Germany calling

My big sister is in Germany - up in the almost North, near Holland (according to my map). She and her hubby moved there in September, and we have been talking for ages about me going to see them. In about 10 days time, it turns out, my Mum will be there too, and my Grandad and uncle and his family. So its time for the family pre-Christmas get-together in the land of sausages, sauerkraut and beer.
Longer term readers will know that I am not a big fan of German food. (Except for Black Forest Gateaux - and who doesn't love that?) But the heaviness of it and the boiled-sausage, pickles and sauerkraut thing (ok, its another pickle, but deserves its own special mention!) just doesn't do it for me.
I am, however, a complete sucker for all things Christmassy. Not the religious stuff, but show me a red and gold bauble, some fairy lights and a wooden snowflake and I am a happy girl. So the news that the German Christmas market was in town from Heidelberg was more than enough to make me head downtown after work today.
In true winter mode - perhaps choreographed to add to the Christmas sensation, it was freezing, and I decided that some warm grub might just be the thing as I looked around the market.
I stopped first of all at the carousel. On closer inspection there were no plumed horses (nor fire engines, nor space ships), but instead, a few bar tables and stools. It had been converted into a bar, so I went in for a Vin Brulee (mulled wine) to warm up.
Feeling much cosier, I had a quick stroll around the market, and bought some bread. But in light of the prices and the fact that in 10 days I will be experiencing the real German Christmas retail experience, I didn't indulge. Although there were a pair of gold sprayed sparkly reindeer antlers with my name on them...
It was, by now, freezing again, so I checked out the food stall. And opted for the "wurstel alla griglia - con pane." Sounds posh, I know, but its a hot dog, pure and simple.
Still, it was warm and filling, and thankfully, the nice stallholder agreed to hold off the kraut!

Fit for duty

It turns out that in Italy if you are a 'videoterminalista' (not a deadly disease as it sounds, just a person who works in front of a pc for more than 20 hours a week) you need to be certified as fit for your job.
I had an eye test last week, passed with almost flying colours I am pleased to say, and today had to see the in-house quack for a check on my heart, my weight, my posture, and many other details.
The food at work can be pretty good, and is certainly plentiful enough that often I only need to snack in the evenings - and in the afternoons when my clementine addiction (resurrected with a vengeance from last year) kicks in and I pass the late afternoons with a green tea and the omnipresent scent of citrus fruits around my desk.
The law says that every 5 years I need to go through the eye and medical test ritual. I am hoping that the excesses of the lunchtime provisions don't kick in too much on the scales in that time.

Pea-Souper

Today the fog has descended on Florence and the place is reminiscent of Hong Kong during Chinese New Year.
I don't know what the humidity rating was today (very high!) but on the TV they said yesterday was 76%. Today the water droplets hanged in the air, any movement felt like rain, but it was just suspended water - a very very thick mist.
If you are not working, weather like this means that you snuggle under a duvet to watch a DVD somewhere, but when you are at work you suddenly feel inspired to do many jobs.
For me, it was time to put in a claim in the electronic system for petrol money frmo my trip to Marche 2 weeks ago. But I was not reigstered on the system.
The other thing I did was check the system to see how many coffees and lunches I had consumed (you pay electronically with your electronic badge and the funds are deducted directly at the end of the month - like a sports club in Hong Kong.) It was a good job I did check as the system, due to a glitch, has me down for 2 lunches and 10 coffees my first day in the office. It's true that I am hooked on coffee, but 10?? I have sent off an email asking for a control in the system....
If the weather tonight is anything to go by, tomorrow the fog shows no sign of lifting. It needs to rain, or we need a strong wind. Today's control would have saved me at least a few Euros. If the weather stays like this for the rest of the week, and I am able to recoup yet more funds, my planned trip to Trieste on Friday or Saturday could be self-funding!

Does Little Britain translate?

Little Britain is on telly as I write.
Almost everything here is dubbed into Italian.
Little Britain has subtitles, but I can't help but think it must be baffling any non-Anglophiles who are watching it.
I, meanwhile, am enjoying it immensely.

