The Footie - Italy v Germany 28/06/12

Good evening,

I'm sitting in one of our usual bars (colonnetta) in readiness for one of the most important events of the  year.  While Messrs Monti and Merkal are nutting out the economic future of the continent the Italians are more concerned with the important stuff - the footie.  As Germany and go up against the Azzuri in the European Championship semi final I'm going to attempt to blog my way through the next 90 (give or take stoppages and extra time) minutes.  Apologies in advance but I'm no football expert.  Joining me are JH, and a bar full of nervous looking Italians.

8.40 and the teams come out, the bar is filling up.  Anthem time – lights out in bar.  Unlike the English players the Italians seem to know the words to their anthem.  First impression the striking difference there is remarkably little alcohol on the tables.

8.50 and we off.- Am wondering how long it is before the commentators use the words efficiency and German in the same sentence.  Germany have possession and have already looked like they are going to score - Raji has already uttered whooooo

A free kick to Germany outside the box.  Good save from Buffon, interesting point the time is not on screen - how long do I have to sit here? No friggin idea.  

note from JH "Germany are on them like flies on shit" - Anglo language just what I'm used to.

Italians have possession for about two minutes a bit of excitement in the bar Germany retake and it's back to business as usual.

10.42 mins and my attention wavering.

11.57 and Germany nearly score in the bar they're complaining about the goalkeeper - the hero of the last game - how fickle.

15.53 - did I really just see one of the Italian coaching staff smoking in the dug out?

16.57 Italy shot on goal - brief piece of excitement and a round of applause.  Starting to look two sided for the first time according to JH and another great shot.

19.23 ITALYYYYYYYYYYYY!  photos, screams, and one nil to the azzuri!  Lots of goal celebration and hugging amongst the Italian team.  Word in the bar is if Italy win then Merkal will make sure the country pays.

24.55 and JH has gone to get me another prosecco

26.00 2nd prosecco for me and the 1st for JH who is ignoring the fact he is on antibiotics - have told him on his head be it.

28.26 nothing worth writing about according to JH

31.50 - shirt pulling on Balotelli causes some consternation amongst the Italians -  the fact that Mario Balotelli seems to have gone to the barber and asked for a Brazilian is troubling me more.

33.56 Italy endanger the German goal but player falls down in box - third whooooo from me.

35 ish another good safe from Buffon - now a hero again

ITALYYYYYYYYYY! Balotelli again looks like it's bad news for Italy and the Euro - bet Monti will have a smile on his face as he greets Angela tomorrow. In the bar the Italians are laughing at a weeping German fan on the screen.

The only German in the bar just asked JH and me if we are supporting Germany.

JH just did a mock German accent - hoping it's the only one of the night.

OK 40th minute only another five until half time apparently

JH just asked if he looks German - not sure why

Italian player on the ground cry of AMBULANCE in the bar - looks like patrons know the whole simulation thing - Note to fellow English teachers am using the technical term simulation which I learnt  in New English File intermediate lesson 1B, narrative tenses.

One minute of extra time - this is not fair

46 minutes and the half time whistle blows - mass exodus for a smoke.  We think that the Germans are not playing as well as they should - note we is JH here.

HALF TIME - Bar staff wondering just what the hell I'm doing.  JH thinking the Germans will make a comeback in the second half - can they do it?  are Italy in the final?  how many proseccos will I get through?  lets see

Players emerging,nicotined up fans returning to tables - my drink getting low

Germany has made a substitution apparently

and the second half is off!

Still no mention of German and efficiency - The germans have brought on Klose - Raji wants him to get a near miss on goal so she can type it's close from Klose.

Near miss from the Germans - not Klose unfortunately

47.50 - Italian with a face full of ball - looks painful

48.59 Germans look like they've come back with a bit of purpose - yes we may be single handedly keeping the Euro afloat but this is serious.

50.52 two empty glasses on the table - time to send JH to the bar

51.40 shouting in the bar - not sure why JH and I debating who pays for the next drink.

