The office Christmas party

Now to be honest I wasn’t really thrilled to be heading to the wastelands of the Veneto on a Sunday morning for an event billed as family day – especially as I needed to make empanadas for my own Chritsmas party that night. Recently I have been teaching in a large chemical company out in the middle of industrial Marghera and they invited me to their Christmas event – not a big booze up but something called family day.  I was sure that for anyone with kids it would be a nice opportunity to see where their parent works but for me who usually spends Sunday mornings in pyjamas, sipping coffee and reading the papers it was a big ask.

        

I was expecting a big kid’s party – jelly, ice cream and a lame Father Christmas.  I’m happy to say my expectations were entirely confounded.  The company had gone all out for the event (if I ever have a big party I’m getting these guys to organise the event.) There were 1500 people there.  The main presentation room had been converted into a theatre where kids shows were performed by a troupe of actors hired for the day.  There were tours of the plant and kids could take a ride in a fire engine.  There was popcorn, candy floss, and gifts of goldfish and orchids.  Booze was plentiful but in the manner of every Italian party I’ve been to it was drunk moderately.

When came to the food all thought of moderation went out the window – this was one hell of a feast, there was salads and pastas aplenty, cheeses and cured meats of every kind.  And I don’t think it a gross exaggeration to say that a heard of pigs had given their lives for this feast.  While the Italians are quite reserved when it comes to drinking put them in the vicinity of a buffet and all politeness goes out the window.  It’s everyman for himself and you better be tough with a good set of elbows to get yourself to the porchetta.  When I did finally get to the business end of the buffet the food was as excellent as I’ve come to expect from this country – unfortunately I haven’t yet had enough frontline experience to take full advantage of all the goodies available.  In fact I admitted defeat after a single sortie.       

Most of my Christmas parties have been quite boozy affairs (well most Anglo/Australian events tend to be booze heavy.)  And drinking in the presence of your boss is generally never a good idea.  I have witnessed the aftermath of morning after hangovers, unfortunate post drunken shame and the desperate facebook search.  As I left the party I wondered if this is a better way to celebrate – non of the people there that day would have come in to work to embarrassed to look their work mates in the eye, no one will worry about the next performance review and all the big revelry can be saved for your real mates. 

Wilkommen a Bolzano

“Most people get home at this time.”  Read the message.  And it was true that usually if I’m awake at 4am I’m either having a very big night or lying in bed having some kind of existential crisis.  Today it was neither, I was up at 4am completely sober and getting kitted out for a trip up the mountains.  When I agreed to go to the mountains with J I hadn’t really grasped the prospect of catching a 5.30 train so I was very impressed that we both managed to get to the train station and not roll over and go back to sleep when our respective alarms sounded at 4am.  The trip was a bit of an epic first stop Mestre where there was enough time for coffee before catching our connection to Verona where we got the train for the mountains.  Three hours after setting off and we finally made it to our destination Bolzano.  

Fairytale buildings

Leaving the station I was struck by two thoughts one I was extremely glad that I had thought about the temperature and rugged up and two I wondered if we had crossed a border without realizing it.  This felt more like Germany than Italy.  All the signs were in German and cars stopped at the zebra crossing.  Our first port of call was a cafe where we listened to everyone speaking German as we ate strudel.  The architecture was a world away from the arches and loggias of Treviso.  This town was definitely more central European than Mediterranean.  Walking around the place I couldn’t shake the feeling of being in a fairy tale as retold by the brothers Grimm and half expected to turn a corner to find a gingerbread house.  

