Tag Archives: Holiday

It’s a drag

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There are so many things to do.

Instead, I am at work, doing nothing of importance since most people are on holiday or we are waiting for some answers (which never seem to come).

And, so, I sit here, waiting for the time to go. To go and do some useful things.

I have a couple of things to iron. And I really should pack (and NOT leave it until the last minute – like tomorrow night at about 8 p.m.) and get stuff ready for the dogs and things like that.

I have one telephone lesson tonight – but that’s only about half an hour.

And, again, I feel like I can’t hurry this along enough.

This blog will be slightly closed for a couple of weeks since I am not taking a computer and do not intend to go to an Internet café. Obviously, I will be writing stuff – in long hand – like the olden days – and then some of them may be transferred here as posts when I’m back.

If you’re going away, then have a good holiday. If not then have a good fortnight.

p.s. there won’t be enough posts to post my 1000th post before I go and so it will wait until I get back although I have written it already.

p.p.s. I suppose I might come back to a land of disarray, if Italy gets dragged into the same boat as Portugal, Greece and Ireland.

p.p.p.s I see that our marvelous British tabloid papers are getting all excited about the thought of the MPs debating capital punishment because it’s ‘what the people want’. I’d just like to say that when there was a lot of rumpus about paedophilia, a paediatrician’s house got attacked by a mob of upstanding British subjects. Apparently that’s what ‘the people’ wanted. Just ‘cos they want something doesn’t make it right. People! Bloody dangerous, if you ask me, especially when their thoughts are stoked by the tabloid press.

Words and deeds. Chalk and cheese.

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Just like eating food, here, means that people talk about food, so going on holiday leads to people talking about holidays. Not always this one but future ones.

Sunday. Lunch. It was F’s Dad’s birthday and it reminded me that it was only a year ago when I first met ‘the Family’. In fact, this time last year, we went to the same restaurant, the day after his birthday. For his birthday, the whole family went to a fantastic restaurant on the side of a mountain. The Sunday was a lunch at a restaurant at the beach.

We’re back at the same restaurant. This time it is different. This time I know the people and they know me. There is talk – of holidays. F is suggesting that we could go to Sicily next year. There is talk of his sister coming plus brother-in-law and niece. Apparently, I learn, they have a house down in Sicily too!

I’ve never been to Sicily. I have been told it is a wonderful place. I would very much like to go. He asks if I would like to go and I say ‘yes’.

There is talk about the travel down there – plane, boats and road. I think F wants to take the plane from Milan. His brother-in-law is suggesting ferries. The first leg to Naples and the second to Messina. It’s cheaper that way. Each journey will be about 6 hours, apparently.

It is accepted that I will be there. I like it a lot. Even if S gets mentioned quite often, it’s not said in any way to make me feel uncomfortable (which it doesn’t). Anyway, it seems that barring the detail, next year it will be Sicily in a house I didn’t know about!

Except.

Of course, words are one thing. Deeds are another.

We’re at Polpetta with An, last night. The talk is of holidays. Her parents have a house in Puglia. F says that we will go there next year. I say it would be lovely. Of course it would. I learn that F hasn’t actually been back to Sicily since he was about 12!!!!!! He says it won’t be a real holiday since it would mean having to go round to relatives all the time. And lots of eating. But, since he hasn’t been there since he was 12, I’m thinking that he doesn’t really know. It’s OK anyway. I know these are words. Words are very different from deeds – at least, to him.

We differ a lot.

I empathise with the Sicily problem although, quite obviously, I don’t see this as a problem. I can empathise because I’ve heard it several times before. So when I say ‘Yes, of course’, I mean ‘Yes, of course, I’ve heard this before’. When I say ‘It’s not really a holiday’, I’m repeating what he has already said to me and not because I actually believe it.

So, this year is set. One week in Carrara followed by one week in Umbria – where we went last year.

Next year is only words. It’s OK. Maybe it will be Sicily or maybe Puglia or maybe just Carrara (He’s mentioned that already as it will be much cheaper). To be honest, I don’t really mind, as long as I’m with him.