52.50 - if anyone's interested it was me

Note from JH "Germany are just falling to pieces" - not looking good for the efficiency quote that I'm after.

56.53 close up of Italian player and I notice what a terrible stripe effect the Italian shirts have - looks a bit 80 woman's office casual - not sure it's the look the Italians are going for.

58.40 Mario that really is a stupid haircut

60.00 and yellow card for an Italian defender - Bonucci - he looks suitably pained.

62.18 - all the players are sporting black armbands - it's an anti racism thing according to JH.  Raji is wondering if the Italian cartoonist who portrayed Balotelli as King Kong got the message.

63.50 - Italian player just easily gave possession away and Raji just felt affronted

67.56  Balotelli down - cramp JH informs me - time for the magic sponge.  Di Natale ("of Christmas" which makes me like him all the more) on for Balotelli

70.12 all those proseccos are beginning to hit, thinking of food.

70.52 from JH "Germany are out of this match"

71.32 JH informs me that the Poms say two world wars, one world cup when the English play Germany - and I'm remined why I don't barrack for any team.

74.54 - what's wrong with just passing it!  two Italians in the box German defender trips over his feet and they don't score - should have passed instead of going for glory for yourself - teamwork people!

77.29 - lost concentration and am laughing at funny posts on facebook

79.27 "the Germans are playing rugby"  JH 10.25 28/06/12

80.00 brief bit of excitement undermined by about 30 players slipping, tripping and generally falling down -yes it's keystone football

82.15 - Raji surprises herself by knowing and understanding the offside rule - where did that come from?

84.00 need to pee, can I hold out for 6 minutes plus extra time?

85.47 - JH off on another prosecco mission

87.27 camera cuts to fans dressed as super Mario - nice way to break the stereotype!

89th minute don't see the Germans coming back from this - Monti can start getting his gloating face on

90th passed 4 mins of extra time - seriously need to pee

Penalty to Germany - Handball in the box apparently.  Germany score! suddenly game is on again

Balotelli with hoodie on and head in hands - yes I would too if I had that hair

20 seconds victory in the air, this bar is about to errupt - YESSSSSSSSSSS!

Italy are in the final = bar playing we are the champions and a guy I don't know just kissed me.

Post game - you would not believe the queue for the bathroom - cazzo

Ah Tuscany!

Morning view

Sunday and once again I found myself on a freccia heading back to Treviso.  I didn’t expect to be on one of Italy’s rather efficient (yes I did just use the words Italy and efficient in the same sentence) trains this weekend.  Little did I think on Friday as I was making the weekly trip to the armpit of the Veneto that I would be spending the evening having dinner with Melbourne friends in a restaurant garden in the Tuscan countryside. 

My friend R and her husband B have been in Italy since May, they come to Italy every year for the warmer months – escaping the Melbourne winter and call the town of Lucignano home for this period.  Between lessons at the mineral powder company R called and suggested that I come down to their little town in Tuscany for the weekend and I couldn’t think of any reason not to.  After lessons T rushed us back to Treviso (J couldn’t face any more trips to Werhnam Hogg so Fridays are now on the road with T and Raj.)  I ran home threw a few things in a bag and jumped on a train.  By early evening I’d made it to Arezzo where there was a grand reunion with R and B before a drive to their small piece of Tuscay. 

Contrada colours

Driving through the Tuscan landscape I felt a world away from the Veneto.  Seemingly endless hills filled with olive groves or vinyards.  Tall, feather like cypress trees that act as absurdly picturesque exclamation marks to the beauty of the place.  Lucignano sits on top of a hill overlooking a valley; the town is tiny (perhaps 200 inhabitants) and like every other medieval Italian town utterly charming.  Being so small the place takes about 10 minutes to walk around, physically that is.  R has been coming here for many years now and is a quasi local which means any walk around the town involves stopping and chatting with everyone you meet.  Lucignano like all of the towns I visited over the weekend was festooned with flags in the contrada colours.  The town is divided into different quarters called contradas.  In times gone (not too sure what the situation is now) the contradas would have their own church, take care of the young and sick in their quarter etc.  This period sees many festivities culminating in a contrada dinner where each quarter hosts a street party.  Wandering around the towns of Tuscany covered in a multitude of flags I began to think about the loyalty people must have not just for their region, country or town but for their neighbourhood.  With this fierce loyalty is it really a surprise that national unity is so often questioned in such a young country? 

