Category Archives: Italy

Overall thoughts on Italy and things we do

Summer; slowly; puppy-proofing

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Finally, it is here.

The temperature in my flat, with all windows open, is 30°C. Last night it reached a low of about 25°C (according to the weather forecast I use).

I am happy but slower, of course. I am also, after going to the supermarket, sweating so I am sitting here for a moment, typing this whilst I ‘dry off’ a bit. Before going out again. Slowly, of course. On the other hand, both Dino and F are not so happy. Dino cannot get cool enough and, at times, seems to be trying to dig through the floor (to get to cooler earth???). Obviously, he doesn’t realise that we are on the third floor and so, if he ever did manage to dig through the concrete, he would be in the flat below! Now, he can’t be walked in the middle of the day. It’s too uncomfortable for him. I wait until about 8 when the sun is lower – even then it’s really too hot for him, poor thing.

We are not in Carrara this weekend. F is supposed to be working but has done his back in again and so is currently at home. So this weekend, the plan was to ‘puppy-proof’ the flat. Which I will start this afternoon.

Puppy-proofing will be difficult, I think. When we got Dino we were able to close off the lounge. Here, I am unable to do that and, anyway, I need the lounge for the newspaper.

So, all rugs must be lifted; all books must be put into the bookcase; all videos stored away from the bottom shelf in the hall. There will be other things too. I have an idea for protecting the table legs and chair legs in the lounge which is to get some thick plastic and tie round them. The ones in the kitchen don’t really matter. There will be things that I will miss, of course. It’s one of the prices you pay.

Still, we have not decided. Now I am so busy that, if I don’t go this weekend and choose, it won’t happen. I really want F there too (to help choose) but I’m guessing he won’t come. Maybe I go tomorrow.

In any event, it is summer and Piero should be here in the next 3 weeks or so. I am so excited. It will be exhausting but fun.

Death Valley – UK High Street

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It was so sad. So down-at-heel. So without inspiration or hope or anything. It could have been in one of the most run down suburbs of any large town. Some shops were closed. Some shops looked like they were about to close. The shops selling things for £1 or less were stacked to the gills with gaudiness and tackiness.

Everything seemed to be on sale. No, everything seemed to be cheap both in price and quality. Every building seemed like it needed a facelift.

Oh, there was no litter anywhere, nor any graffiti. People used the ashtrays provided so there wasn’t even a cigarette butt to see. So it SHOULD have looked better, shouldn’t it? But it didn’t. It looked shabby.

There weren’t many people around either. And those that were there looked burdened by poverty and miserableness and unhappiness and dread. People slouched and seemed to drag their feet. Like all hope had been sucked out of them. Like there had been a plague of Deatheaters (re: Harry Potter) seconds before.

But, then, it’s not a “quaint” town with “things to see” or, at least, not famous ones. No one I have ever known has said “Let’s go to Wolverhampton!”

It only took a few moments to feel as depressed by it as it all looked; as all the people looked! We walk along the street in order to ‘look around’ and, maybe, buy something but within those few moments, all I wanted to do was to go back to the hotel.

There is no ‘town centre’ any more – just ‘death valley’. I forced myself to buy some sandals. I looked at buying a T-shirt. But I really did want out of there. It makes it seem more unlikely I could go back.

It’s not to say there aren’t similar ‘dead’ zones in Italy, of course but not, I think, in what should be a major city. Nor is it to say that we don’t have closed and boarded up shops, nor that we don’t have the equivalent of Pound Shops or temporary stores – even on Corso Buenos Aries (a main shopping street in Milan – not far from my house)! But, somehow, it doesn’t seem depressing …….. yet!

They’ve got some woman in the UK government to try and ‘breathe life’ into the high streets of the UK but I think it’s too far late now. Now people are used to going to out-of-town shopping centres or mega superstores. These, in fact, are the new high street.

With the changes that Mr Monti wishes to make in Italy, I think we could have the same disaster here, in about 10 years, which would be such a shame. Some will survive – as long as they are tourist destinations – then the place will be full of gift shops and clothes shops and antiques shops.

