By ChrisTheHiker
Chapter 2: A journey that gets off to a bad start…
May in northern Italy is my favourite time of year. The temperatures are mild, jackets are stowed away in the cellar, but the stifling heat of summer has not arrived yet. And above all, the winter greyness that hides the sun for weeks on end has vanished for good until next winter. I live in a small village called Santa Sofia, a few kilometres north of Pavia in Lombardy. For me, it is the most beautiful region, even if all Italians will tell you otherwise… To give you an idea, we are 45 minutes from Milan, in the Po Valley, the river that crosses northern Italy from west to east, linking the Italian Alps of Piedmont to the Adriatic Sea south of Venice. This fertile plain is where agriculture and industry produce Italy’s main wealth.
But I have not even introduced myself yet. Alessio, Ale to my friends, 35 years old, 1.76 m, 63 kg, lean but muscular. Brown eyes. Thick, bushy black hair, typically Italian. I always keep it a bit tousled, probably because I cannot be bothered to spend too much time styling it. I am reasonably hairy, mostly on my legs and chest. Several guys have told me I should wax, but I am happy the way I am; I like that masculine look, though I will admit I do shave down below—but more for comfort than for the look.