The first evening and I was introduced to the small yet established expat community of the town – Americans and Brits who have somehow found this little town and either make annual visits or live here permanently.  It seems to me that there are two kinds of expat: those like R and B who engage with the locals and become part of the community and those who don’t learn the language and live in a sort of bubble only socialising with other English speakers.  R is certain that the bar where they drink makes its entire year’s profit in those three months when the expats are in town!      

Saturday morning and after coffee overlooking the valley we headed out to visit some of the other gorgeous towns in the area.  Cortona, our first stop, sits prettily atop another high promontory over looking yet more rolling hills.  Cortona itself is a beautifully preserved medieval town with winding streets and steep gradients.  It was this town that an American woman bought a rundown old villa, restored it and wrote a book called “Under the Tuscan sun.”  Evidence of the book’s success can be seen in the number of tour buses pulling up, the real estate prices and the new American University in the town.  Next on our little tour was Montepulciano – another picture postcard hill top medieval town.  Walking its steep streets I couldn’t help but think of the feet of engineering and labour it must have taken to build these towns.  Although of the same era Tuscan medieval architecture is a world away from the Venetian.  With its large windows and half Middle Eastern half Romanesque arches Venetian buildings feel light and delicate as opposed to the solidity of the Tuscan buildings.  The fact that almost every town had its own imposing tower and heavy walls is an indication to the uncertain times that people were living in. 

Tower and Cypress trees, where else but Tuscany?

That evening after yet more glorious food with B watching 22 grown men kick a ball around a field R and I sat on the terrazzo drinking beautiful Tuscan wine and watching the light over the valley fade into night we both talked of our Italian adventures and ruminated on just how ridiculously enjoyable our Italian experiences are.  Often while going about my day to day activities I have a moment when I think to myself how nice life is and it’s good to know I’m not the only one who finds it so.  Sunday came around all too soon and after a lazy morning coffee with the expats, a couple more ridiculously scenic towns and lunch it was time to say our goodbyes and for me to head back up north.  Getting back to Treviso I felt like I’d been away for days.     

In praise of idleness

For most of the year my weeks have been full of lessons, if I wasn’t teaching I was planning lessons.  If I wasn’t planning lessons I was going between lessons in school, in state schools, in companies or in student’s homes.  There wasn’t much time to catch up with friends and colleges.  If we could manage to synchronise our diaries for a coffee it was invariably a quick rushed affair before having to head off for the next lesson.  Over the last few weeks exams have started and courses have begun to end and we’ve found ourselves in the strange but not unpleasant situation of actually having time.  After months of running around like a blue arsed fly to suddenly find myself with free time is a welcome change.  Such is the novelty of time that I don’t quite know what to do with myself.  I have this constant feeling that I should be doing something or going somewhere but there is little to do and going anywhere generally requires forward planning and a bit of organisation. 

So how have I taken to filling my days?  Well for J and I coffee has become a long, leisurely and pretty much daily event.  At some point in the day one or other of us will send a message and a cafe or piazza chosen and a time appointed.  There over coffee in the warm sun we will spend a good amount of time shooting the breeze.  Despite speaking to each other practically every day we never seem to run out of conversation.  Sometimes T or J will join us but more often than not it’s just the two of us.  Together we talk about the past, plan our future endeavours, console each other when the trials of the Italian experience get to us and laugh – a lot. 