No, it was sad to see and horrible to be walking there. I shan’t be doing that again in a hurry.

Villa Singer and a wedding.

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Yesterday was a wedding.

An Italian wedding. But not like an Italian wedding at all. There weren’t a thousand and one guests; there wasn’t a wedding breakfast which had 100 courses; there wasn’t a white dress or top hats and tails. It was, in fact, more like a small, intimate party. And it was truly lovely.

This was one of F’s childhood friends, P, getting married to a banker, A, even though he looks nothing like a banker should look. I have never known P without A and, so, to me they are perfectly right for each other. She, apparently, was a bit wild in her youth (so was F) but can still be a little unexpected now.

The wedding ceremony took place in Piazza Reale, a stone’s throw from the Duomo. It was conducted by one of her ex-boyfriends.

Apart from the happy couple, and F and his friend R, I knew only one other person – L who bears a striking resemblance to Betty Boop! Only a tad older.

We were late for the ceremony (of course), arriving some few minutes after it all started. It had started at 10.

F took photographs. Lots of photographs.

The day was lovely but not too hot. The groom was dressed in white trousers with a white T-shirt and loose white scoop-neck top. The bride wore white trousers, similar top with an off-white jacket. She had had some braiding in her hair and looked lovely.

After the ceremony we went, by metro to Villa Singer (pronounced singe – er). We arrived about mid-day.

The first picture you see on the link was, more or less, how it was. It’s a not-so-big garden, next to one of Milan’s old canals. Tranquil, beautiful and the perfect setting for a wedding reception. It wasn’t many courses but, rather, a buffet that included fried courgette flowers, oysters, grilled green chilli-like peppers with anchovies, courgette mouse, vegetarian lasagne and a cake that was beautiful sponge covered with lashings of whipped cream and raspberries and strawberries. I had two slices :-)

There was prosecco (Italian champagne) and white wine or, for those who were not drinking, water and grapefruit juice. I wasn’t one of the last group.

We drank and ate and chatted and laughed. There were about 25 people so large enough not to get bored but small enough that you chatted to everyone and I met some really nice people (which is normal). It was all delightful.

Inside the house the rooms, full of antique furniture were open for you to walk round – and I did for a few moments.

But it was all so relaxed and, even if it is an overused word, nice. It was like being at a small garden party with friends, drinking in the afternoon sun (in both senses).

I watched F, from time to time, being the joker and centre of attention – but not in a bad way. Everyone loves him but I adore him. Someone (it may have been Betty Boop) asked if I would marry him and I said that I would. Of course I would.

And, if we did get married, I would want a wedding like this.

We left about 6. It was wonderful and I was really happy that I had been asked to go and that we went.

I am in a Tim Burton film!

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Nope! Still too much to do and not much time. And we have visitors here, at my ‘real’ job – so I’m just catching a few moments.

And tell you a story: but it may take more than one attempt.

It’s the Hay Festival going on right now. And, maybe that’s the key.

I’m not at the Festival, as such, but, rather near there. Or, at least, staying at the Crown. This is a pub/hotel. Even if this is not THE Crown, as in the one in Hay itself, it’s close by. I know this because the bar is packed with festival goers and authors and others. There are lots of people I know and I am fast becoming quite drunk. It feels as if it is my birthday or something. As if it’s a party for me, even if it’s not.

Then a ‘blast from the past’ walks in. A guy named Mike. He used to be one of the company’s trainers but I knew him when we were trainers well before that. He had a drink problem. A serious drink problem. We tried very hard to patch him up. The last I had heard was that he had finally solved the problem and the drink problem was no more.

It was unexpected, seeing him.

“Hi Mike!”, I said. I grinned because it was so nice to see him. However, he seemed a bit shifty. I asked him how he was. He evaded the question. I asked him again but he wasn’t giving an answer.

Then K walked in. Another surprise. We chatted for a bit.