Oh yes, and last night it is mentioned that we shall be going to Sardinia in May. Or maybe St Tropez. Or some place in the very south of Spain. It’s his friends 50th birthday and she wants to celebrate big time. I wonder when he knew? I wonder why he’s only told me now? Still, words are only words.

Musings from the beach

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They disliked or maybe, even, despised jewellery on a man. I wonder, then, what they would have thought of the old man at the umbrella before me, wearing his log gold chain with a square of gold dangling from the middle. Hardly a medalion but, then, he’s hardly a medalion man – being, as he is, about mid-70s, where everything is already on its way South and his small breasts in need of some support. I wonder if it all heads South as that is where the ground is and where he will lie sometime (soon?) – almost as if it points the way to his destination?

And then I thought about my parents disliking jewellery on a man and thought that, perhaps, they disliked me as much as I did them. I disliked them for their values – and mine are opposite, to the extreme. Did I get my ‘opposite values’ because I disliked them and theirs or did I get mine first and disliked them (my parents) because their values were not mine.

All this is lost in time. Never to be known. Such is life.

Last Weekend

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Obviously, we’re back online :-)

I’ll be adding posts written in the last few days and here is one:

26/7/11
Well, that was all rather nice. I think they enjoyed it. We didn’t seem to do much except eat and drink and do a little tourist stuff and a bit of shopping and then eat and drink.

My perfect holiday.

We did go to Bagutta, a restaurant in Milan, just behind Via Montenapoleone. We ate in the garden. It wasn’t so hot and there weren’t so many mosquitoes, which was good (although it could have been hotter for me, of course).

The waiter was funny (as in funny, ha ha not funny, strange) but he did bring us fried courgette flowers to start which were delicious. It was the first time that I’ve had them like that. Before they’ve been filled with ricotta cheese or something. I had some culatello (meat – like ham, thinly sliced) with figs. F had prosciutto with figs. I tried some. I should have had that.

I had penne with a ragù sauce (which included peas). We skipped main courses because this was enough! However, I saw that they had raspberries and wild strawberries so I asked for a mix of those with some cream. It was lovely (even if the raspberries were not as tasty as those we had the other week in Cararra.)

We had wine and water and mirto or limoncello at the end. It is expensive, coming to over €270 for the four of us but really nice and the food and service were excellent.

The night before, we had gone to Porca Vacca. F is so taken with that restaurant now that he suggested to An, when we went out for a drink with her on the Sunday night, that we should go this week. So we are going on Wednesday night, apparently.

But the main thing was that D&S enjoyed it – which I think they did.

Lettuce and Cheese

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It’s a summer thing, really. It’s like raspberries and, now, sandals.

I always used to be reminded when Wimbledon was on. Wimbledon and lettuce and cheese sandwiches go together. Oh, yes, and strawberries and cream. My mother used to do the sandwiches. Now, thinking about it as I am writing this, she probably did them so that she didn’t have to interrupt her Wimbledon-watching too much.

There are things I ‘got’ from her. None of the rest of the family did but, even though I can’t say we were ever close, certain things remain as my favourites and were her favourites too. Things like Wimbledon, lettuce and cheese sandwiches, bread and butter pudding, rice pudding, etc., etc. Hmmm, now I look at it, it’s mostly food. I wonder why I have these things – my favourites were her favourites.

Of course, I developed some of these. I actually went to Wimbledon, twice and I don’t think she ever did.

And, lettuce and cheese sandwiches had black pepper added. Nowadays, as it’s harder to get salad cream (impossible here), I have to use mayonnaise. Salad cream has a more acidic flavor and compliments the other ingredients perfectly.

Here, of course, no cheddar either.

So, Saturday, on the beach, I ordered a lettuce, cheese (fontina), and mayonnaise sandwich. Because they don’t have black pepper (for some reason Italians don’t like it and think it’s bad for you – for me, it’s not only essential but it’s also good for you as it is supposed to improve your sex life (I heard that from someone and I’m a great believer in things I like to believe in)), I brought my own black pepper to add.

