The cool change

Last night after a couple of hours enjoying the sun I found myself sitting in a beach side bar surrounded by many of my new found Italian friends, GM was providing the tunes, we were all six shades darker than two months ago and many of us had that sleepy eyed look of time spent in the sea air (or as in my case from getting home at a ridiculous hour the night before and having to get up and go to work at an early hour with a small devil playing death metal in your head.)  Towards the end of the evening for the first time there was a chill in the air that necessitated an additional layer – oh horror! does this mean the end of the summer?

When I returned from the UK I found my little part of Italy experiencing a bit of a heat wave with temperatures reaching the high 30s.  Treviso felt like a ghost town with many of the businesses shut for the holidays and most of the residents taking to either the mountains or the beach.   Having lived in Australia these past few years I’m used to high summer temperatures but not the humidity.  While in Melbourne I’m happy as Larry with temperatures in the mid thirties here the humidity makes it feel ten degrees hotter but at least you don’t feel as if your eyelids are slowly burning off your face, which is one of the delights of a Melbourne heat wave.  So with temperatures reaching the stupidly high, an empty town and newly back from the traumas of a week with family there was not much else to do but make a start on the small library that I had managed to amass in one week. 

Since leaving university many (we won’t mention how many) years ago I have not had a lazy summer, having always found myself working through the hottest months.  So this summer has been quite a revelation.  While this year has been a million miles away from my usual summer of bands, backyard barbies and festivals I have discovered the benefits of, well, not doing very much.  The long, lazy hot days have been so enjoyable that I can’t bear the thought of them ending.  I hope there is another little burst of summer before the autumn kicks in.

By the end of the week the trickle of residents returning turned into a flood and suddenly Treviso was full again.  While I really enjoyed my half week of solitary idling it was good to see friends again all relaxed and with the shininess that comes from lazing in the sun.  That first evening a bunch of us got together for drinks and food, talk was of our summer adventures, coming plans and the imminent start of work.  There was music in the piazza and although the evening was still gloriously balmy the shops were full of autumn fashions.  The nights will soon begin to get darker and the weather cooler, more than at any time in my life I wish the summer wouldn’t end.

London's Burning - Welcome back

London's burning

Driving away from Stansted airport watching the plume of black smoke billowing over London and the squadron of helicopters hovering ominously overhead I wondered what circumstances drive people to such wanton disregard of others and the ugliness of pack mentality?  But I had just flown ryanair and had experienced firsthand the mob at work.  In a piece of wonderful timing, this last week I have been in England.  Two days before my arrival and the country exploded in a mass of riots and destruction that is all too depressingly familiar to anyone who, like me, grew up in 1980s Britain. 

Forgoing London I went directly back to Southampton (scene of my growing up and were it not for the accident of birth I would have no reason to visit the place) to watch events unfold on the BBC.  Having lived in London for three years while at uni (at the start of that rather embarrassing “cool Britannia” nonsense) many of the devastated places are familiar to me, I know what the streets look like and can recollect the sense of tension in the air.  I have always said to people that one of my abiding memories of my years in the capital was the feeling that at any moment things could turn nasty and like many others experienced some nasty situations while there. 

Now I’m not going to make what would be an ill informed pronouncement on the causes of the riots.  Britain has enough politicians doing that already.  Things really couldn’t have happened at a worse time, the clock had ticked to one year before the London Olympics (how the Olympic organising committee will be squirming in their seats) and most of the government were on holiday overseas – giving the impression (perhaps unfairly) that the politicians were fiddling (or in this case being told to get their own coffee by Italian waitresses) while the country burned.  When they did realise it was all going tits up they rushed back en mass and the blame game began, it was the predictable old social depravation, lack of jobs or educational opportunities to the left and blame the parents, schools, criminal underclass on the right.  Really you didn’t come all the way back to tell me that.  Watching the polies on the beeb I was struck not by the differences in what left, right and middle had to say, to be honest I stopped listening to them very quickly but the one thing they all had in common; they all seemed to have hired a serious looking suited man whose sole aim was to stand behind them and emphatically nod his head in agreement with whatever the speaker was saying, thus giving the impression that it was some sort of mind blowing genius thought that must have been sent down from above (well I say all of them but funnily enough the prime minister and deputy prime minister haven’t spent a lot of time meeting the people.)   After seeing so many of these nodders I kinda started to want one, it would be just great for your self esteem to have someone in the background agreeing with your every utterance.   