Sex in the City (of Pisa + change)

After hours of photo taking at the Piazza del Duomo I needed a sugar hit. So I went to one of the tens of old-fashioned Pasticcerias that I had seen on the way to the Tower in Pisa.
Sitting down and tucking into a yummy cake, with a coffee and some water, I was flanked on one side by the Christmas tree - small but beautiful, it reminded me that I need to get my Winter hols sorted - and on the other by the Pisa equivalent of the Sex and the City gals.
OK, there were only 3 of them (maybe the 4th had a hot date) but the fact that they were at least 70 did not detract from the image of them being just like Samantha, Carrie, Miranda and Charlotte.
In hot pink (blonde hair), orange (ginger) and emerald green (black as night) the gals had mobiles on the table, were very particular about their pineapple juice (only if its freshly squeezed) and proceeded to discuss love lives, top restuarants and the habits of their friend Maria (WAY too saucy to talk about here, for want of my PG rating!)
All in all they were utterly fabulous, and I hope they didn't notice that in the whole time they were there I didn't even turn the page over in my book!

The Leaning Tower of Pisa really leans!

I decided to go to Pisa today.
For a while I have wanted to see the Leaning Tower, and today seemed as good a day as any.
Pisa is only an hour away on the train, and as it is a UNESCO site, (and I harbour a secret - although not any more perhaps! - to visit as many as I can before I pop my clogs) it seemed too good to miss.
I always worry about things with a description in their name. It reminds me of Mai Po Marshes in Hong Kong, the bird reserve, sadly menaced by bird flu and threatened by the Kowloon Canton Railway expansion. I went when I was younger and left with an enormous sense of disillusionment. The Green Spotted something was brown. The purple streaked whatever - brown. The Turquoise and Ruby blah blah - well, you get the picture.
But the Leaning Tower - it really leans!

From my first glimpse at lunchtime to my last at sunset, the Tower is beautiful. Somehow I expected it to be taller (does that make me a complete philistine?) the stone grabs the light, and, for camera enthusiasts like me, it is a delight.
I took about 100 photos (new camera disease) so there is a small selection here.

For the real enthusiast (Mum and Dad? And maybe Lucy?) the rest are on my Picassa site here )
If only there were slightly fewer people to get in the way....

For the record, as I was on my own, I did not take the cheesy but almost obligatory holding-up-the-Leaning-Tower shot. Nor did I actually climb the thing. As a) I figure its leaning enough anyway, and it seems a shame to contribute and b) having climbed many monuments in the past, you get up there after close to 300 steps, look down, and think, in Italian terms - "E', Allora?" (And so?....) So all 100 something pics (I had time to kill!) are from ground level!

The loneliness of the (almost) long-distance runner

Today was the Florence Marathon. The 42 kilometres involved means that runners complete a figure of 8 through the city - from Piazzale Michaelangelo at the start, round the Cascine park, a few times along the Lungarno (both sides of the river) before ending up at the Piazza Santa Croce for the big finish.
The half-way point of the marathon is here at Campo di Marte - near to the residence - and the Florentine football stadium. So after a much needed cappucino over the road (thanks to the church bells at 8 and my neighbour upstairs who donned her stilettos at around 7.05am I didn't get my planned lie-in) I went out to see the race pass by.
I missed the Kenyans - too fast for me - for everyone I think! - but I was in time to see the leading lady of the marathon run past.
Better still she was a red-headed Italian with the marathon number F1 (I guess female 1, but it might have been a speed reference!)
I later saw her cross the line at Santa Croce.
But not much later it has to be said - she ran the entire 42 kilometres in just over 2 and a half hours - wow! I saw her on the news before I left the house, she said her father had died, so she thinks of him the whole way through every race, and the time just passes by with the kilometres. Truly amazing.

I couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy from Cardiff that I met near Campo di Marte station. From Cardiff, he had come here especially for the race, aiming for a time of 2 hours 30, he had dropped out at the 13 kilometre mark, unable to carry on. It's a problem with the marathon here that the first 3 kilometres are downhill, so sometimes people get the pace wrong at the beginning. (Thanks to Lucia's hubby, Mario, taking part in his first marathon today, for the explanation). The Cardiff guy told me that he came especially for the race - I felt terrible for him - he looked like he was going to cry....

It took me a while to realise that the balloon guys were marking the time - the yellow balloons had number on them - so the first one I saw was marking the 3 hours bunch. I wonder how short the straw has to be before you are nominated as the balloon carrier?
Also not having the best day was this Florentine lady, coming back from Esselunga with her shopping and most inconvenienced that, although the lights for pedestrians were green, shw could not cross Viale Dei Mille (Avenue of the 1000s) as there were runners in her way!

25 hours of Florentine Culture

This weekend, I wasn't sure whether or not I was going to be here in Florence. As it turns out, I am still here. So with no plans and 2 1/2 long days stretching ahead of me, I had to figure out what to do.
On Fridays I don't eat lunch in Sesto. As we finish early there is no real food, only chemical sandwiches, the selection of which at the moment leaves me cold. The tuna mayo one is not my thing, although its way closer to my taste than the cold wurstel... (frankfurter or hot dog sausage)
So when I finally left the office, I went into the city to ino - still the best paninis in town that I have found. For 6 Euros, I had a panino with home-baked bread, hand-sliced ham, the freshest pecorino and tomatoes, with a layer of olive paste. If you eat in, perched on one of the high stools at the bar, you are given a free glass of wine to sip as you watch the world go by. When I went to pay, I was also given a morsel of the most wicked chocolate tart thing - like a cross between a truffle and a chocolate shortbread, I ate my sample with the provided toothpick - but it was so rich I didn't need any more than a mouthful!
Although it was dark by the time I left, and it felt like late evening, it was, in reality only 630. So I decided that I should do something before coming back to the residence.
Walking past the Palazzo Strozzi, I saw the signs for Contro Moda - an exhibition of designer clothes from the permanent exhibition at the LA museum. So decided to go in for a look.
The woman at the ticket desk was the person that sold it to me. Thinking 10 euros was a bit much to go in, she said to me, "But, you are not a tourist, you live in Florence, right?" Even my hesitation, (I still have not got used to the fact that I actually live here) did not dissuade her. "Because as a resident, it's only 8 euros 50" she added.
Well, a bargain then! I handed over the cash, dumped my coat in the cloakroom and went upstairs.
Some of the pieces were beautiful - the Pucci dress from the 70s, the Dior from 1959 and a white evening dress from the 50s with hand stiched minisule pleats, that draped like a grecian goddess. But there did seem to be a heck of a lot of Yohji Yamamoto. I think he's clever, although its not really my taste, but the thing is that in HK the clothes are quite common.
When I left I couldn't help feeling a bit like I had paid my money to get a view of what I could have seen in a shop in HK.
But another discovery from Friday night was the Caffe' Giacosa which was opening a new branch inside the inner courtyard of the Strozzi Palace. When I know some people, it would be a lovely place to go for a drink.
Tonight, another cultural outing, this time to see the ballet Giselle at the Teatro Verdi. Put on by the Tuscan Orchestra, with dancers from Russia, it was spectacular - especially the second act when they are in the graveyard. The male lead could certainly jump!
And the guy sitting next to me, in the black velvet morning coat, with purple silk lining and a purple silk scarf, honestly looked like he should be standing on one of the plinths in Contro Moda.

Terribly sad

Today on the way back to Florence, purely by chance, I stopped for a coffee at the service station near Arezzo where the football fan was killed last week.
It was a terribly sad and very moving sight to see the scarves of the football supporters tied around the post near where Gabriele Sandri was killed, and the crowd of people standing nearby. There were a few police cars around, but it was business as usual at the service station. It seemed surreal to think that only last week at the same spot there was a fatal shooting. Surreal, and terribly sad.