Coffee is often followed by galato, a stroll around the town and most dangerously shopping.  Now I have never considered shopping a pass time – it’s more of a necessary evil and I’ve always wondered how people can name shopping as an enjoyable activity but of late I have been alarmed to find myself enjoying the experience.  In our afternoon rambles J and I have tested perfumes, looked at clothes and bought make up together.   Just yesterday we made an unplanned purchase of sandals.  While it’s fun to have someone to indulge in girly pursuits (something I have never really allowed myself to do,) J and I often laugh about our afternoons.  How a world away they are from a few weeks ago and we wonder if we have begun to live up to the stereotype of ladies who lunch!  Ok we are more likely to shop in OVS (think Italian H&M) than Gucci but there is a definite shopping as entertainment vibe about us. 

So, long almost empty days, warm sun, good coffee in a picture postcard piazza, conversation, gelato and retail fun we really are living la dolce vita – I mean just substitute the Veneto for Tuscan setting and we could almost write the book about unsatisfied Anglos heading off to Italy, getting to grips with the different culture and learning the joys of life.  The only difference is we do have to worry about where the funds for all this are coming from and as much as I’m enjoying this I’m well aware it can’t go on forever and soon I’m going to have to put my head down and find something that will see me through the summer.  

NB This post is dedicated to J, a person who makes life in Italy so much better than it already is.     

The living in Italy days

Generally living in Italy is a whole sack load of fun but there are things to get used to and little idiosyncrasies to overcome.  The best way to look at these things are as a challenge – where else can you live where going to the post office  is a challenge or getting the internet connected an achievement.  Having said that there are those days when the challenges wear you down and every now and then there is a little break down – we call these the “I’m living in Italy” days. Days when you want just one thing to be easy or efficient, days when you long to be able to talk to someone who shares your experience, days when all you want is a hug from a loved one. When these days hit the only thing you can do is remind yourself that you chose to be here and get on with things.

It was in this mood that J called me on Sunday morning and we convened over coffee to talk.  Talking is about all you can do in these situations – Italy will be what it will be and none of us are arrogant enough to demand that it change to suit us but it is good to know that it is not just you who has days like these.  After talking through our various living in Italy stresses we had to think about just what to do for the rest of our Sunday.  Given that we were both less than enthusiastic about life at the time. On a whim we decided to hit the beach.  T joined us and after a rush home to grab togs and towels it was on the road to Jesolo.

 

Having been blessed with Australian beaches for the best part of a decade Jesolo comes as a bit of a shock to the system.   It boasts that it is one of the longest beaches in the world and I’m sure it would have been beautiful once.  Today it is over developed with ugly beachside hotels so much so that it actually makes Benidorm look picturesque.  Like many a European beach the acres of sand are covered with almost fascistly neat rows of sun loungers which cost a pretty penny to use.  The water is shallow and way to warm for me who has got used to swimming in the ocean but as it’s the most accessible beach from Treviso it serves as the default hang out for the summer.

Back in Treviso and feeling pretty shiny

As the season is not yet in full swing the place was mercifully empty after a walk along the beach it was time to do some serious lazing in the sun.  Snoozing and chatting in the warm sun watching T’s pale Scottish beauty turn to an angry shade of lobster red our souls began to revive and life began to seem beautiful again.  Like almost every seaside town Jesolo is filled with cheap souvenir shops selling tacky items that for some reason are the most desired objects for children – knock off sunglasses, animal figures made entirely of shells, paper thin sun hats and novelty ashtrays.  While I never want to make a purchase I love exploring the tackier side of tourist life.  A final stop at a bar where the Asian style sofas went part of the way to disguising the fact that you are actually situated at a busy roundabout in Italy then it was back to Treviso with our souls revived and newly purchased sunglasses on our faces. 

 As we got back to Treviso the sky darkened and the heavens opened.  Treviso was the same as we left it but our moods were up and ready for the next challenge that Italy will inevitably send our way.

15 go mad in Venice

Was tagged in Osteria ......... 