As I got it (and F’s sandwich) from the bar, the guy said that it was a strange combination. As usual, I replied that I’m English. That’s usually enough for Italians as they think we’re strange. He said that Italians would never choose this sandwich. They would never even think about it as a combination.

I took it back to our place and with the added black pepper it was almost as good as the real thing. Or, maybe that’s because I haven’t had them since, er, last summer?

It seemed a perfect thing to have on the beach, under the hot sun.

Sons and Daughters

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It’s going to be a busy few weeks before the holidays.

Apart from that, it’s also going to be a fattening few weeks with lots of meals out.

So, by the time the holidays come, I shall be, at once, fatter and slimmer – although, probably, the ‘fatter’ part will win through.

I am quite looking forward to next weekend when my son and his wife will be over.

For those of you that have just thought, ‘Have I missed something?’, no, you haven’t. I’m not really being serious. But it’s sort of like that. It’s the guy who got married last year. They’re coming to celebrate their first anniversary here, in Milan. Aw, bless.

Actually, in all these years, only 3 people/couples have come here to Milan to visit me (previously, us). This will be the fourth. In six years.

I hope to be able to help them to enjoy their stay and am taking some days off to do so. During their time here we shall be eating (rather well, I think :-) ), drinking and doing some other things that are less important. Mainly eating and drinking. Oh, and seeing the Last Supper. And, maybe going to the Duomo and, if it’s nice, up to the roof. And, did I mention? Eating and drinking.

I will be enjoying it.

But that’s the weekend after this one. In the meantime, have a good weekend.

From hot and sunny Carrara to the Chicago rain.

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“I hate being in love”

“I always fall in love. I can’t stop it and I hate it”

“I fall in love and then I fall out of love. I’ve had enough of it”, the American girl behind me whined. I wanted to say something. I thought of turning round and saying “That’s life”, but I didn’t.

The morning was on the beach. The temperature was, probably, in the 30s (°C, of course). We had lunch, courtesy of F’s sister at which, because his sister and niece are both taking English lessons, there was an impromptu lesson.

Then we left. I could have stayed there all day but we had Chicago later.

It wasn’t supposed to rain. The forecast said no rain. Everyone’s forecast said no rain. The clouds in the distance were laden with rain. And the lightening, as always, was great to see – as a backdrop, of course. I don’t want it coming any closer. But it did. The spots of rain were large. Wearing sandals, a shirt and some linen trousers didn’t keep me dry.

On the plus side, it stopped the mosquitoes which, until then, had been on a feasting orgy and the smell of Autan was all around. I hate the smell of Autan and try my best never to use it. My thinking is that, if it’s potent enough to ward off mosquitoes, it can’t possibly be good for your skin. A couple of nibbles by the zanzare can’t be as bad. And, anyway, even the people who liberally spray themselves, seem to get bitten just the same.

There was another plus side. With the onset of the rain, many people started to get up and leave or, at least, try to find some shelter. Leaving a number (quite a sizeable number) who headed to the front. The front, for sometime, protected us from the rain but in the end it got us too.

I never did festivals. When you’re young, you can do this ‘staying in the rain’ for hours whilst you watch your favourite band. Firstly, this is NOT my favourite band and secondly, I only know a few of their songs and only one that I can sing along to. However, what was I to do? Everyone in my group was at the front and so, I followed.

To be honest, even without knowing all the songs (I knew about 5), the band were brilliant. Not only were they good but they obviously enjoyed themselves which makes a whole lot of difference. The trombone player was incredible – not only for his playing but also for his energy and enjoyment.

Once again, it was Milano Jazzin Festival and Chicago were great. It was worth the money and the rain to see them.

Pizza with pig fat

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Ruth wrote about it back in January of this year but I’d never seen it before.

However, as I now ‘weekend’ nearby (how jealous are you, Ruth?), it seems only logical.

Friday night we were late getting down.  Too late to go and eat with F’s parents and, so, F, having not eaten much lunch, suggest we drop the dogs off at the house and go for a pizza.