A good example of head nodding

Another head nodding experience - not sure if I believe this one as much

The press local and foreign have taken to labelling the events as the British riots which, I have to say is wholly inaccurate and insulting to the other nations of the British Isles.  The riots have been an exclusively English event with no drama in Scotland, Wales or Northern Ireland where, ironically plans were drawn up to ship water cannon to London if the trouble continued!  Amid all the comment and conjecture aimed more at voters than the victims it’s a pretty sad state of affairs when the most reasoned and intelligent response to events comes from Russell Brand.  London has been the focus of attention twice in recent months.  The two events highlight the vast chasm of extremes that is modern day Britain.  At one end there is the pomp and privilege of the royal wedding (how long ago does that seem?) and on the other is the wanton destruction and looting of the, for want of a better word, underclass.  Much has been written about the aspirational nature of the goods looted: sports shoes, TVs etc  for me one of the saddest sights was amid the ruins of a city high street with every shop smashed and looted one store was left intact and untouched, Waterstones.  Then again why would you read when you can watch the x factor on your new 42 inch plasma?

Having been an expat for so long and visiting the UK intermittently over the last twelve years I have watched the country change.  So great are the changes that sometimes I feel like an alien rather than a returning pome.  Many things have improved – the country has become more multicultural for example but many things remain stubbornly unaddressed or swept under the carpet.  Whether people will have the guts to admit mistakes and look to proper solutions or will they, as I suspect, go with knee jerk, ideological reactions remains to be seen.   So not the best week to be in the UK and the weather was crap.  

My two worlds meet

Lately I have been blessed with not one but two visits from Australia.  The antipodes being so far away it is always a treat and fill up for the soul to get a visit.  It’s great to see dear friends again and I wonder what they think to find me happily ensconced in Italy, it is always a little strange meeting people who you know from one life in another (a bit like the awful embarrassment when a child of seeing your teacher in the real world or was it just me who thought they disappeared in a puff of smoke at the end of the school day only to rematerialize the next morning when the bell rang?)  Being the quasi local I make it my mission to show visitors around my “for now” home and have pretty much perfected the Raji tour of Venice, which can involve any combination of history, art, architecture, islands and of course bars – there’s always bars, bars are the constant. 

So familiar is Venice to me now that it is only when showing people around that I remember the delight of discovering it for myself not too long ago.  When travelling into to Venice on one of these little expeditions I realise how fortunate I am to be blasé about going there.  Truly it is a luxury to be able to say “I really can’t be bothered to go to Venice today.”  The first of my visits was from R and her husband who rocked up to Venice for a week.  I like to think that I know Venice and can find even the smallest out of the way place without recourse to a map, when R suggested we meet in Gucci I had no idea of its location beyond the “it’s bound to be in San Marco somewhere.”  A quick google and I discovered that I had past it dozens of times without noticing along with every other high end designer shop that I have no business looking in – it seems I have selective blindness.  As I was early I couldn’t help but take a quick look around.  Stepping inside it was obvious to all concerned that I did not belong (I’d have looked less conspicuous playing for the All Blacks) and I have to say the clothes weren’t that great a perfect example of the fact that money doesn't always buy you taste. 

Greeting R again after six months was a joy and while her husband spent the afternoon watching some kind of sporting event we eagerly chatted and wondered the back streets of Castello.   After months away it was refreshing to have the easy banter with someone you have shared experiences with.  R quizzed me relentlessly on my adventures and life in Treviso and noted that with my new found love of domesticity I seem to be nesting.  Usually I would dismiss such notions  as ridiculous – Raji doesn’t nest she is an explorer of the world - but coming from someone with a PHD in psychiatry I can’t help but wonder.   After a day and an evening of exploring, eating and drinking the time to say goodbye came all too soon.  As joyous as reunions are the goodbyes are very hard and I felt quite melancholic.  Just as I was about to give in to those lonely feelings I ran into my Venetian friend T who always seems to have a cheery smile and an infinite amount of patience with my terrible Italian.     

S crossing the Grand Canal by tragehtto

This week saw the arrival of S my old flatmate from my time as a Melbourne resident.  S and I had shared a house for a year and despite this are still talking.  Once again I had the strange sensation of my two lives crashing into one another as the person I was more used to seeing in a little workers cottage in North Fitzroy was suddenly here in Treviso.  Over spritz and dinner we caught up with tales of our friends, relationships made and broken, babies born and other events in what is becoming an increasingly faraway place.  The next day and yet again it was a tour of Venice (something that I never seem to tire of doing.)  We packed in quite a lot in one day: the bascilica, the rialto markets, a few islands and even some of the biennale and S was suitably impressed.   