It used to be a case of wake up, see how you feel, drag yourself out of bed, mainline coffee and slowly piece events together.  Today thanks to facebook by the time your bleary eyes open the previous nights antics have probably been shared with a good couple of hundred people.  It’s with a very real sense of trepidation that you log on to the net, navigate to facebook and get ready to remove tags from photos your friends have kindly uploaded.  Last Sunday I woke to find my facebook page looking something like this:

Thanks to modern technology creating phones smarter than me every moment of the previous night seemed to have been documented and the list of bars I’d been tagged in was embarrassingly long.  Last week it was J’s birthday and in honour of the event a gang of us went to Venice.  The idea was a tour of bacari (traditional Venetian drinking establishments) and seeing that I am famed for knowing Venice I was entrusted with navigating the 15-20 of us to the best spots in town.  As ever getting more than four people together and on the same train is a feat of organisation and we were no different resulting in two of us arriving in Venice a full hour before the main party (we got the intended train I may hasten to add.)  When we did all meet up it quickly became apparent that everyone in our party was intent on having the same good time although I was dismayed to find at our first stop the British half of the table ordering prosecco and Italian side coffee – I mean geez guys. 

Taking in the beauty between bars two and three

Now to give you a bar by bar account of the night would be a little boring but as ever I was in my element taking people around this incredible city and Venice is the perfect place for a bar crawl – small enough to not need public transport, yet big enough to sober up between bars, in fact the only real drawback is the risk of falling into a canal.   This was the first time that I had shown locals around their own back yard and my Italian friends were most impressed by this Brit’s knowledge of Venetian topography and more importantly the best places to get a drink.  Venice is so full of history that inevitably almost every building has a story attached to it and one of the fun things about bar hoping in Venice is that you get to say things like “the next bar’s near Marco Polo’s house.”  I always get a kick out of saying things like that.    

    

The achievement of the night was getting our entire party on the last train back to Treviso – no small feat and although we all got on the same train we were not exactly together but that’s just a detail.  Arriving back to Treviso at 12.30 the sensible option would have been to wish J a happy birthday say our goodbyes and head home but we had been drinking for the best part of 7 hours and we all know ability to reason is directly linked to blood alcohol content so we carried on. 

Between bars five and six, err I think

Now let’s face it Treviso is not what you would call a twenty four hour city and most late night places close by two and by the appointed hour when most people called it a night there were three of us left standing and I found myself in Treviso’s very own slice of crazy.  They say that when you make it to the No1 bar you have been in Treviso too long.  It’s the only place to go if you want a drink at 7am.  Stepping into No1 bar is akin to walking into a David Lynch movie it is at once suburbanly normal, freakily nightmarish and surreally banal.  The decor is white- white walls, white floor, large white sofas.  My companions informed me that the place had recently been refurbished – prior the floors were covered in a red carpet that made the place feel like the red room.  The walls are decorated with cheap pictures on a native American theme in the corner entertainment is provided by an aging crooner singing hits from the 80s (that night it was Phil Collins and Peter Cetera)  with a tinny old casio keyboard that looks to be of the same era as it’s player.  As for the clientele, well that was the depressing part.  Sad middle aged men and over dolled up women for whose company payment is required.  There’s been a few times when I have felt myself straying into David Lynch’s world and I always try to attach the place to one of his works (thankfully I’ve never encountered easerhead and hope I never do.) No1 bar I would put somewhere between Blue Velvet and Twin Peaks.  

The next morning I work after a couple of hours sleep feeling a lot better than I deserved to (thanks in part to the drink ease and bottle of water I had left out for myself.)  Sunday would be about recovery.  Everyone seems to have their own recovery ritual and for me it’s coffee, water and a big bowl of nasi goreng.  There’s something about the greasy goodness of the fried rice, the chilli kick of the sambal oelek and the protein in the egg that makes the dish perfect after a big night.  My Italian friends can’t understand how I can eat such a meal at breakfast but it’s served the Indonesians well for years. 