Seemed a good idea to me.  I don’t know any restaurants in the town and so learning of which ones to go to is important (for me).

We went to Bati Bati right in the centre of town.  It looked nice.  Rustically rough but clean looking.  We went into the back part of the restaurant.  Everything was white except the floor.  Unusually for the town, not everywhere was marble!

I then saw – pizza with lardo di Colonnata, aubergine (egg plant to you Americans) and asparagus.

Now, I do really like lardo and lardo di Colonnata is produced in a town (maybe village) nearby and is reputedly the best.  They serve it thinly sliced – but I mean really, really thin – almost see-through.  The combination of the lardo, the aubergine and the asparagus was divine and, surprisingly, very light!  I loved it.

F has now promised to take me up to Colonnata where we can get some of the real thing.  I resisted suggesting that we should do that first thing in the morning.

The only problem will be to slice it thinly enough.

But there is a bakery that bakes bread in a wood oven (so the sign says) near to the house and the idea of a thin slice of lardo di Colonnata on a piece of warm bread is making my mouth water already!

I guess it’s official now.

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I guess I have reached the ‘I am an old codger’ stage of my life.

It’s not really my age, as such, it’s my attitude.

Saturday night was the ‘Notte Bianca’.  This is an Italian thing.  Once a year, roads are closed to traffic and the shops and bars stay open until late.  By late, I mean 2 or 3 or later.

There are often ‘discos in the street’, stalls and street traders selling tourist-type crap.  There are food and drink stalls.  And people wander about.

I suppose the reason it can be done here is the weather.  It’s warm and it lends itself to staying up till the early hours of the morning.

F apologised a number of times and checked I wasn’t bored.  St, an old friend of his, has been having problems with her 30+-year-old marriage.  Or rather her husband has been having problems, if you see what I mean.  She has lived in the town all her life and feels she cannot confide in anyone who lives there – so F was an obvious choice.  It seems a lot of people are having problems right now.

Anyway, obviously they were talking in Italian.  I suppose I could have tried to follow the conversation but it seemed rude to do so, me not being an old friend.  So, I didn’t.

We went to a bar and found a seat (which was lucky).  And they talked whilst I looked around.  And I catch myself wondering why the young people (especially the girls) think that wearing a pair of shorts or skirt that barely covers your bum when you have tree trunks for legs, think that it can possibly be attractive?

I suppose it is the same as when I was a teenager and I suppose the older generation thought much the same about us as I think about the youngsters of today.

But, that’s not entirely fair.  There are women of F’s age wearing the same sort of thing although it’s noticeable that the women of that age generally wear something that suits their figure.  Not always, of course, but mostly.

We left about midnight as F didn’t like a friend of R (his best friend who had joined us with his entourage later) who announced to everyone, and in front of her 10-year-old daughter, how she really needed a fuck tonight.  I only learnt later that was why we had left as I hadn’t understood.

Possibly it’s as well that I don’t understand sometimes but F and I do agree on stuff like that.  As we used to say in the UK – it’s not big and it’s not clever.

However, I did enjoy the evening.  Watching the people.  And St seems very nice.  Bless her, she’s still in love with her husband after almost 40 years of knowing him.  Shame he’s such a barsteward really.

The last few days

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We did bitch about Italians quite a bit. It makes me feel a bit guilty but it was really all about shared experiences and, unfortunately, most of them would be about Italy and Italians.

It was beautiful weather. We arrived late – very late – after I had been to Bologna to pick her up.

Saturday was walking the dogs, having a coffee at the cafe in the centre of the town and then the beach.

Saturday night was dinner at La Brace (see restaurants on the right). This was fabulous and some spectacular wine except for one thing – we had Fiorentina (a steak from Tuscany) but, unfortunately, it was overcooked.

However, very nice.

Sunday, I had planned to take her to Le Cave (where they extract the marble) but I woke up really late and so, after the dog walk, it was just the beach again.

We left later than I wanted but, still, it only took 3 hours to get back – the traffic queues being at the start instead of the end.

It was nice but I miss F when I’m there. Still, from now on, he should be with me :-)