My Spirit home.

We'll be off to Italy again this summer to spend some time with my family in the village I grew up in and I am feeling that all too familiar jolt of excitement, and it warms me to see that both my children are also feeling it. Even though he his now a monosyllabic 18 year old, my son will still list all the things he would like to do when we get there and my daughter will get into bed nice and early with thoughts of ice-cream and sunshine, and returning to her little room in the attic in her head. This truly warms my heart.

This little village is, if I’m truly honest, my real spirit home. It is the place where I’ve made the best memories with the people who truly mean the most to me. I spent my entire childhood summers running and hiding in the small coves and corners, hanging out with my sisters, cousins and friends until the early hours of the morning.

I had my wedding in the church I went to as a child (and camped out in front of as a teenager), I’ve taken my children to the hiding places I played in when I was their age. I know every corner, path, house and landmark, and can navigate the village in my sleep! In fact I’m sure I’ve actually navigated the roads on the verge of sleep (or at least a little ‘tipsy’).

This little village sitting on top of the mountains bordering Tuscany and Emilia Romagna is not imposing in its size or grander, nor is it particularly 21st century (you still have pitiful water pressure, limited electricity, no phone reception and everything moves at a snail pace, although we have installed wi-fi now, which was a welcome modern addition) but it is beautiful, and it evokes so many emotions and memories. Everyone carries a piece of it in their hearts (and many homes have the obligatory picture hanging pride of place).

Just the journey up the winding mountain roads is enough to bring me back to my childhood, the smell and even the ‘feel’ of the air is different and unique. The first glimpse you get as you turn the corner, and realise you are nearly home again. Even the seemingly permanent rain cloud that covers the village is a comfortingly familiar sight.

I remember on my wedding day, in the car on the way up the mountain, my dad turned to me and said ‘I’ve driven up these roads so many times, I never thought I’d be driving up with my daughter on her wedding day’. He was so proud. What a lovely moment to have shared.

This place is my home. There is so much of ‘me’ there. I think it is OK to assume that I would not have married anyone who didn’t love the village as much as I do, and I am truly blessed that my husband fell in love with it during our first holiday.

I often feel sad, when I think of how times have changed, and how much I miss the company and camaraderie of the group of friends I had. When we were growing up it felt like it was ‘us against the world ‘ , nothing could touch us, not even the wrath of the village ‘elders’ after our latest escapade! But life moves on, you grow up and grow apart. They are still some of the most important people in my life. They always will be.

I had my first beer there, my first cigarette, my first late night party. It was there I learnt how to play cards, tell ghost stories and also strike fear into the hearts of others – a werewolf mask, and a dark doorway during a game of run outs !! I learnt how to handle ‘banter’ and teasing and how to dish it out. I learnt about what I liked and what I wanted to be like. I also learnt that drinking homemade red wine gives you the mother of all hangovers, and lying by a waterfall under the stars is the most at peace you will ever feel.

I learnt that ‘Nonnas’ are feisty and even in their ‘advanced’ age are still the most formidable forces to behold – they are also more than happy to take you in and ‘feed you up’ at any opportunity. ‘Nonnos’ on the other hand have a wicked sense of humour and will sing naughty songs when pumped full of the afore-mentioned red wine ! Such wonderful characters, you never really appreciate them until they are not there anymore. A sign of changing times I suppose.

Sitting outside looking out over the mountains with good friends and a bottle of wine is wonderful, and wandering around the weekly market ( which sells a huge collection of what appears to be simply -pants and cheese ) is made tolerable by the promise of a cappuccino at ‘Bar Centrale’ and a rummage through the toys in the shop opposite !

Sambucas and a long walk home in the dark is a recipe for immeasurable fun and hysterics – especially when you have no torch. There is, of course, no better mischief than mischief cooked up by a group of teenage friends pumped up on mountain air, Spumante and lemon flavoured chewing gum ! There is no greater triumph than when our footie team beat the rival team in a ‘friendly’ football match, and there is no greater sadness than when it is time to go home and you have to say goodbye to some of the best friends you’ll ever know at the end of a long summer.

I’ve truly spent the best days of my life there. I have so many more to come, and I am looking forward to becoming a 'Nonna' and sharing all the stories with my own grandchildren, like my Nonnas did for us, and like my parents are doing now with their grandchildren.

I can wait a little while longer though, I'm not quite ready to make the transition from Mum to Nonna. I'll happily sit back and watch my parents make these memories with their grandchildren in the meantime!