A momentous post

This is my 300th post on the blog. Some people have been reading from the beginning - my Mum and Dad for instance - but also others who didn't have as much pressure to do so! So thanks and I hope that it is still interesting enough for you to read the next 300. Even though I am no longer in Trieste so the name is a bit of a misnomer...
It is also a momentous post for another reason. It's the first one from my apartment in Sarnano. I am finally online at my own home - and with the wireless modem can write this from anywhere in the place I choose - although with the snow coming down outside, I am choosing the spot on the leather sofa as near to the fire as possible!
I had a long but ok journey yesterday, the A1 around Florence was, as always, horrific, but the rest of the journey went fine - in spite of the accurate predictions of my colleagues who said, hmmm there will be snow in Colfiorito. There was - and the rest of the way from then on to Sarnano. I had a lot more road safety than normal though, the car I have borrowed from work has winter tyres, and as it is an Audi A4 station wagon, its like driving a winter-adapted monster truck. Fantastic!
And thrifty. It turns out that in the frequent taking turns of the strikers, yesterday was the go of the Autostrade Toll Collectors, so as I pulled up to the window to hand over my cash and get a receipt, I saw the sign telling me to go on ahead, there was a strike so there was no need to pay. i don't know whether those in the automatic payment line got the same gratis journey, but it worked out well for me!
This morning there was snow nestling on the hedge outside and the mountains looked like they had been dusted with icing sugar. But as I took this as a sign that it was too cold be out of bed, I snuggled back under the duvet. When I got up, the Kodak moment had more or less passed, but I did take a jaunt out in the car towards Gualdo to take some snaps.
Now with the fire burning brightly, I am trying to muster up the energy to get changed and go out for dinner with Chris and Irene in Amandola. Leaving the fire will be a wrench, but the other good thing about the beast of a car parked outside is that the heating works a treat!

Graffiti typos

There is graffiti everywhere in Italy. If you can look on it as a modern art form rather than a scurge of the cities and towns, so much the better - as its omnipresent.
My sense of direction is not so hot. I have been lost in places that I have been to a thousand times, and now I have learnt that also the graffiti can make a good landmark, as long as the boys with the paint to cover it up have not been on patrol.
I like, for example, the graffiti on the front of the trains - a modern art preclamation as they chug into the station at Campo di Marte in the mornings to carry me to the office at Castello.
Yet one of my favourite spots of graffiti right now is in Castello station itself.
It's not beautiful, certainly not the work of an artisan, but the proclamation of the (sic) "Worriors of Sesto - The Best" has me smiling every morning on the way to work.
I can only imagine what they are worried about!

Expanding the Florentine Mind

I have decided that I ought to learn a little about my adopted hometown, so I have bought a couple of books to inform me about the history of Florence.
History, for a Hong Konger, is a strange subject. I am more used to history being a case of something I remember from 5 years ago, when there were once market stalls and old Chinese shop houses where there are now des-res apartments and a mall. But here in Florence the sheer quantity of history is awe-inspiring. My friend Ale, a history buff, gave me the down low when he was here for a weekend, but I figure I need to commit the details to more than short-term memory alone.
Winter has bitten hard here this week, and the cold snap (here's hoping it is only a snap) I am reliably informed by the colonel on the Meteo, is coming to us straight from Siberia. Thanks Siberia!
But the glacial temperatures tonight reminded me of a passage from one of my new books, David Leavitt's "Florence, A delicate case". He says...
"To the contemporary visitor, Florence can seem alternately officious and vulgar, in some quarters brusquely unwelcoming and in others pandering to the lowest tourist impulse. ... Many of the streets are so narrow that a normal-sized car will force you up against a wall, like a terrified cat. Everywhere you turn, there are doors so immense, that smaller, human-sized doors have had to be cut into them; there are even doors the wood of which has been carved to make them resemble stone. ... A feeling of exclusion, of pointedly not being invited to some wonderful party obscurely glimpsed, or perhaps just guessed at, has always been part of the tourist's experience of Florence - and not just exclusion from 'the real Florence' of the Florentines... Do not confuse Florence with a welcoming city; it repulses the new arrival with a hard jab in the side, a frigid stare. The weather is often terrible, since Florence occupies the conca, or basin, that spreads out between two important sets of hills - the Mugello to the north and Chianti to the south. In summer the air groes sultry, ... Winter is no better, with a wind that bears in its icy arms all manner of exotic and undocumented species of flu."
Mr Leavitt is right - the wind does have icy arms, at least right now, and he is also right that, in this city, there is a sense of a job half-done. A desire to understand and delve into the Florence of the Florentines exists for almost all who visit, and certainly, if my experience is anything to go by, for those who live here.
I wonder what it feels like once those immense doors open? When the invitation to the exclusive party arrives on the door mat?
I hope to find out!

