The village I live in is perched on a cliff two and a half thousand feet above the Adriatic. For a Westcountryman, who'd been exiled to the fens of East Anglia for over thirty years, that is one of its many attractions. Except in winter. Once the snow has been ploughed the residual layer is soon compacted by the incessant motorised traffic - like the English, the Italians will never walk anywhere if they can drive, no matter how narrow the street - into treacherous ice, making walking round the village a hazardous enterprise. In winter my thrice daily walk with the dogs - we have no garden, and dog faeces wouldn't add to the attractiveness of our 16th century courtyard - changes from an idyll to a nightmare. Two dogs pulling on their leads while you climb up an ice covered street isn't much fun. Going down the slope, though, is even worse, and unfortunately if you go up a hill during your walk logic dictates you must inevitably walk down one to return to your starting point.
For many years we were perplexed, and impoverished, by Enel - the Italian electricity company - charging us the higher rate applicable to non-residents. Then one day we noticed that the bill related to 34 Via Roma but was invoiced to 18 Via San Pietro. It took several years to convince Enel that the two addresses related to the same property. For our house sprawls over a slope: the front door and cantinas are accessed from Via Roma whereas if you enter the house from Via San Pietro you find yourself on the floor above.
And this has proved a blessing when going shopping in winter. As you can see from the map I can climb up the hill where the village shop is located and return home with my purchases without ever having to go back down it.
So in this case Escher triumphs over logic; if only it were always so.
