The difference between being there and living there.

Caldarola - view from a nearby hillside

Caldarola. It's a pretty little town, but that's what it is, - and I'm not a small town person. Not that Lincoln is a big town (though technically a city) but a University and a Cathedral make a big impact on the character of a place. Caldarola has a magnificent castle, two fine churches and a picturesque piazza. But it's very provincial, rural and unsophisticated. On the other hand - I mused, as I lunched in the tiny restaurant down by the petrol station - there is a charm in being welcomed into an environment - in the Post Office, at the  bar, in the mini-supermarket, with charm and hospitality that more than compensate for the lack in  finesse. 

A backstreet in Sarnano

Like much of Italy, the countryside around Caldarola is dotted with hill towns that have changed very little over the centuries. in the summer every town has its festa and the different quarters proudly fly the flag of their area and compete in medieval sports, jousting, crossbows and the spectacular flag tossing. 

Just a front door

WIll I miss that? No, because I can go anywhere in Italy and enjoy that as a tourist, and it's something I only did a couple of times when I lived there. 

Then there's the architecture, and the heritage, but how could I possibly consider any sacrifice in that area since I now live a hundred yards from one of the most beautiful cathedrals in Britain.   

To put it in a nutshell, there is a world of difference between being in a country and living in a country. The Italy that we all love will always be there to be enjoyed whenever I reach for the Ryanair website. It is timeless, and it has a character and joie de vivre that is infectious and unchanging. Living in Italy is another matter, and unless you want to be part of the Middle England Chiantishire crowd, or shut yourself away as an artistic hermit, relishing isolation, then Italy is better visited than occupied. So when I drove down the avenue of oaks for the last time, I had few regrets and a lot of excited optimism.

The avenue of oak trees

I made the most of picking and eating sun-warmed figs from the trees in the garden, and I enjoyed my caffe corretto in the bar in the piazza,  and I played around packing and repacking my suitcases, check-weighing them to the regulation 23kg each, and slipping kilo-heavy wedges of Parmigiano into my hand-baggage.

I was booked on the Lufthansa flight from Ancona to Munich, connecting on to London. Lufthansa was a tactical choice because they have a generous baggage policy which allowed me to take an extra 2 suitcases totalling almost 50 kilos of baggage for a very reasonable additional charge. That meant I was pretty loaded down when I landed at Heathrow, but all that I had to do was wheel the trolley to the car I'd hired, sling the cases in the back and drive a couple of miles to my Travelodge where I climbed into bed and lay awake for an hour, pondering the huge decision I had taken.

When I left England 3 years previously, I had cleared out my flat. I had been ruthless with my books - to the benefit of the OXFAM antiquarian book operation, except for a few chosen volumes that I kept and others that I loaned to my son-in-law in trust for the next generation. My furniture and half my clothes had also finished up in charity shops. Before leaving Italy I'd donated yet more clothes to Humana clothes recycling, but there was still another car load of my property - a favourite IKEA chair, my music CDs, bedding, my African drum and all manner of oddments, all of which I ended up flying back to collect, three months later.

Right now, all I wanted to do was start nesting! I was tired of motorways, and I just wanted to get to Lincoln to unload and then return the car to the Car Rental office at Heathrow. It was a strange feeling, sitting in the train at Kings Cross, a couple of days later, and knowing that I'd never again own my own car (unless I won the lottery!) I sensed a new kind of independence which I rapidly grew to enjoy. No more worries about insurance costs or the MOT, never fretting over fuel prices, and never having to hunt for a parking space and pay an exorbitant sum to park while I nipped around the High Street and NEVER being caught out and being obliged to pay an outrageous parking fine. 

I would need a bus timetable, and the phone numbers of the taxi companies. I might even (God forbid!) need a shopping trolley. There would be lots to learn about my new way of life.