A pleasure worth waiting for....

Shopping in Italy is a mixed emotional affair. Some of the prices are enough to make me cry, especially when I see how beautiful the things are! The size charts are another point of note - much more in line with those in Hong Kong than with others in Europe - the charts strongly favour small-framed people - a UK 10 is an American 8, a European 38 and an Italian 42. In psychological terms its a kicker.
The other key thing I have noticed about shopping in Italy is that the trousers only come in one length - Olive Oyl! When I walk around in the cities, towns and villages in Italy, I am relatively tall, so it's strange, when I go into shops, for me to try on trousers only to find that there is a good 8 - 10 centimetres of additional material trailing on the floor.
The majority of shops do provide an alteration service, for which the going rate seems to be 6 Euros. It's worth it though, otherwise, (unlike in Hong Kong when there was always Grace, my helper, and a star with a needle and thread to turn up and alter almost-there clothing), the new things I buy are condemned to an unfulfilled life on the floor of my wardrobe, waiting for me to a) get round to taking them somewhere and b) finding somewhere to take them!
I suspect the length of the trousers on the rack is probably a scam to make that extra 6 Euros - but this is not the main problem.
What happens is that you are denied of the immediacy of the pleasure of shopping. I am not able to enter a store, try on the things I like, decide what to buy and, having handed over my credit card, leave with a printed recycled paper bag, full of the pleasing rustle of tissue paper, containing never-before worn clothes, with that musty but lovely new clothes smell. Instead, I go in, browse, try, buy and - having signed away significant sums of money - I leave with nothing - completely empty handed! I am not sure whether the net result of this is that I will spend more or less - more perhaps in search of the things that actually fit meaning I can leave a store with something to show for it, or by buying additional things when I go back to collect my purchases, or less, as I certainly don't find paying for something to leave with nothing as much fun as being able to stagger home with new purchases and wear my new togs at the next occasion, be it work, or, better, play.
The good thing is though that after a number of days, determined in a tense negotiation between you and the saleslady, you can return to the stores where you previously parted with your cash, clutching the receipts and receive the new things.
I am going tonight to get my new, tailored to length, trousers.
I hope its a pleasure worth waiting for!

Back to Marche

After 6 days in Florence, I am already planning to go back to my house this weekend.
I need to pick up a load of winter clothes, and also the thought of a Friday night at home by the fire seems very appealing after my day today!
Wally asked me today why I felt the need to go back, having only been here such a short time.
Maybe the pictures can explain more than I can with words...

Short trip, long journey

This morning I arrived at Campo di Marte station to realise I had just missed the 0749 train to work. So I lingered about, waiting for the 0814.
Then I saw 3 letters that I may well come to dread - SOP.
No idea what they actually stand for, but the meaning was clear. The 814 wasn't coming.
With all the confidence of a quasi local, I figured if I could get to Santa Maria Novella - the main station in Florence - that there must be another train from there to Castello, where the office is.
Indeed there was - but not until 0847 - heading for Pistoia.
Luckily, it was a super-swanky high-speed number - with 2 levels - the first time I have been upstairs on a train since I was in France coming back from skiing on crutches with damaged tendons and ligaments in my knee. This time it was a whole lot easier to climb the stairs - even with the high-heeled boots I was wearing to contend with! In the end I got to work at 0907 - only about 1 hour and 37 minutes after I had left the residence.
I am saving up for a car.....

