Silvana hits the road

I’ll never forget the day that me and my friends bought our Volkswagen minibus. We had a dream: to regain our time, discover new way of travel, far away from velocity, stress and throwaway feelings. A minibus dated 1978, cobalt blue, a little bit rusty, but with a hungry engine, became the personification of our dream.

We bought it winning an eBay auction, fighting with other dreamers like us. But we were in Catania, in Sicily, the southest island of Southern Italy, and our minibus was in Utrecht, in Holland, that for us belonged to the northest part of the most cold and fascinating Europe. So we took a flight, ready to begin our research of lost time.

Utrecht is a city of pebbles, bicycles and water. During the night, it is illuminated by warm and faint lights. Trees and houses reflect on the water of the cannals. The tower of the Dom Church silently stands out against the sky. It was in this marvellous scenario, surrounded by students and pubs, that we met for the first time our minibus. However, the desire to hit the road was too much, and we left Utrecht the next day.

We began to clock up the miles and we were young, foolish and happy... Until our first “pit stop”, when the minibus decided to not turn on anymore! Since that moment, the only way to make it go was to push it, helped by a crazy rush and the amused and kind people who had mercy upon our muscles.

This unexpected surprise costed 13 hours of travel (instead of 8) to reach our second destination: Zürich. But once arrived we were enchanted with the elegance of the city of the fashion, the jewels and the banks on the one hand, and the limitless simplicity of the Zürichsee lake on the other hand.

The following day we had decided to stop in Florence, the heart of history, art, and beauty. But in the middle of a gas station, in the middle of the evening, in the middle of Tuscany, the key of the minibus broke in the lock. Firstly we despaired, secondly we burst into laughter, thirdly we called for help the guy who worked in the gas station. Together with him and a mechanic his friend, we were able to repair the key. But it took almost all the night, and we spent the rest of it in a nearby motel, watching horror movies to "relax".

The last part of our travel, with final destination Catania, was a potpourri of reflections, comments, impressions. Once arrived at home, we had rediscovered our time and we had a name for our minibus: Rocinante, as the odd but loyal Don Quixote’s horse.