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Spiralling down into The Alps to meet distant relations was enough to make the frosted towers appear formidable. On landing, I was driven north, away from the architectural prowess of Turin and towards the iced beacons that I had seen from my plane. However, The Alps were no longer the main attraction. We had arrived in the radiant colours of Marta’s cascading village as we ascended through pockets of locals all waving to the return of Marta as if years, not hours, had passed. The strength of community had me smiling out my window at beaming people who I had never met, something that would unnerve the pedestrians on the congested streets of Manchester. The two weeks I spent getting to know Marta and her family were bursting with fresh, wholesome ways of life that called me to see my life at home in a comparative sepia. The postcard experience of the trip, however, was the hike into the pinewood midpoint of The Alps. A two hour climb past glistening water holes and crowds of butterflies ended with a spectacular stretch of flat green bliss leading to a pinewood floor. We staggered a few paces in and then dropped, resting our heads on our backpacks and taking in the majesty of the borders mountainous crown between Italy and France. The insistent sun was illuminating a now communal picnic, contrasting beautifully with the ski scene in the background and sending me into complete euphoria. As evening drew closer tents were constructed in the solace of the pinewood to be returned to after dinner. Standing proud but not imposing on the view was a log building where most of the campers strolled to for their evening meal. The warming community that made me smile on that first day returned as I realised that we did not have to order. We simply sat on one of many log benches amidst tourists and locals alike as family sized dishes of food were placed in the middle of the long tables. The overwhelming aroma of fresh tomatoes as heaps of spaghetti, lasagne and delicious beef stews were ladled out between strangers who were now friends was emotional to say the least. My stomach is crying from nostalgia whilst I am writing about this meal. Weighty blocks of mature Parmesan are distributed for anyone to help themselves which forced me to exercise difficult self-control. The candle lightening and excited chatter of some of the friendliest people I’ve ever met made me see the idealism of living so far out of the city. Full and warm we paid our €10 each and were handed two complimentary limoncello’s by a lovely older Italian woman who still had her tea towel slung over her shoulder. We left towards to pinewood in the now cool night, crunching over twigs as we searched for our tent. A big log was carried over to our home and we set about building a small fire in a spot where other travellers had left their mark by doing the same. We lay on the floor, resting our heads against the wood, and gazed through the tall thin trees into the constellations of the night sky with myself wondering how Marta could live amongst the pure sublime. My journey home made me question: are the locals of these villages different or do people change depending on their setting? Either way the well-being and the relationships between one another is something that I hold very close to my heart and made my journey more than just a holiday, it was a travel that completely changed my perception in the best way imaginable.