Then someone rang the telephone at the bar and asked for me.

It was John. For some time we were owners of the company until one of the recessions took hold and John left to become a contractor. We had remained friends after that. Again, John had worked at the same company as Mike where I had been a trainer. So we all knew each other quite well.

“You’ll never believe it”, I exclaimed, “but both Mike and K are here”.

I went on to explain about Mike seeming a bit down and pondered whether it was that he had taken up drinking again.

The call ended.

I went back to the place where K and Mike were and told them that John had telephoned. I was really happy to have had the chance to speak to him. It had been many years.

Then, someone said:

“But, didn’t John die some years back?”

Ah yes, in both my drunken stupour and the happiness of this whole evening, I had forgotten that John was, in fact, dead, having died some years ago.

“How strange”, I said. It gave me a slightly weird feeling.

But I shrugged it off. It had certainly ‘been him’ on the phone and, yet, it couldn’t have been. Ah well.

The night carried on and I carried on drinking. At one point, I went to the toilet. As I walked in to an empty Gents, I heard someone coming in as well. I turned round. It was John!

“John”, I said, “What are you doing? Are you trying to scare me or something?”

He didn’t reply. That may have been because, although it was certainly him, dressed in a long raincoat, he didn’t have a head.

“C’mon John”, I asked, where’s your head?”. And I laughed.

I went back to the bar. There, sitting at a bar stool near to where I had been was P, John’s wife! I couldn’t believe after what had happened that she was here! Standing behind her was R, her (and John’s) eldest son.

“P”, I exclaimed, “how lovely to see you!”

I went on to tell her about the strange phone call and then seeing him, headless, in the bathroom. She started to weep. I know they were close. I turned for a moment at some distraction. When I turned back, she and R had gone. I went looking for them. I really didn’t want P to be upset over what I had told her. I couldn’t find them.

Later still, I was very drunk. I don’t remember going to my room but obviously I got there.

In the morning, on waking, I found that my room didn’t seem to have a bathroom. I went out of my room door which opened into the bar area where they were already serving breakfast. I went up to a waitress.

“Excuse me’, I said.

“I don’t have time now Sir. Please wait your turn”. She was abrupt. But I needed the bathroom. And I needed to shower. Today I was going home to F and I wanted to go home. I didn’t feel particularly bad (i.e. no bad headache, etc.) but my mouth was all ‘fuzzy’.

“Look”, I replied, tersely, “I don’t want breakfast but I do need the bathroom and there isn’t one in my room”.

“It’s the door round the corner of your room”, she replied, seemingly annoyed that I seemed so stupid.

I went back to the room. I went round a corner into a small area that I had failed to notice before and, sure enough was the door.

I went into the bathroom. I went to the mirror. I was looking at myself to see how I looked.

Except the mirror image wasn’t looking back at me but had its head down, so I could see the top of my head. I needed to force myself to lift my head. My forehead seemed abnormally large, more like an alien than a human. God, I thought, I must be feeling much rougher than I thought!

As I raised my head, my eyes came into view. A shockingly piercing but slightly dark blue set of irises looked back at me. Almost with malevolence. The blacks of the pupils seemed to be much blacker than usual and bigger – but this blue of the eyes was unreal.

I needed to shower. From the bathroom was another door. I didn’t want to go out and ask again. I found the door locked but one of the keys on the hotel key fob opened it.

I was outside. Into a garden. But the garden was also the shower. There were shower heads dotted around the garden with soap near each one. As I walked nearer to each shower, the shower started automatically. The temperature was perfect, some had aromatic smells, some plain water, some had coloured water. I started to shower.

Then some other people came into the garden. They wore swimming costumes. I didn’t know there were other people allowed. One of them said that I shouldn’t be naked. They had been told to always wear a costume. I explained that I hadn’t been told that and went to another shower to continue showering.

But this John thing was worrying me. I mean, what did it all mean? This was starting to resemble some sort of ghost story thing! I wanted to get home.

But what of John? And what the hell was I doing, naked, trying to shower in a GARDEN?