Logging on the net to begin the remove tag ritual I was amazed to find that I’d slept through a rather significant earthquake.  The first of the (at rough count) 100 pictures of the evening were emerging as were stories of the morning after.  I spent the day much like everyone else snoozing, drinking lots and lots of water and declaring getting dressed a significant achievement.  That evening as many of us reconvened most people were accounted for and only one was missing in action that is, unable to get out of bed and all of us were operating on a low blue flame.  While I don’t think I can do a night like that again for a very, very long time it is worth noting that we only got through three of Venice’s sestieri so the crawl is only half done...

On the road with Jen and Raj

The dread starts on Thursday afternoons.  At some point J and look at each other and one of us says “I don’t want to go to tomorrow.”  Yet go we must and this week in a cruel twist of fate we had to make the journey twice.

Since J and I were thrown together by the same workplace we have shared many a mile on the roads of the Veneto. While there have been fun adventures in the mountains or to one of the endless picture postcards towns that Italy seems to specialise in for the most part our road trips have been the painful Friday ritual.  Our trips to the mineral powder company have become the sort of adventure we would sell our first born or avoid.  

     

Not that the trip is entirely bad, over the months and many an hour in the car together we’ve got to know each other pretty well.  Previous evening antics and coming weekend adventures are planned and discussed.  Past experiences and trials of living in Italy are dissected and all with the passing background of the always the same faceless middle of nowhere Veneto.

In driving terms after 5 years in Italy J has gone native.  Traffic lights are often more a guide to road behaviour than law and any kind of bad driving from other road users is greeted with a stream of invective that is quite unbritish. Not just swearing but the sort of gestures that leave no driver looking in the rear view mirror in any doubt about what J thinks of them.  Recently I have noticed the creeping Italianisation in myself – even as a passenger I now react to stupid driving as if I was moral affront.

Coffee or something stronger stop

Very early into our time we discovered that if we were going to get through this coffee was going to be an essential.  We quickly came upon our regular coffee stop – Vega Benzina, Scorze – (Vega Benzina is a service station.) At first the proprietors of this out in the middle of nowhere servo didn’t quite know what to make of two British women coming in for coffee at 9.30 every Friday but now we’re regulars.   As we sip our cappuccinos (and more than once plan exactly what we are going to teach for the next three hours) it’s not unusual to find ourselves surrounded by Italians knocking back a prosecco or something a little stronger.  Am I the only one to find it bizarre to find a fully stocked bar are a service station out in the middle of nowhere?  Am I the only one who finds it bizarre to see people enjoying a glass of wine or something stronger at 9.30 in the morning?  No wonder this place has such a problem with drink driving.

Our destination  - oh the horror.

Why do we hate the journey so much?  Well in part it’s the fact that for 3 hours teaching we use an additional hour going there and coming back.  The main thing is that our destination has to be the most depressing and desolate place in the Veneto.  I call it the armpit of the Veneto (it’s not even interesting enough to be the groin.)  The company we teach in has an atmosphere that’s two parts Wernham hogg and one part button moon and those three hours are the longest hours of my week.

The drive back is a relief and we both have a set of markers that mean we’re getting nearer to home – there’s the jogger who come hail or high water is always on the road, the oversize modal horse outside the riding shop, the sign that reads “sexy shop” (I can never seem to make Italians understand why that’s so funny) and finally the porta della pace which means we’re back and we can forget about Wernham Hogg for a week.

The Rome Diary

Hard to believe but this used to be at the end of my street

A long, long time ago when I was fresh out of University I spent a hedonistic summer kicking around Rome.  As much as I loved that summer and Rome I had never managed to go back until last week when yet another Italian holiday gave me four days of freedom and the opportunity to hop a train to the capital. 

