Journey or destination?

All was quiet until Domenico rang very late in the afternoon to say that Marisa had called and wants to go for a gelato at 7:30pm subject to a confirmation call at that time.

So I got myself togged up ready to go and was sitting patiently on the doorstep (which is actually on the roadway) awaiting the call. Sure enough, right on time, the call came, Domenico appeared and away we went to pick up Marisa who lives in Lariano, the neighbouring town, five kilometres down the track.

Now Lariano has at least seven quite respectable gelaterias, two of which are within walking distance of Marisa's casa. I was thinking: “A gelato would go down very well right now. Something sweet, slippery and not much travel involved. (For the not-so-avid followers of these resoconti it is a weekly practice of ours to drive thirty kilometres into the bush to get a pizza, passing by the front door of more than twenty five perfectly presentable pizzerias. The custom in this country is to get your stuff from someone you know or at least from someone you know who knows where you should go. There is never a thought that you might try a place that is close to where you are if you don't actually know the vendor or you don't know anyone who knows him or her.)

Anyhow, back to Marisa and the gelato. Picking up Marisa the discussion, all in Italiano, seemed to centre around the whereabouts of the best gelateria. Of course, silly me, that is code for “where is the nearest gelateria where we KNOW the proprietor?” That is not said as part of the enquiry because, like a lot of things in the Italian language, it doesn't need to be said because it is understood (at least by the locals). Anyhow, that was easy. Domenico knows the folks who run the gelateria in the bar alongside the petrol station just on the other side of Cori – fourteen kilometres back in the direction from whence we came!

Well that's OK. We just go back to where we came from and keep going another nine kilometres.

But as we were effectively retracing our steps the conversation turned slightly to include the odd reference to pizza! Apparently now, having set out on a journey seeking gelati, Marisa suddenly was gripped by an urge for pizza. So it seemed to me, picking up on about every tenth word of a fast conversation, that the hunt had now turned to one for a place that offered BOTH gelati and pizza. By the time we arrived at this point in the discussion we were approaching the roundabout at the very entry to the Giulianello village (our original starting point).

Now this roundabout is a very important place because it has three exits, each taking you, eventually, to three very different parts of Italy. One exit goes to Lariano, Velletri, Genzano, Albano and Rome – all of which house some of Italy's finest establishments offering pizza and gelati. Another exit takes you to Cori, Cisterna and Latina and the third takes you to Artena, Valmontone and Colleferro. All of the above featured in the conversation – why anyone would want to go to Colleferro for anything has got me utterly bewildered! – unless, of course, you needed a spare part for your Peugeot because Colleferro has the largest car wreckers site south of Rome.

Anyhow it was very important that we decide our destination because that would determine which exit we were to take. Just as I was about to state that if they were intending to travel further than Siena I'd prefer to be dropped off here so I could walk the 200 metres to my bed it seemed that a decision had been made. Thankfully because I was getting giddy, not only from the way the conversation was progressing, but also due to the countless rotations.

So we headed in the direction of Artena but veered off onto the Rocca Massima road, headed, apparently, for Pinocchio's, a pizza ristorante that also serves gelati half way up the 740 metre climb to the ancient village perched on the tip of the highest inhabited peak in the region. When we arrived we found the car park empty and the ristorante open but also closed! The lights were on, the tables set and waiters running around but we were politely advised that for us the joint was closed. I recall some forty years ago traveling through France I found a restaurant that was “closed for lunch” which I thought ironical. At least on that occasion the door was bolted, the lights were out and there wasn't a soul in sight. Only in Italy would you find one seemingly open but at the same time, closed. Presumably they were running a practice session or maybe awaiting the arrival of Harry and Meghan.

Anyhow, having drawn the crow, we figured it was more heroic to advance than retreat and so we continued over the top of Rocca Massima and on to Cori where, as much from exhaustion as anything, we settled in the main piazza with pizza slices and two of the shop's largest bottles of beer after which we figured we were no longer in the mood for gelati.

I have been living with the locals for a year and a half now and I confess that it has taken a while to get used to the idea that you can set off for a place without having the slightest idea of where you want to end up. It doesn't seem to worry the locals. Maybe that's what they mean when they say that the joys in life come from the journey rather than the destination!