I woke up. It was, in fact, about half past midnight, last night!

As some of my weird dreams go, that has got to be one of the very strangest. As F said, when I told him a little of it this morning, it resembled a Tim Burton film!

A little uncertainty

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I’ve got more to say about Vienna – but no time right now.

In the meantime, since we’ve been back, there’s a touch of uncertainty in the air. It seems F is looking for a change.

However, I have learnt that, just like V, he tends to say things that aren’t always followed through. I learnt, too, whilst in Vienna, that the problem with Brazil was that it was just too far away. Apparently. Obviously, for me it wasn’t a problem.

Now we are considering Vienna. And doing a B&B. He’s looking for a sponsor. He’s fed up with work. I’ve now heard this for three nights in a row, so maybe it’s true. We shall see. For me, it’s not a problem. I liked Vienna very much. Especially as they are a) more dog friendly; b) permit smoking in bars and restaurants (although, to be honest, I’ve got used to going outside); c) it’s cleaner than Italy (I mean no rubbish on the streets, etc.) and d) I can always teach English and do copy-editing.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve kind of ‘done’ Italy now – in that I’ve been here 7 years, more or less, and survived. Of course, I would be very happy to stay here but I’m equally happy to move now, even to the other side of the world and even at my advanced age. After all, new challenges might be fun.

But, as I said earlier, F can be a little like V sometimes. What he says will happen won’t always happen, so I won’t be holding my breath.

But, you know, Vienna might just be a nice place to live?

Dino goes abroad

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Oh yes, we have photos. Lots of them.

99% of which are of Dino.

It was a Dino holiday. And his first time abroad. I’d taken his passport, just in case, but it wasn’t needed.

Sure we saw some nice buildings and museums – but only from the outside. The program for each day was – 9 – 10 a.m. – Take Dino for a walk. Maybe have coffee or lunch. Walk around. 3 – 6 p.m. – Return to the flat we had rented and rest. All of us. 8 – 9 p.m. – Leave Dino in the flat and go out.

Bless him, he was so exhausted.

We walked in parks; around buildings; up and down Vienna.

One time, we met up with an old friend/colleague of F’s, for lunch. The weather was spectacular and this particular day, very hot. We sat ourselves down at one of the tables outside.

I said, “I need to go to the bathroom but when the waitress comes, can you ask for some water for Dino, please?”

I came back and Dino had water. Apparently, the waitress had come to the table with a dog bowl full of water BEFORE she brought the menus! How good is that?

And he was loved even more than in Italy. Children wanted to stroke him; people stopped us and asked if he was a Bobtail (Old English Sheepdog). He was, in fact, the centre of attention nearly all the time.

I think he liked going abroad. Especially as he was with us nearly all the time. :-D

Holiday and illness

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“The first time we book a holiday and THIS happens”.

He was really upset, even if it’s not. It is neither the first time we’ve booked a holiday nor the first time he’s got ill when we’ve been going to do something.

But he is genuinely upset as it is an important holiday. For ’tis the trip to Vienna.

For him: the most wonderful city in the world and where he would like to live.

For me: Much further North than I care to be. Risk of severe cold and rain (although, thank goodness, not snow).

On the plus side – they do strudel – which is the only thing that, for me, Austria has going for it. I remember the last time in Austria – a holiday, in August. the day after we left, they had severe flooding in the valley we had been in because it had not stopped raining for two weeks – the very same two weeks we were there. OK, I exaggerate a bit (but only a bit – we did have one or two nice days). But, there was the strudel!

But back to this trip.

It is an important trip in many ways. He wants to ‘show me round’ and, quite possibly, for me to love it as he does; he wants to visit the mother of a close friend who committed suicide (not long after we met); his friend (who lives there) REALLY wants us to come. I guess that’s enough reasons.

And we’re taking Dino.

Except, of course, for this small hiccough.

“It says 37.4″, he tells me after he has taken his temperature.

But I am crap at all this sort of stuff.