To give S a bit of a taste of life in my new found home I thought it would be nice for him to meet some of the locals.  GM joined us for a drink and as both he and S are DJs the conversation fell into a language of genres, equipment and mixing that soon all I was hearing was blah blah blah.  Next evening after a day at the beach (quite why S who lives in a country blessed with amazing beaches wanted to head to an Italian beach depressingly peppered with cigarette butts and lined with deck chairs in a faintly Germanic neatness I wasn’t sure) it was a night out with my fellow teachers and various friends.  The evening was a bit of a last hurrah as school was about to close for the summer and we are all heading off for the hols.  S noted that he was quite impressed that I had built a life here in such a relatively short amount of time and in many ways it makes it all the more real for me to have friends come and experience it.  To my new found Trevisan friends S thought you were the best and if you ever find yourself in Melbourne has offered to play host.  

The next morning bleary eyed from lack of sleep and a little too much cheer it was time for yet another goodbye.  As many goodbyes as I seem to make they never get any easier and are always bittersweet.  For future reference I keep them short and don’t make much of a drama: a hug and a bon voyage that’s me.

Weddings, Parties and Bar Mitzvahs - further adventures in food

Recently I had my first ever cooking commission!  Since my arrival here I have been discovering the joy of cooking (or it may just be an obsession with eating) and have often used friends as human guinea pigs for my kitchen endeavours.  While nothing has been a real disaster I am far from considering myself a good cook so it was a surprise to receive an email from GM requesting my services for his pre dinner drinks.  He would inflict my cooking on his friends? Either my abilities are better than I give myself credit for or I’m a novelty.

Having accepted the commission I was immediately thrown into a panic, it’s all very well dreaming up dinner ideas and inviting people over to sample the experiment but this event demanded success and I was to have an audience of Italians to impress.  From my experience the Italians are very discerning food critics.  If they like your food they’ll tell you and if they don’t like it or think you got something wrong they’ll tell you (none of this “It’s really delicious but I’m just not hungry” sparing of feelings.)  In his email GM had mentioned that there would be some experienced cooks among the guests – suddenly the pressure was on.  So panicked was I at the thought that I mistook GMs compliment about my abilities as an insult (it was only on rereading the email today that I got the complementary nature – thanks so nice of you to say.) 

Now I had to decide on the food.  My guidelines were for something light, tasty and good with beer.  There was also the expectation that it would be “ethnic” – a table laden with olives, salami and cheeses would not have gone down well.  A quick consult with some foodie friends back in Melbourne I settled on a largely middle eastern/Jewish themed spread (with a bit of South East Asian to take advantage of a fresh batch of Ts home grown chillies.) 

Friday evening and once again my apartment was filled with the aromas of roasting spices and the whole place fell into chaos as I simultaneously tried to make an abundance of food and prepare the next day’s lessons.  By the time I cracked a beer and gave up for the night most of the food was done and the lessons largely unplanned. 

The next day after work and a bit more preparation it was over to GMs apartment where all was being readied for the event.  By the time guests started to arrive (late, just to confirm the Italian stereotype) dips and dukkah were on the table, the spinach and cheese triangles in the oven and I was about to start making the larb.  A steady stream of guests made their way into the kitchen to check out the activities.  Joining the festivities after a quick ten minute kitchen tidy I was surprised to see most of the food gone.  Had I under catered? No, it seems the food was a success!  There followed some very technical questions about the cooking and I almost burst with pride when I overheard a guest comment that despite the fact we were heading to an agritourismo (a restaurant that serves food grown on site or sourced locally) for dinner after he couldn’t resist eating more.  For my part having cooked the food I really had no interest in eating it!  At the agritourismo there were yet more delights to taste although the owner was perplexed and vaguely insulted that no one was eating very much.

I think we can conclude that the evening was a success.  Next time (should there be one) I hope I’ll be less nervous at the prospect.  It was quite fun but as ever you always wish you had more time to make something more elaborate (or that you had access to more ingredients.)  So, if I ever decide to move on from teaching maybe there is a future in cooking – Rajis’ catering service: weddings, parties and Bar Mitzvahs.