On the road with Jen and Raj

The dread starts on Thursday afternoons.  At some point J and look at each other and one of us says “I don’t want to go to tomorrow.”  Yet go we must and this week in a cruel twist of fate we had to make the journey twice.

Since J and I were thrown together by the same workplace we have shared many a mile on the roads of the Veneto. While there have been fun adventures in the mountains or to one of the endless picture postcards towns that Italy seems to specialise in for the most part our road trips have been the painful Friday ritual.  Our trips to the mineral powder company have become the sort of adventure we would sell our first born or avoid.  

     

Not that the trip is entirely bad, over the months and many an hour in the car together we’ve got to know each other pretty well.  Previous evening antics and coming weekend adventures are planned and discussed.  Past experiences and trials of living in Italy are dissected and all with the passing background of the always the same faceless middle of nowhere Veneto.

In driving terms after 5 years in Italy J has gone native.  Traffic lights are often more a guide to road behaviour than law and any kind of bad driving from other road users is greeted with a stream of invective that is quite unbritish. Not just swearing but the sort of gestures that leave no driver looking in the rear view mirror in any doubt about what J thinks of them.  Recently I have noticed the creeping Italianisation in myself – even as a passenger I now react to stupid driving as if I was moral affront.

Coffee or something stronger stop

Very early into our time we discovered that if we were going to get through this coffee was going to be an essential.  We quickly came upon our regular coffee stop – Vega Benzina, Scorze – (Vega Benzina is a service station.) At first the proprietors of this out in the middle of nowhere servo didn’t quite know what to make of two British women coming in for coffee at 9.30 every Friday but now we’re regulars.   As we sip our cappuccinos (and more than once plan exactly what we are going to teach for the next three hours) it’s not unusual to find ourselves surrounded by Italians knocking back a prosecco or something a little stronger.  Am I the only one to find it bizarre to find a fully stocked bar are a service station out in the middle of nowhere?  Am I the only one who finds it bizarre to see people enjoying a glass of wine or something stronger at 9.30 in the morning?  No wonder this place has such a problem with drink driving.

Our destination  - oh the horror.

Why do we hate the journey so much?  Well in part it’s the fact that for 3 hours teaching we use an additional hour going there and coming back.  The main thing is that our destination has to be the most depressing and desolate place in the Veneto.  I call it the armpit of the Veneto (it’s not even interesting enough to be the groin.)  The company we teach in has an atmosphere that’s two parts Wernham hogg and one part button moon and those three hours are the longest hours of my week.

The drive back is a relief and we both have a set of markers that mean we’re getting nearer to home – there’s the jogger who come hail or high water is always on the road, the oversize modal horse outside the riding shop, the sign that reads “sexy shop” (I can never seem to make Italians understand why that’s so funny) and finally the porta della pace which means we’re back and we can forget about Wernham Hogg for a week.