On the Road:France to Italy

With the rental car loaded with wet laundry and luggage, we eagerly set off for Italy.

After scrambling the last of the farmer’s market eggs with creamy comté and link sausages, most of the children’s needs were met before we hit the road.

We passed field after of field of slumping sunflowers and harvested lavender. From the passenger window, I dreamily hoped of viewing Provence in the heydays of the season. When fields of flowers stood erect and perky. Permeated with hues of golden yellow or violet petals as far as the eye can see. Maybe, someday.

As we approach the Alps, we were astonished by the lack of tractors and large industrial equipment in the French countryside. Instead they overflowed with neatly plotted orchards.

In the rearview mirror, Lac de Serre-Ponçon, appeared to be a coveted lake town. A destination at the foothills of the mountains resembling a tropical island. However, the more we ascend, the locals appeared to trade in canoes and jet skis for walking sticks and backpacks. Finally, nearest the peak, into skis. Although it was not quite the season, we imagined in a month or two the resorts would be teeming with sportsmen and thrill-seekers.

The drive over the mountains from the French countryside into Italy was dizzying and not for the faint of heart. Unless you’re a cyclist. Then the feat is merely a simple challenge of physical prowess for an average Monday.

The switchback roads on the mountain made me hold my breath as Zachary intently kept the car on the right side of the road. Especially when the traffic line disappeared to allow each passing vehicle to do what it must to navigate hairpin turns.

At times, we were entirely too friendly with the clouds. Yet the views were astounding. As we made our way over the mountains, I had to restrain myself from requesting my handsome driver pull to the shoulder once more in order to stand at the ledge of a guardrail for long moments of awestruck wonder.