“Is that bad?”, I ask, adding, “I don’t know what it’s supposed to be”. He tells me what it’s supposed to be. I have already forgotten but something like 36, I think. Let’s be honest, later, I felt his forehead and it was very hot. I don’t need a thermometer to tell me he has a fever.

But he has a determination about this. He really, really wants to go. Or, maybe, he really, really wants to take me. Or Dino. One of those things anyway.

So, in spite of the fact that he had the same temperature at 7 this morning, he has taken Dino to the hairdressers and, I suspect, we shall go anyway, taking plenty of Lemsips with us!

So I shan’t be posting for the next (almost) week whilst we are driving to and from and staying in, Vienna. I have no computer and no computer access. Bliss :-)

In any event, I love going on holiday with him and, to be honest, I don’t care where we go, as long as we’re together.

Although the strudel is sounding rather good :-)

Just like a film?

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Well, I can’t explain it at all. So this isn’t really going to be a post that makes sense.

Sometimes this happens and it happened this morning. Actually, more or less ALL morning so far.

I feel there’s something wrong. It’s almost as if I am watching a film of myself, as if I’m not really experiencing this. Make sense to you? No, probably not.

So there’s this feeling that something is wrong but there is no pointer as to what may be wrong. It’s more like when you walk into a room and something is out of place but you can’t see what is out of place but it makes the room look different and ‘not quite right’.

Or if you walk into a crowded room and everyone immediately stops talking and looks at you.

It’s just a feeling. There’s nothing of any substance that you can put your finger on. Everything appears to be normal but it’s not. I mean to say, it is normal but, behind it all, something is abnormal.

It doesn’t really cause any ‘pain’ but it’s a little uncomfortable. As If I should do something to stave off this impending wrongness by fixing something but since I don’t know what IS wrong, it’s difficult to fix.

This morning I felt like I was going to work after a few weeks off. How strange is that? Worse still, it felt like I hadn’t driven my car for weeks when, in fact, I had driven to the airport to collect F only yesterday!

It made me feel like I shouldn’t be going to work – or, at least, not this work in this place. That goes with a growing feeling that I should really get off my arse and do something about finding something a little more personally rewarding (as well as financially rewarding, I suppose) – but it doesn’t explain how wrong it all felt. How wrong it all feels.

So, there you go. There’s no point to this post other than to tell you how strange I feel.

Hotel Castelbarco; Bergamo – Città Alta; Crespi d’Adda – a night away

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Sorry. Been busy. Still am.

But taking a break for a moment.

Saturday night we spent in a hotel not far from Milan, the Hotel Castelbarco, near Vaprio d’Adda.

Vaprio is a small town just outside Milan, on the river Adda, hence its name.

It was a Groupon voucher thing that I got about 6 months ago and, so, as normal, we were running out of time!

It was for one night’s B&B.

The hotel was formerly the stables, etc. of a rather grand house, now used for functions (such as weddings). The grounds are spread along the river Adda. To the left of the great house are the stables and so on (now the hotel) and to the right are some other buildings (maybe new) that are now a restaurant, bar and night club complex (more on that later).

To be honest, I wouldn’t say the hotel was WOW! but it was quite nice and very, very clean. The breakfast was ample. As normal with Italian hotels that have been converted, the walls are paper thin and the woman with her stilettos that she continued to wear as (it seemed) she danced for an hour round the room next door, didn’t help. But, that aside, it was fine.

We arrived at something like 3 p.m. on the Saturday afternoon. It had been raining on and off. Fine rain or drizzle, not the normal Italian downpour, thank goodness.

We got in our room and dumped everything and left for Bergamo.

I’ve always wanted to visit Bergamo, more famed by the British for it’s airport that receives Ryanair jets from the UK. But there are two Bergamos – Bassa and Alta – and I had heard that Bergamo Alta was really quite a lovely city – being the original city built long before flying started and, as normal in Italy, on a hill.

And, pretty it was. A small medieval town with cobbled, narrow streets opening out, from time to time, on small squares or, in one case, the Piazza Vecchio (Old Square).