The big draw was the Christmas market that had opened the day before.  Strolling around the stalls selling glass baubles and Christmas fairies the Germanic feeling was reinforced by the band kitted out in traditional Prussian gear striking up in the main square.  By 11 we were totally down with the Germanic vibe and seeing as it felt like mid afternoon to us it was time to partake in a piping hot mug of vin brulee – or rather gluhwein and some sausage and sauerkraut. Most of my friends will attest that I am not the best person in low temperatures (in fact I’m a complete whinging pome at anything below 10 degrees) but taking a stroll in this mountain town surrounded by snow covered mountains, with a crisp air and a bright winter sun it didn’t seem so bad – lashings of warm wine probably helped.  Spending practically my whole life on islands (UK and Aus) it felt strange not crossing water to get to another culture (apologies to Wales and Scotland.)  I find the idea of borders interesting how one culture blends into another.  I wonder if the Bolzanans feel Italian or Austrian?  Or then again maybe they don’t even think about it.  

beginning to feel the Christmas spirit - or is that just the wine?

By late afternoon the early start was beginning to hit us and our energy was flagging.  I’ve always said that Christmas is a place and not a time and sitting outside a little bar, through an arch and down an alley, next to Christmas trees, with blankets on our laps and the last glasses of gluhwein warming our hands and bellies I really felt like I was there.  As the light began to fade it was time to begin the epic journey back to Italy and Treviso but I’m looking forward to a return to this Germanic part of Italy.   

Frittelle and a timely reminder

Last Wednesday I got to the end of a planned lesson with some time to spare and I was beginning to run out of ideas so I asked my group to tell me about the festival in Venice (many of the students live in Venice and had attended the morning events before work.)  I knew that the festival of the Madonna della Salute was happening as we spoke but hadn’t thought about it too much or intended to go given that it was a ‘school’ night and that I had been once before.  My students started to tell me about the festival and the one thing they kept emphasising was that the festival wasn’t simply a Venetian festival but it’s “our festival.”  As if the Venetians; having lost so much of their city (and their quality of life) to uber tourism have managed to keep this one thing for themselves, something which they are loath to give up.

The festival of the Madonna della Salute was, as my students informed me instituted in the 16^th century.  Venice had been delivered from a devastating outbreak of the Plague and in thanks built a church dedicated to the Madonna.  The church is unique in that every statue adorning the facade depicts a female saint (a fact that my students were very impressed that I knew.)  During the festival a bridge of boats is built across the Grand Canal to the church.  On the morning of the festival there is a procession from St Marks to the church for a service then throughout the day people visit the church to light a candle and then walk across the temporary bridge and make their way to St Marks. 

There wasn’t much of this story that I didn’t know but I had forgotten one important fact which when I was reminded meant that I simply had to go to Venice that night.  That something was frittelle.  A frittella is dough that is deep fried and then covered in a mix of lemon juice and sugar and is a delicious as it sounds.  Carnivale has its own version which comes in a ball and is only available for those few weeks of festivities in February outside of Carnivale they are flat.  I hadn’t had a frittella since the end of Carnivale and couldn't wait until February for another one so as soon as five o’clock hit I hot footed it to Venice. 

When I arrived  I could immediately see why my students had called it “our festival.”  For once Venice seemed full more with Venetians rather than tourists and students.  Whole families were out not only to visit the church but to enjoy their city.  As I made my way to the church I made small detours to some of my favourite places.  The little bars were doing a roaring trade in spritz, cicchetti, and conversation.  The evening had the chill of impending winter meaning everybody was wrapped up warm and the bars looked more inviting than ever.  The whole atmosphere of the place was different and I remembered this was how it was when I fell in love with it a few years ago.

When I got to the church the festivities were coming to an end, the whole place smelt of candle wax and all the attendants hands were covered in the same.  As the final sermons were being spoken I headed out to the street selling nuts, dried fruits and other festival delicacies and got myself the biggest frittella I could find.  Mission accomplished I headed back home – with a brief stop for a spritz with a friend.

For me Venice is now at her best, the crazy hoards are gone and the icy cold winds are yet to start.  The autumn fog makes the city look magical and walking the empty streets is a joy. In the last few weeks I've been spending increasing amounts of time in Venice and of late J has joined me for the odd night out – she’s very impressed that you can still have dinner and a few drinks in the city for 10 Euros.  Having Venice so close does mean that it becomes - if you can believe it – one of the mundane things in your life.  It’s good to have moments like these to remind me how special it is and how lucky I am to know it so well.