Making friends in Florence

Hong Kong, for such a bustling place, always feels like a village. There is scarcely a time that you go out when you don't bump into someone you know. Especially if you are not wearing make up and need to wash your hair!
It turns out, on the evidence of this weekend, that Florence is similar!
I was wandering around the city on Friday night after a coffee with my friends Irena and Mo, up from Lago di Bracciano for a few days, when I bumped into Alessia and Laura from work, who invited me for a drink with them. We made our way through the freezing night to San Ambrodgio and the not-very-Italian James Pub - with large ads for Tennents on the wall! I tried to explain a bit about life in Hong Kong, slipping into English when my Italian failed me. I have promised to bore them with pics on Monday at the office.
On Saturday, after bumping into Annibale from work, I met Lucia, also from work, and Alessia who was with her, coming from the hairdressers. We went together with Lucia's husband for lunch in an amazing little place - the Birreria Centrale - where I can recommend the Pici - a fat spaghetti from nearer to Sienna - which they served with Cinghiale (wild boar) - yum! A glass of red wine to wash it down with and I would have been asleep! In the restaurant was also Veronica from work - another chance encounter.
Alessia had a dinner, so we went after lunch with her friend Daniella to another place for the best of Florence list - the VIP supermarket near to the Duomo, Pegna, in business since 1860 and selling a mind-boggling array of food products and ingredients - from Italy and also, unusually for Italy, imported. In addition to the vast selection of yumminess that you can see if you go to the website, there is also a wide range of - err - washing detergent. I guess you never know when you might need it!
So 2 key learning points from the weekend - find an excuse to go to Pegna every now again - maybe after my first pay packet! - to treat myself to something absolutely unessential - like imported French jam - and NEVER go into the city without at least mascara on - I am bound to see someone I know!

And I thought it was only the English that sat on the floor in cities!

Tonight I was out near San Ambrodgio - a lovely area on Saturday mornings with the sun shining and the fruit stalls groaning with the freshest produce around. At night though, it can be a little shady to say the least.
So I was a little surprised, just around the corner from the market, in a fairly icky alley, to see 3 Italian girls sitting on the pavement.
I have always thought this was a very English thing. I never fail to be astonished at the way that my countrymen just lie like lizards on the pavement, benches etc of many cities around the world when they see the first rays of sunshine. But given that it was kind of dark, and very cold, I reasoned that the reason for the pause must be something else. Perhaps a sit-in protest at something.
As I walked on though, I turned back and saw that all 3 girls had shiny new-ish looking MacBooks. Clearly there was an internet connection going begging.
Currently, in the residence, I have wireless internet. But who knows, if and when I find an apartment of my own, maybe I too will have to resort to sitting on the pavement with my laptop to write this blog.
Let's hope not!

Shopping for Emergency Purple

Tonight the Purple and Gold flags are flying outside and the streets are once again full of parked mopeds.
This only means one thing - Florentina are playing at home.
I was late at work tonight - there are only 2 trains to come to Campo di Marte - one at 1829 the other at 1929. The latter gets in at 2005, more or less - just as the crowds were thronging into the stadium.
Italian football is something to behold - and I have only done so from outside the stadium but now that I am officially living in Florence, I will plan a trip to see a game.
The purple is omnipresent in Florence, especially here with the stadium in the 'hood. But around game time, the purple banners are hoisted high, and I feel quite left out not to be toting something in the team colours myself.
Of course, if I really felt like it there is a vast amount of purple on sale. Everything from t-shirts that proclaim "100% Viola" (100% purple - but they're white, go figure!), to enormous purple and gold flags, to scarves that delineate the area of the stadium you frequent - the Fiesole Corner seems a popular choice.
All that shopping would presumably create significant hunger, hence the huddle of fast food stalls that intersperse the souvenir stalls. On sale, other than the usual beer and hamburger / hot dog sportsfan fayre, are local specialities - porchetta, and, perhaps more unusually for the non-Florentine - lampredotto panini - sandwiches with the boiled sliced lining of a cow's stomach. Not something that would normally set my tastebuds going, but actually, it smelt pretty good when I was on my way home. Not irresistable though - I had a far more palateable leek and tomato mixture for my tea.
Not a real Florentine as yet!

