awkward and Tony had felt the awkwardness hence making it seem a bit in the ‘too hard’ basket.

Thus it was decided Holland biking would be booked and we would wait until our arrival in the UK and then book a tour of Italy that would fit in between all those other activities on our Must Do list.

However, it never happened.  Each time we went to book the Italian sojourn something would occur that meant it would have to be delayed until later in our trip.  A family birthday, a celebration, something that meant it was timely for us to remain in the UK at the period we would ear mark for Italy. We kept attempting to make the Italian date but it seemed to slip away at each attempt.

It was no matter, we were busy doing so much else that Italy soon became only a mild thought rather than a purpose.

Our ten months expired and before we knew it we were on the flight from Heathrow heading back towards the New Zealand shores after having had a most glorious few months of happiness and travels together.  It was not long after our plane left Heathrow that Tony turned in his seat to face me, picked up my hand and looked at me with an earnest sadness in his eyes and said, “I am sorry I didn’t get to take you to Italy darling.”  I smiled and responded by saying that it was no matter and that, “… we will still get to travel to Italy together one day honey,” whilst knowing deep in my heart of hearts it would never happen.  I think he knew that too, but he smiled, squeezed my hand and leant over and kissed me.

That was the last of our conversation about travelling to Italy. 

The next two years were busy years for us, with his health taking priority, a stroke and more procedures and operations for him and yet he still managing to continue beating the odds by enjoying as much of his life as he had left.  He completed another Ironman event in 2011 and his last in 2012.  By the middle of 2012 his health began to deteriorate considerably.  He knew, we all knew there was little time left. By December of that year it was clear it was only a matter of weeks.  The hospital could do no more for him, I brought him home for Christmas where he happily spent his last couple of months.

Sometime in early February 2013, when  Tony’s brain tumour had taken complete control of his life, of his body and of his mental capacities, he was sitting in a lazy boy chair in the corner of our lounge.  I was sitting on the couch next to him with the computer on my lap doing some work when he suddenly sat upright, turned to me with the old Tony look of serious conversation and stated, “You have got to go to Italy.”  I paused and looked and said, “I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve got to go to Italy,” he repeated.

“Where did that come from?” I asked.  “You’ve got to go,” he replied with insistence.

“Of course I will go darling, we will go together,” was my spontaneous response.

With that he smiled his Tony smile, leant back in chair and returned to his own world again.  I think that was the last proper conversation I ever had with Tony.

That is why I am in Italy.