A MERE COINCIDENCE

Diano Serreta, Italy - summer 1991

A few times in your life you will feel very strongly that a mere coincidence turns events around. I suppose that if you were to go profoundly into this and analyse it, life is made up of coincidences, combined with your own choices. But this is existentialism on a high level and not my topic today.

In 1991, when Sophie was six months old, Julie four years old and Johanne seven, we rented a house for the summer in the village of Diano Serreta, a fifteen-minute drive from the Italian "Flower Riviera," a few miles from the French border. This was before the Internet, so we found the rental house in a classified ad in the paper.

Luuuv those glasses!

It was gorgeous! Italian village life! Festivals! My sister came to stay for one week, and we really managed to drive around and see the area. While my husband went to the Casino in Monte Carlo, we had a lovely time at the beach. Going out for a meal at night we just placed Sophie in the pram, and wherever we went people made room for us. Bella! Bella bambina! Even youngsters on their way to the clubs stopped and admired her. That's how much they love children in Italy!

Big Mama with Sis & Sophie

We loved it so much that we rented the house again the next summer. That autumn - 1992 - we started our gourmet shop, which I wrote about the other day. For years to come we couldn't have a holiday together, but in 1996 we had an employee who said: "I WANT you to go on holiday! I'll take care of everything while you're away." He was an angel. (I wonder where he is now).

Julie & Johanne in Italy summer 1992

We called the owners of the Italian house. "Can we rent again?" "No, sorry, no availability." So we started looking through the classified ads. We found a rental flat in France, near Perpignan. We didn't know anything about the area - all I knew was that my brother had spent a few months there years before. And then! We fell in love with the region. We went on holiday there again in 1998. We dreamt. We fantasised. We went to the French Riviera twice to compare. In September 2001 we caught a flight to Barcelona, drove up to French Catalonia, determined that we wouldn't leave until we'd found a house. And there it was! The house deal came through while we were waiting for our luggage back at Oslo Airport.

This was my coincidence. Or maybe not. I speak French. I only speak a little Italian.