Friday, December 16 - “GUARANTEED DELIVERY”

Paolo S calls to say we owe another 126 euros because the bill was filled out wrong. Agggh!
They’re all one, big family here; they understand the lay of the land. We have stumbled on the scene. Everyone else knows their lines. We don’t have a speaking part, we just reach into our pockets. I study my Italian. We have to make an effort to learn the language.

Outside the city on our way to Fenestrelle at last, frost on the guardrails, in the tendrils of grass, frosting tree tops and branches delicately. Fog. Past the hunting lodge palace built by the Savoys in their heyday. A feeling of relaxation settles over us in the car as we pull out of the city, all bundled up with our scarves still untied and our baggage piled up in the backseat, new snow boots and a lovely box of cake called Galup. It’s everywhere, this little gold and white box with a ribbon on top, lining the shelves of all the fine cafes and grungy supermarkets, and it’s what’s given out to clients and friends at Christmas. Mara gave this box to Gord when he went to the fort, plus a bag of the most festive-looking pastel-colored, shiny confections in a sparkly bag. Chocolates!



Gord has been in gruff mode these past few days, alternating between a grumpy determination and his palpable joy at being surrounded by all things Italian. You have to anticipate this impatience or you will lose things as you’re pressured to go out the door. So on the one hand we have barking orders and an abrupt end to breakfast, “I’m going,” slam, and on the other an acceptance of the uncontrollable and a genuine appreciation of Piemontese cuisine. But he’s got a point, if, after all this work and hustle and expense and time, if the container doesn’t arrive at the fort, if we can’t get the stuff unloaded and into the chiesa, there IS no installation.