It was August 22nd , 1958 when I boarded the Holland America Line's cruise ship "Ryndam" in Montreal bound for Southhampton .. then across the English Channel to LeHavre in France. From there I would travel by train to Paris ... then on to my final destination, Cortona ,Italy..... this latter stretch likewise by train. But first let's go back to my Atlantic Ocean crossing on the Ryndam. It was a trip I shall never forget... the immensity , strength and beauty of the sea .... the warmth of the 900 passengers almost all of whom were Dutch on their way back to Holland after visiting relatives and friends in Canada. I even won my first singing contest on amateur night with my version of a big song from back then which might ring a bell for a few of you .. The Purple People- Eater...accompanying myself on my own guitar . I managed to sneak in on second prize too won by my travelling buddy , Ralph McQuaid ,from Prince Edward Island who dragged out his fiddle and treated those foot-stompin' , hand-clappin' Dutch folks in the audience to a real oldtime downeast hornpipe . I simply played backup strum and chords while Ralph did all the work. It was in the off-shore bar in international tax-free waters of the Atlantic that I bought my first glass of excellent Dutch beer for 5 cents and was introduced to Holland's next of kin to firewater.. "jonge"... a kind of heavy duty gin . Those were the days !!
After spending a few days in the Parisian area I said goodbye to Ralph who was off to Baveria to study in a German college and I headed South through France to wartorn Italy .. it was but 13 years since the end of the War. About 7 o'oclock in the evening I stepped down from the train in Terontola , asked in very rudimentary Italian where I might find a bus to Cortona... found one and then inquired further info as to to what direction we would be taking. The man pointed Eastwards to a very high point on the mountain before us where I could make out ( my eyes were hawklike back then) a walled-iin village with church steeples rising above the ramparts . It looked a bit like a big brown birdnest hugging the mountain side. So up we go.. through Ossaia and Camucia onwards and upwards by il Calcinaio Church zigzagging .... as it was impossib le to drive straight up the hill...maybe 6 or 7 times until we finally reach the entrance to Via Contessa... my stop.. right in the middle of the hill !!! I grab my packsack and suitcase and push open the big iron gate . Inside the gate to the right was the caretaker's hut and sticking out the small window was the barrel of one huge mounted sten gun .. a leftover from the War I learned later and looking at me through the sights of that powerful weapon was a rough-looking wee Italian peasant with an evil eye.... my first meeting with Marconi.... handyman at the college and ex Mussolini hater. I'll fill you in on this strange patriot later . After a good " Buona sera" and " Sono io il canadese aspetatto "... Good evening ... I am the expected Canadian .. I was waved on and proceded on to the front door of the monastery , rang the bell and Fratello Valentino welcomed me with open arms . Valentino is still alive today and every now and then we exchange greetings and memories . Enough for today , folks. Back tomorrow with a bit more.
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