Asian creatures alive and well in Florence

In this room at the residence it is not just me from Asia. I am sharing my room with a few over-friendly Asian mosquitos. The tiger mozzies are back with a vengeance.
I am finding it very cold in the mornings, and at night when I come home from the station.
And what I can't understand is, if it is too cold for me, why are my fellow quasi-Asians finding it warm enough to a) still be alive and b) still be zealous enough to bite me!

A (nice?) surprise

So I am back at work after the longest vacation I have ever had - 6 weeks was wonderful - felt in some ways like a lifetime and in others like it zipped by. Literally gardening leave!
Yesterday though, it was back to paid employment - and my bank manager would say about time too!
No-one knew that I was coming back to the company, but it was kind of nice to see people looking surprised - and I hope happy! - to see me! It was a lovely welcome back, and I hope that I can see the same smiles having been back at work for a while! I might otherwise have felt alone here, but the welcome at work has been so warm, that I don't yet feel lonely at all. I know it is only day 2 - but here's hoping!
Like anything, it takes a while to get settled, especially as I need to start everything again - another new start in life. The last time I upped sticks and moved to start a-new it was from Hong Kong to Trieste to do my MBA - without a doubt the best year of my life to-date! Let's hope that this change works out as well!
I have grand plans now I am starting my life again in Florence. I obviously want to make a good impression at work, but also need to find an apartment (there is a lovely loft place online - which might have my name on it!), buy a car, join a gym, make friends - the list goes on and on!
One of the other things that I would love to do is a sommelier course. I was discussing this with Rosario at work today. He tells me that here in Tuscany the course is heavily subsidised by the regional government and the Tuscan wine companies - so is only Euros 250 as opposed to almost 5 times that unsubsidised. He is keen to join too - so who knows - company dinners in future could be full of wine bores!
Other initiatives include starting a choral goup with Lucia, a visit to the Milian crowd in a couple of weeks, and potentially a Christmas party at my house in early December. Ale's party is in December, and my parents are likely Europe-bound at some stage. My sister is also now in Germany, so I am checking out flights as well - there should be enough fodder for the blog at any rate!

Road rage

Italy, for the uninitiated, is a long, thin country with 2 big islands off the south west coasts. Most people travel by car so a long weekend means the roads are not just full, but overflowing.
Now that I have had some experience of Italian autostrada traffic, my heart sinks like a stone when I see a tailback on the motorway.
Sunday night sinking like a stone does not even cover it. I needed to start work today - back in Big Pharma at Sesto Fiorentino! - so set off in good time to get to the residence, drop off my bags, then take the car back to the car hire place before the 4pm deadline.
The journey from Marche to Florence usually takes about 3.5 hours. So when I saw the sign that said that I was 137 minutes from the next exit (mine) that was only 20 kilometres away, having already been stuck in traffic for 2 hours, I was less than happy.
This feeling only got worse as I saw my motorway-bound mates careering down the hard shoulder with hazard lights flashing looking less than in need of pulling over or emergency assistance. The emergency assistance was, more likely, required for me as my blood pressure rose more with each car that raced past. I hoped that the police would be waiting to nab them all, but, in fact, not. I was seriously tempted by the old adage - if you can't beat them, join them - but my English sense of fair play meant that I queued with the rest of the people not brave enough to chuck on the hazards and make a run for it!
The only silver lining to this cloud of over 4 hours is that I had 2 bags full of stuff from my fridge in Marche with me - as I was moving for work I had cleaned out my fridge - so somewhere near the Incisa turning, i had a cheese and tomato sandwich and some fizzy water.
But when a 3.5 hour journey instead takes almost 8 hours - it takes more than a sandwich to make me smile. The glass of Rosso Piceno Superiore I had on arrival at the Residence went a lot further in this regard!