“Archipelago” is such a lovely word. It conjures images of far-flung island chains, sunkissed beaches and ragged shorelines. Twenty-eight miles off the southwestern tip of England is Cornwall’s own archipelago: The Isles of Scilly.
As a surprise for my mum’s 70th, my dad invited us on a pre Easter break to a house he’d rented in San Lorenzo a Vaccoli, a sleepy village a few kilometres outside of Lucca, in Italy’s Tuscany region.
The weather was warm, the food was amazing and the wine was cheep. After 7 nights in Italy drifting around Lake Garda, being awed (and a little romantic) in Verona and getting (very) lost in Venice the reality of being back to work has hit like a tonne of bricks.
Isn’t it funny how you meet new people? Let’s say for example that you commented on someones Flickr photos, and six months later you fly out to Spain to visit them. Well, funnily enough (cue sincere laughter) that’s exactly what happened to me.
There’s nothing quite like waking up at 4.30am on a very cold night, desperate for the loo, and then realising you’re in a tent on top of a foggy hill in the middle of Derbyshire.