Memoirs of a beatnik.

We exited the train at Ceva, never heard of it? Me neither. A 50 minute taxi ride took us to a little town called Prunetto. We arrived at the house as the taxi driver said goodbye, (or what we assumed meant goodbye in Italian) while also shouting, “Mario Balotelli!” As those were the only English words he knew. The house was beautiful and the surrounding location was equally as stunning. The house was accompanied by a few acres of land in which a variety of animals roamed free. At first we thought it was just deer that made the strange sounds at night, and we did see some skip through the trees at certain points. Then something stole a piece of beef steak that we accidentally left on the barbecue, and we were sure deer are vegetarians. We slept INSIDE the house from then on. After a few days we were nearly out of supplies. From what we understood, the shops with all the supplies we needed where located about a five minute drive away. We didn’t have a car, but a five minute drive only translates into a half an hour walk, right?
At the end of the road that led to the house, we were confronted with two options: a right turn, or a straight road. We (me specifically) chose the former and we continued onwards. The scenery was magnificent and politely steals your attention from any other conversation or points of focus that might be of more importance, like which direction we were going. Down winding roads, dirt tracks and four hours of walking, we still hadn’t seen any signs of civilisation, let alone a shop. Then round one more corner was a hidden hut that, sold ‘refreshments.’ We foolishly didn’t take any water so we purchased four, two-litre bottles. Just short of ripping off the top, I engulfed about a third of the bottle. As the last gulp went down I realised, this water is sparkling. Now, I don’t enjoy sparkling water at the best of times but I can say one thing, it is not refreshing. We chose not to ask for directions as our Italian was nothing short of incompetent. Continuing, reluctantly, we eventually came to another town. Walking into the shops, feeling like beaten heroes, we bought all the supplies we needed, ate half of them on the spot and started the perilous journey back, only to take a different route which took us to our doorstep in thirty minutes (or a five minute drive). I will be eternally grateful for the unseen beauty of Ceva, because if it wasn’t for that, walking 12 miles in the wrong direction would have lost me some very good friends.