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.
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