The cathedral (although it might just be a church) was wonderful, if not a little strange. There seemed to be a great mix of styles from Medieval to baroque – but it was lovely. We were both hungry so stopped for some lunch at Al Donizetti.

Although there was some very fine rain, it didn’t seem so cold and there was, waht seemed like, an old ‘market place’ under which they had tables. People were there eating without coats and so we chose to eat ‘outside’. that was possibly a mistake as it started to rain heavily and we ended up not taking our coats off at all!

It was also very touristy. But, then, the whole of Bergamo was very touristy – full of restaurants and bars, particularly those advertising their beers.

But the food was good and the service pleasant and, had it been a little warmer, it would have been lovely. We shared a plate of cold meats including lardo and some rather fine boiled and cured hams and then F had some polenta with mushrooms in a sauce and I had tomasino (a flat round cheese) with speck (they said it would be ‘crispy’ but it wasn’t so I wondered if that got lost in translation) on a bed of raddicchio done in a red wine sauce. It was rather lovely. The wine was good.

The only thing that let it down, in my opinion, was the sweets. I’m sure they were home-made but the pear and chocolate tart that I had was neither chocolatey nor pearey enough for me. The ricotta cake that F had was, to me, just stodgy without real taste . However, overall it was good.

We walked around the town for a bit, in, what was now, drizzle and light rain or, occasionally, no rain at all!

It was all very nice.

We had decided that, rather than eat in Bergamo and then have to drive to the hotel afterwards, we would go back to the hotel and eat there.

And so we did.

To get to the restaurant from the hotel, one can walk but, given that it could rain at any time, we drove.

The car park was overflowing. It made us a bit worried that the restaurant would be full. We eventually found the entrance (for it was not well signposted) and it was, in fact, the entrance to the bar and nightclub. When we explained that we wanted to go to the restaurant, he took us through to it.

If I say that it was being in a restaurant of a fairly cheap, 90s hotel, I think you’ll get the idea. If it wasn’t that I really didn’t want to have to drive around (having already have had a little less than half a bottle of wine at lunchtime), I would have suggested going somewhere – anywhere – else.

But it was all too late now. We were in Cubeba, famed, according to its card, for food, drink and dance!

And the food was more like something one would receive at Little Chef! Don’t get me wrong, Little Chefs are great places for food – for a very reasonable price. This was overpriced and the musak far too loud (to drive out the sound of the bar music, I suppose). I mean, it was OK but nothing WOW!

However, next door, it seemed the whole of Vaprio and it’s surrounding villages had come for they were having a ‘Fashion Night’. We went out for a cigarette at one point but, because we had to go through (a little bit) the bar, we had to have our hand stamped to prove we were entitled to go back in without having to pay! Not really what I expect from any decent restaurant.

The waitress, who seemed new, tried her best and, so, for us, we left a good tip. For the food I would have taken some money away! For the ambience, we should have had the whole thing free.

However, F did notice that, on Friday nights, they had their ‘Beautiful People’ night. It made us both laugh.

The next day, after breakfast, I had planned to take F to Crespi d’Adda, where he had never been.

It is a ‘workers village’ built by the Crespi family to house the workers for the factory they built next to the village. They say he was inspired by the model villages he saw in the UK during a trip there and I guess they were right in that it does have quite an ‘English’ feel to it.

I had been worried because of the rain forecast but, in the end, we were lucky with sunshine and warmth and a lovely trip round the village. This time I had looked it up on the net (see link above) and so had a better idea of where to go and what to see. It was a shame we couldn’t really get to see the owner’s ‘castle’ but the rest of it was just as I remembered it. F really enjoyed it.

Then we came home as F had to get ready to go to Germany which is where he is now.

Overall I would give 3 or 4 stars to the hotel, 4 stars to the restaurant in Bergamo and 1 star (for the waitress) for Cubeba. Next time I’ll try and remember to find out about the hotel restaurant first, before we try it!