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Never Trust Thomas Cook Travel Guides I almost always get lost, but that's the great thing as you finally get found.

When it rains it pours

UNITED KINGDOM | Saturday, 9 May 2015 | Views [121] | Scholarship Entry

It was our first full day in Tuscany and instead of getting a bus to Firenze my sister and I decided to go on a walk around the outskirts of San Giminagno. In all fairness I didn't really mind what we did as I had dragged my sister to the fortified city because of my love of all things Assassin's Creed. I was still soaking it in that I had in a way climbed all the towers that stood the test of time, albeit it virtually and a male character that wasn't me, but I wasn't going to sweat the details.
We meandered through the city taking in the labyrinth style cobble streets and wandered out in to the open country from the North gate. We must have gone at least four miles following the guide book we had, kicking up the hard packed earth and walking past vine yard after vine yard and villa after villa. It was beautiful, it was hot and the pair of us were enjoying the freedom of travelling alone. As we walked along the motorway we were looked at by the insane drivers as if we were crazy (there was a path of sorts), but we didn't care this circuit was going to take us 10 miles around the hills and back to the city we were pumped and half way through.
The guide book told us to turn down a side road so we did. There was supposed to be a footpath across the stream. There wasn't. Thinking we had read the instructions wrong we ended up walking almost all the way to Poggibonsi (a place that would become our travel hub) before giving up and turning around. We got back to the point where the path was supposed to be and saw an overgrown mess that had once been the footpath. Shrugging our shoulders we went back the way we came. As we hit the almost vertical hill it began to rain and by rain I mean RAIN it was cold, it was heavy and it was all encompassing, seemingly out of no where. We took shelter in a little deserted garage that had a grimy and antique looking Piaggio Ape until the rain let up a little.
The hard packed dirt road we had walked out on was little more than mud soup as we returned and the exposed track reverberated with the thunder overhead. All the perfectly prim beauty now visceral and terrifying. Then as suddenly as it appeared the storm was gone and we were soaked to the bone, hair matted and clothes stuck to us. When we reached the North Gate again the only signs of the storm were the wet cobbles and us as we walked through everyone that were as perfect and unruffled as could be. We clearly looked like tourists and as we laughed I didn't mind one bit.

Tags: 2015 Writing Scholarship

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