Foreigners?

The weather has a big part to play in any nomad’s life. Our predecessors would go from place to place moving their herd to new grazing or following the migration of whichever great beast they hunted. We follow the sun, not because we want to look like David Dickinson but because we prefer a warm climate.

We don’t enjoy scorching sunshine and our aging bones can suffer when it’s chilly. I guess we’re a little like baby bear, not too hot, not too cold, we like it just right. Our optimum time is later in the summer when the days are still bright and warm, the majority of tourists have been and gone, and there’s a bargain to be had with accommodation.

Of course, we’re pretty new to this malarkey and we’re still learning where and when to go. I’ve tried looking at online weather sites but they never fill me with much confidence, can be contradictory and generally are unpleasing on the eye.

I’m trying to plot our course for the next month or so. I’m getting nervous about the climate in northern Italy at this time of year but can’t get any firm idea of how we’d fair further south – there’s so much more that I really want to see here.

I’m unsure as to what the deciding factor was but the south of France wins out and this particular pair of wanderers is heading to Nice.

There’s plenty of stunning scenery to witness as you drive up, down and through the many hills and mountains en route to Savona. I’m given a lesson by several Italian drivers – most in HGVs – in how to drive these roads. One after the other they flash me for not having my lights on when entering the ubiquitous tunnels in this region but I soon take the hint.

Savona is a harbour town just along the bay from Genoa. Christopher Colombus either came from or set sail from here, there’s definitely some sort of connection. Its centre is built up and busy with both cars and people. Our apartment is fairly central and is comfortable indeed. It’s an old lady’s large family home that her son now rents out presumably on her behalf as she still lives in a couple of the lower rooms. Along with us, the only other occupants are an elderly, Italian couple that we pass in the hallway on two occasions.

There are plenty of shops and cafés to visit in town and the architecture is old, decorative and interesting – we grab an ice cream as we stroll from street to street then do a quick circle of the harbour in search of a potential evening meal. I’m craving burger and chips tonight, I must be in need of a portion of lard for some strange reason.

There’s footie on a big screen and the menu is covered in pictures of fat, juicy patties in sesame seed buns, tomato sauce oozing from within. Onion rings and potato wedges complete the array of tasty treats. We take our seats and consider our option.

Eating in a foreign country is always interesting. Different recipe interpretations, cooking methods, ingredients and their combinations make for some surprising dishes. One of the most consistent meals though is the classic burger and chips, no doubt benefitting from the ever-present MacDonalds or one of his friends.

Then imagine our disappointment when we are served with a lone burger and a basket of wedges – just a burger, no bun, no onion, no lettuce or sauce. We’re surrounded by images of burgers in buns, where’s ours? Surely, something wasn’t lost in translation. Another lesson learnt!