Piazza Aldo Moro

Today, for the first time, I was afraid of not finding a place to stay. We had followed the coast for 30 kilometres, from Pietra Ligurie to Noli.
My legs were hurting and, frankly, I should have turned to the mountains much earlier in order to find accommodation there.
In Noli, I asked around in the shops and was told that I would have to go quite far into the mountains in order to find places that might be appropriate.

So I got going. After crossing a couple of streets, a man came running behind us, he was totally out of breath. He talked to me and said that he had a piece of land at the edge of town, with donkeys, and I could stay there. Yes, he had heard from the people in the shopping arcade that I was looking around. And the place was not far away at all.

All at once, the worries were gone. Relieved, I looked around, with a clear head and an open mind now.
Then I saw where I was:

Pure chance? I don't think so. Aren't we a good team, Aldo and I?

By the way, this is the first Aldo signpost I have seen since arriving in Italy.

It's interesting that the bodyguards who were murdered during the attack are mentioned as well:

“E Martiri della Via Fani”

Most often they have been even more forgotten than Aldo himself.

The little paradise with the donkeys Gamin was allowed to join is ideal. I am even allowed to spend our day of rest there. Which means that tomorrow I will do important chores, but also relax on the beach.

Those who sleep

Sleeping Beauty, Rip Van Winkle ... my two favourite fairy tales. In both stories, a person falls asleep for a long time and awakes only when the environment and the situation have totally changed.

Here in the south, many things are deeply asleep, just like Sleeping Beauty: old stone huts, forgotten recesses, gnarled olive trees with faces ... they doze in the scorching sun, unnoticed at the wayside.

If you listen closely, you can almost hear a whisper: "My story is not yet finished. It was just put on a hold, a long time ago. Perhaps it will still take a hundred years, but I will wake up again. Awakened by whatever or whoever will come along."

Those who want to awaken such a sleeping being must initially understand why it has fallen asleep in the first place.

For Rip Van Winkle it was a gift of grace he received from the ghost Hendrick Hudson: "Drink your beer, sleep a while, and when you wake up, 25 years will have passed. Your wife, who tortures you now, will be dead by then." This is probably what Hendrick had in mind. During a time when divorce was imposible, it was the only way to run from domestic violence.

More than that: Rip Van Winkle also sleeps through the bloodshed of the war of independence. 

But there was a heavy price: Young Rip woke up as an old man. He slept through almost his whole life. Only his children, who were adults by then, recognised him and at least enabled him to have a good, peaceful old age.

The initial situation was rather different for Sleeping Beauty. Her family loved her, her surroundings were good - apart from one issue: The thirteenth fairy godmother and her deadly curse.

No precautionary measure was helpful, not eving burning all spinning wheels within the kingdom. Inevitabely, her fate approached this tragic day, without mercy and even the slightest chance of preventing the disaster after all.

Sleeping for a hundred years becomes the only hope in this fatal hopelessness. What did the good fairy godmother say: "I can only soften the curse, not lift it."

Sleeping Beauty's parents will not live to see their daughter wake up. The only remaining comfort is the fact that her cry after the sting of the spindle was not the end, not the final word.

That all which was was stopped now will one day continue.

In the complex simultaneity of experiencing everything on this pilgrimage, Aldo and I are sleepers, wakers and the awakened at the same time.

Aldo Moro is Sleeping Beauty, and I am Rip Van Winkle. 

Just as the the literary model I did prefer to sleep for many years rather then face the frontline and really tackle the problems. Now I wake up, but I am old already.

I face the thorns in the forest of forgetting that guards Aldo's sleep. The thicket rips my hands, legs and heart bloody. And I call to him. "It's me, old Rip! I have woken up and now I come to get your clockwork going again somehow!"

And in return he gives me all the roses of the thorny forest.