My reintroduction to Rome began at Termini station and immediately the world was different.  The Termini of 1998 was a tired, dingy place where among the legions of tourists was a constant population of seedy characters.  Often I would find myself walking past a poor junkie on the way to oblivion with the needle still in a vein.  Today the place has been cleaned up, it’s all polished surfaces and bright shops with the same interior design that renders airport terminals bland retail nightmares.  Outside the station it was heartening to see that all of Rome hadn’t succumbed to march of consumer progress – the main bus station was as chaotic as I remember it.  It was always an endeavour finding your bus but with half the square ripped up it was a double drama.  Weaving my way passed bewildered visitors, taxis and impromptu stalls selling pope branded cigarette lighters and novelty aprons, breathing in the warm air mixed with petrol fumes I realised that the last place I felt to be this chaotic was New Dehli train station.  Given the situation I impressed myself by locating the 170 bus in minutes, on the bus driving past many an iconic edifice that for now was just a fancy traffic island I quickly realised that I was no longer in the reserved north.  As soon as the bus got moving people started to talking to each other by the end of the 20 minute journey my life story had been gleaned by the lovely (yet a little nosey) old ladies.

Off the bus I was met by my host the genial R.  I’d never met R before but he had offered to host me in exchange for an Indian meal – this cooking thing is proving most useful.  R lives in Trastervere which in 98 was my absolute favourite part of the city and after dinner we headed out for a walk and a few drinks.  It’s funny how memories play tricks on you and I always remember Trastervere to be a reasonably quiet place with the main part of the city being the place that was packed but Friday night Trastervere was heaving with people.  But it wasn’t my memory playing tricks rather having lived in Treviso for a year I have become desensitised to city life.  Suddenly I found public transport that ran past midnight a novelty! Taking a tram was exciting again, and I found the whole place amazingly noisy and the traffic – well that was something else. 

The Roman traffic is a dog eat dog world and for the pedestrian a daily trauma and your companion asking “are you ready to die?” as you negotiate a pedestrian crossing is a little disconcerting.  R explained that there is a procedure to crossing roads in Rome, if you cross while traffic light is green cars will most likely aim for you and you will die.  When the traffic light changes to red cars will still run the light but you can step out and drivers will do their level best to avoid you.  (and to think I used to make sure I crossed with a nun!) You must maintain your walking pace which allows drivers to anticipate your trajectory.  With this helpful advice I only managed to nearly get killed once over the whole weekend.

The first day and finally after what seems like weeks of rain the sun came out and I walked through Trastervere to the Vatican and my old street (not in the Vatican city but very close.)  It was a very nostalgic walk for me everything looked the same but different.  All those years ago you didn’t have to walk through metal detectors to enter the basilica.  Anyone who knows me and as my friends in Argentina can attest I have a love for religious kitsch and the streets around the Vatican provide me with ample fun – glow in the dark rosary beads, Vatican ash trays and the like, still nothing tops the pope bottle opener (or popener as I like to call it.)  

     

Sunday and after a couple of happy hours trawling the Porta Portese markets I accompanied my host to a birthday picnic in a park that was another favourite place of mine all those years ago.  My host failed to mention that the birthday girl is Australian and I found myself among a small expat Australian community.  It seems an age since I was in Australia and it was great to be back in the company of convivial Aussies and to not have to explain my cultural references for once! 

The thank you meal

Monday was the day when I finally had to pay for my accommodation and cook a feast.  After a long and lazy morning wondering the sights of Rome it was back to home to prep for the night.  Word of R having temporary live in curry cook had got around and there was going to be quite a little group for dinner.   As I got down to cooking my host went about documenting the process taking a seemingly endless number of photographs – me chopping onions, me rubbing spices into meat, me throwing spices into a dish, me stirring dish and so on and on.  As the evening wore on the kitchen filled with wonderful smells and expectant faces and I’ve never had so many willing sous chefs.  It being a warm evening we ate on the terrazzo.  The food was a hit and there were more than one suggestion of a Rome relocation (although I’m not sure Trevisans are willing to give up their Indian cook.) My Roman weekend finished in the best way – sitting outside on a warm evening and sharing food with lovely people.  The next morning there was just enough time for a morning coffee with my host before it was back to Termini and the frecciarossa back to what now seems a terminally quiet Treviso.  I can’t quite believe I left so long between visits and only hope I don’t leave it another 14 years before I’m back.