Suggested Song: Impromptu #3, Franz Schubert. (Performed by an 84 year-old Vladimir Horowitz.)
Suggested Drink: Peroni Nastro Azzurro, a light Italian lager.

Listen to this essay.

Impromptu (adjective): made, done, or formed on or as if on the spur of the moment.
– Merriam Webster Dictionary

The weather was fowl but we set off nonetheless. Our weekend in Italy wouldn’t be framed in the usual routine – eat, drink, swim, doze, and repeat through the day – but there were no doubts about fun and finding lots of it. We always do. As per custom, Ospedaletti was the destination, the Petit Royal our hotel, and Playa79 our favored bistro upon the beach. Or plans would change en route. The only plan was no committed plan, and that was also per custom. We may end up in Cannes or Genoa. Will this old gimpy Fiat even get us across the border? It was all very impromptu.

The weekend came together spontaneously, as the best often do. One of us in from the States for a bit of work, the other 2 changing plans last minute to accommodate the opening. A room at the Petit Royal? Yes, it was confirmed available, yet ambiguous in true Italian fashion. No Signore, no full name, credit card number, nor contact information required; the room for Party of Bill will be ready. If arriving after 8 pm (we would be) the desk will be closed (it was), but you can call this number (we did) and a desk clerk will show up (jolly and drunk). Beautifully impromptu.

The village of Ospedaletti was 2 steps below its usual sleepy pace. It was the final ski weekend in the Italian Alps and the grey drizzle along the sea sealed the choice for many. By 9 pm most trattorias in town were lowering the curtains, but we did manage a late table at a quiet family bistro. Stunning in all respects: the food, the wine, the prices, and our charming cameriera, who informed us, apologetically, that we wouldn’t find any places open for after-dinner drinks in town that evening. With a dramatic pull of her index finger across the throat, she emphasized the fact: Ospedaletti è morto. Could we order a bottle to go? Naturalmente. And she volunteered 3 glasses from behind the bar, plus corkscrew. All were placed on loan in a travel bag, with an additional bottle as backup, and off we went. Impromptu.

The next morning was cloudy but dry. We took that as a win. The day would be spent in time-honored Mediterranean fashion: beachside table, ice bucket on autofill, revolving plates of fresh things from the sea, and endless chat about fascinating things of no real significance. Except one thing: a manuscript lifted from a beach bag, with reading proffered.

We are all creatives in this group; one of us famously, the other 2 aspiringly. We share our prototypes, listening to this song or hearing that chapter or getting a look at a painting in work. Opinions are given with kindness but honesty. Changes are made or not. It’s a process of mutual critique based on years of friendship and trust.

“Only write the book you can’t avoid writing. There are plenty of books already.”
– Salman Rushdie (to his students at Emory College)

The surprise draft was a mesmeric read. The easy cadence paired with the cycle of waves lapping gently at the sand, just 30 feet or so away. Add in the sea air and sparkling prosecco, and an intoxicating gestalt of late morning Mediterranean indulgence floated over the table, blissfully. Signora, another plate of fritto misto per favore. No, he won’t avoid writing this novel, our prosaist most impromptu.

And the weekend continued on much in that fashion. Sun, then sudden downpours, and sharing umbrellas with local teenagers. Dodging the rain with impromptu piccolo beers here and nibbles there. Varying states of hedonistic consciousness: epicurean; bacchanalian; Mediterranean. And a final impulsive decision to pack up early to share a final meal in Nice’s Old Town.

The moral of this story? I’m wrestling with that. (Opinions welcome.) Perhaps, it’s my belief in the value of embracing impulsiveness and spontaneity in life. In the pursuit of greater creativity, inquisitiveness, and discovery, reacting to events as they unfold in unpredictable ways can push us beyond comfort zones, and that’s a healthy thing. Of course, when embarking on unplanned adventures, in 3^rd languages, with gimpy cars, to sleepy seaside villages, traveling with trusted company equally adept at the unexpected and impromptu is essential.

So what great adventures are you un-planning?

Bill Magill
Aix-en-Provence