Pass of Horror

Readers of my old weblog know that I have massive problems with my back. The full program: a birth defect of the pelvis that got worse over the course of the decades, plus damaged spinal discs. There were times where I could hardly walk, especially because the inflammation - and therefore the pain - radiates down into my left leg. 

With medication and thermal treatments I was able to get to grips with the whole issue quite well.
During the year of training in 2014, both the back and the leg hardly ever made themselves known. Somehow I thought that the whole thing was over.

Although, of course I know that it won't "heal".

Days ago, my left hip started to hurt again. It was still manageable.

The Col de Brause between Contes and Sospel is not very big, really. Ca. 9 km of ascent, and a descent of 12 km. A 20 km pass, just like the ones I am already used to. The ascent went without a problem.

But during the first steps of the descent, a stinging pain fired from my hip bone into the pelvis. 

I immediately limped to the roadside, sat down on a rock and rested for a while. It'll be better soon.
And indeed. A brief respite, the pain becomes bearable. The next steps are okay. But not even ten metres further on ... new stings. Firy, painful. 

I almost lose my footing. Another rest, before continuing. The pain increases. Now I must drag myself from resting place to resting place. Every twenty metres. The scorching heat makes everything even worse. As well as the cars and motorbikes that rush by.

12 kilometres! How on earth shall I manage this?

A couple of villas appear; I ask whether I could pitch my tent there. The people refuse, but tell me that they feel sorry for Gamin because he is so heavily laden.

I drag myself on, down the winding road. I close my eyes. Somehow, this makes it less painful. I open my eyes to check whether the next ten metres ahead are clear, then I reward myself with closing them again. And every 20 metres comes the big reward of being allowed to sit down.

It takes hours. It is only a damn 20km pass! Normally I would have handled it long ago. Gamin does not understand why we stop so often. But he accepts it, nibbling gras on the wayside.

Sospel is my destination. I had asked my mother to sent me Artotec und Baclofène to Sospel, as poste restante. The medicine should have arrived by now.

Finally we reach Sospel. The Camping Municipal. Officially, it isn't even opened yet, but it doesn't matter, since the tent lawn is freely accessible and many camping cars have already arrived.

With my last strength I pitch my tent.

On the next day, I immediately go to the post office. Yes, the medicine is there! I take the first pills straight away.

Then I call the local vet. Gamin needs his second basic immunisation and, of course, the customs certificate. It is only valid for eight days. Which means that I have to cross the border during this period!

Fortunately, the medication works. The pain is not totally gone, but it is manageable.

And yet I feel uneasy when we start early in the morning. Another pass - this time, to Italy!

Countdown towards the border

We are slowly approaching the Italian border. In a couple of days, we will have reached Sospel, and then it's not far any more. The harbingers appear. Many signposts are in two languages, the names sound more Italian, and people now know where Apulia is but have hardly an idea about the location of the Ardèche.

JFK: "We come closer to the border. The prohibition signs are in two languages."

Sign: "It is strictly forbidden to pluck flowers, to eat them, to have a poo, and to breathe."

The crossing of the border is one of the very big milestones of this journey. I have almost gotten used to walking through France. Where I am always and everywhere able to speak the language. Where I can chime in. Where I share the culture. The thought that I am totally covered by my health insurance in case of emergency was also comforting. Of course I am also insured in Italy, thanks to the European insurance card. But still ... everything will be getting more complicated.

Yes, it could have continued for a long time. And yet, the French leg of the journey was merely a taster, a warm-up.

The action is on the other side! Inevitably, the day comes closer when everything will be different. A different culture, a different language. Will my knowledge of Italian really be sufficient? I have studied for a year, but was it enough? Of course I will learn a lot on the road. Soon I will have to dive head over heels into this new world. I will be in such a situation for the first time since my childhood, when I threw myself head first into the francophone culture. 

I can feel almost physically how much Aldo looks forward to this day. This is what he wants, what he is after.

I see him smile behind the fig tree that grows here, between palm trees and cacti.