Goodbye Farquar of the Hinterland

Our dear friend Farquar left us today for his next destination and we accompanied him as far as the city of Pistoia where we took our leave. He took the fast train from Florence to Venice, later we took the world’s slowest train back home to Lucca.

Pistoia where we spent the day is a gentle city, one that shows off some of the traits of Italy and Italians that we have come to love. The restaurant where we had lunch has a sign that says:

“We have WiFi, but wouldn’t you rather just eat with you friends?”

The place was filled with families sharing a meal and the sign seemed to sum up this place and our day.

All our meals today were so, so simple. Slow cooked pork in tomato and fennel sauce and a spinach and ricotta ravioli for lunch in a Pistoian market trattoria. Later back in Lucca we had a meat and cheese platter served with local wines. Bread with olive oil, a simple pastry or biscuit with your coffee, fruit on the table to have with cheese. All of our meals today were relaxed, simple and all of the ingredients so very good. Even the train journey home was unhurried.

Trenno Regionale actually translates as ” Shit, this is the slowest train I have ever been on.” The journey from Pistoia to Lucca wound its way past vineyards, flower farms, little railway sidings where no-one got on or off – but the driver waited anyway. Linda had a very long, very deep sleep at one stage on the homeward journey- and woke up much later at the next station 10km up the road.

There are some who said the railmotor from Ipswich to Rosewood went 15 miles forwards in distance and 50 years backwards in time. Today we travelled (slowly) through Tuscany’s Wulkarakka, Walloon and Thagoona. There were vineyards and vegetable farms rather than the cattle and piggeries of my childhood. In the distance were small hill-top villages and snow-capped peaks rather than the Marburg Range. But whilst the names and the geographical features were unfamiliar, I did feel that I had some deeper understanding of what it would be like to grow up in these places – surrounded by relatives but suffocated by safety.

I have a deep love for Italy as you know. I suspect Myrl may have actually been Sicillian but pretended she was born in Ipswich just to snare Ted – this might explain my seemingly innate affection for this place. The food, the wine the scenery, but above all the people keep bringing me back – and I always do feel so much at home.

But I couldn’t help but wonder if today, on a train between Ipswich and Rosewood, I had a doppelganger. I wonder if a travelling Rossini leaned over to his wife Lindetta and said “You know dear, living in Rosewood would be just like living in back home in Castello-Montibello, except here they have pigs and beef cattle rather than olive trees and flower farms.”

I wouldn’t be at all surprised if this happened. After all the wonders of travel, Remington, must be experienced to be fully understood. They cannot ever be explained with mere words!

Farley

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