A few months ago, in a bid to stay in touch with the outside world - I don't get to see a lot of news, and that that I do see is focussed on Italy - I subscribed to the UK produced international magazine called The Week. It is supposed to be the best of UK and International news, all in one paper, and includes such favourites as 'It must be true, I read it in the tabloids' with the top tatt from the gutter press.
I figured that a weekly indulgence of news would let me have something to tuck into whilst drinking a cappuccino on a saturday morning, before heading for the market.
So the first edition arrived, and it was great. Then the second, ditto. Then nothing. The following week, nothing. Then I was away travelling for a few days with work. When I came back there were 5 copies waiting for me, one of which I have had the time to read. Then a gap of a few weeks then one day one copy arrived, then the next day another.
As time has gone on, I always like receiving the mag, but the timing is no more reliable. I can't help but thinking that here in Italy at least, the name, The Week, is a little optimistic!
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Michaelangelo's David gets the Blues
An unusual event a work today. After many weeks of lobbying, we have arranged to have Michaelangelo's David lit up in blue to create awareness for Diabetes. The 14th is the International Day of Diabetes, and the International Diabetes Foundation has a programme where it 'Brings Light to Diabetes' - various monuments worldwide will be lit up blue to bring awareness to the condition.
As a rule, I don't write about work here - I have more than enough of writing about work at work! But this is something rather special, and a bit unusual, so warranted a mention.
One of my colleagues helped in taking some pics, there is one attached below.
Friday and Saturday the doors to the Accademia, David's home base, will be open to Florentines to witness this rather extraordinary thing. And maybe they should light him blue more often - in the snaps I have seen, he looks really spectacular.
Something fishy
Nadia, my young and highly glamorous Russian cleaner left me a cheery note tonight when I came home from work. All in Italian (her English is as good as my Russian!)
Cara Jo, (it read)
If you would like a supply of Beluga caviar, kindly let me know.
Bye!
Nadia
PS There is washing in the machine to hang on the line
It's a classic, and I have promised my sister that I will hang onto it...
Cara Jo, (it read)
If you would like a supply of Beluga caviar, kindly let me know.
Bye!
Nadia
PS There is washing in the machine to hang on the line
It's a classic, and I have promised my sister that I will hang onto it...
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Paying for sobriety
There is a new addition to the bars in Florence. Alcohol meters are popping up beside the fake flower displays and nibbles tables.
They are strange looking things (photo to follow), all flashing lights and whirling bits - a lot like a kind of one-armed bandit game.
You can pay your Euro then breathe in through a straw to test whether or not you are over the limit to drive. But despite their whirly-twirly, light-flashing attractiveness I have yet to see anyone cough up the euro for the test. And sadly too many people who still drive when anything from tipsy to plastered. Perhaps they are spending the euro on another drink.
They are strange looking things (photo to follow), all flashing lights and whirling bits - a lot like a kind of one-armed bandit game.
You can pay your Euro then breathe in through a straw to test whether or not you are over the limit to drive. But despite their whirly-twirly, light-flashing attractiveness I have yet to see anyone cough up the euro for the test. And sadly too many people who still drive when anything from tipsy to plastered. Perhaps they are spending the euro on another drink.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
At the doctors
I have come back from holiday sick - the head cold that I brought home as a souvenir has left me feeling just dreadful. My colleagues are, to a one, fans of medicine, me, less so, but finally I couldn't bear it any more and made a trip to the doctor recommended to me.
I have health insurance through the Company, but, having not been sick so far, have never registered to avail myself of the rights of the state - for which I pay a fortune in taxes each month, so getting to see a quack was complicated.
Anyway, being almost in the business, its not what you know but who. I rang a doctor on his mobile, explained that I was a colleague of a friend of his, and he agreed to see me. But at the public clinic in Campi Bisenzio.
Campi Bisenzio doesn't have a good name. And nor is it a place that one would rush to in a hurry. A rabbit warren of streets all having the anonymity of industrial estate blandness, I had just a few days before done a comprehensive tour in search of my luggage (yet again I had made it back to Florence, and my luggage had not). So I was dreading having to return, especially to go to the doctor.
Finally I found the place (under the bridge to the autostrada, turn left at the enormous garage, you can't miss it! were the instructions) and found the doctor waiting for me inside.
Into the small room he was using as a surgery, and in front of me seemed to be a museum exhibit. I realised swiftly that the equipment with no silver paint on the handles, circa 1950s were actually the tools he was going to use to examine me.
What's wrong? he asked.
My ear is all blocked, and I have a sore throat I said.
Right, he said, lighting a candle.
I thought this was an odd beginning. But having recently come back from Asia thought it might be some kind of spa style luxury that was being rolled out for my relaxation. Imagine the horror when the doctor put the oldest looking mirror I have ever seen into the flame then popped it in my mouth, ostensibly to have a look at my tonsils.
Aggggghhhhh, I grumbled loudly, 'icks 'ot!
Cosa? he asked me in Italian
Caldo, fha caldo! I said.
Yes, he explained, this is because otherwise the breath fogs up the mirror. I am pretty sure that in Hong Kong with the shiy-handled devices that there are in use there, this does not happen.
Anyway, aside from the hot mirror incident he seemed very good at his job. Ah yes, he said in the end, You have fnagbah ab flfjvb (unknown Italian word) and a little fksndfksdfb (ditto.) Note to self: learn common Italian illness words....
Ahhhh, I replied.
He seems to think it is not life threatening, and prescribed a whole selection of products to keep a whole selection of Companies in business for a while.
If its not better in 12 days he told me to go back and see him again.
We'll see....
I have health insurance through the Company, but, having not been sick so far, have never registered to avail myself of the rights of the state - for which I pay a fortune in taxes each month, so getting to see a quack was complicated.
Anyway, being almost in the business, its not what you know but who. I rang a doctor on his mobile, explained that I was a colleague of a friend of his, and he agreed to see me. But at the public clinic in Campi Bisenzio.
Campi Bisenzio doesn't have a good name. And nor is it a place that one would rush to in a hurry. A rabbit warren of streets all having the anonymity of industrial estate blandness, I had just a few days before done a comprehensive tour in search of my luggage (yet again I had made it back to Florence, and my luggage had not). So I was dreading having to return, especially to go to the doctor.
Finally I found the place (under the bridge to the autostrada, turn left at the enormous garage, you can't miss it! were the instructions) and found the doctor waiting for me inside.
Into the small room he was using as a surgery, and in front of me seemed to be a museum exhibit. I realised swiftly that the equipment with no silver paint on the handles, circa 1950s were actually the tools he was going to use to examine me.
What's wrong? he asked.
My ear is all blocked, and I have a sore throat I said.
Right, he said, lighting a candle.
I thought this was an odd beginning. But having recently come back from Asia thought it might be some kind of spa style luxury that was being rolled out for my relaxation. Imagine the horror when the doctor put the oldest looking mirror I have ever seen into the flame then popped it in my mouth, ostensibly to have a look at my tonsils.
Aggggghhhhh, I grumbled loudly, 'icks 'ot!
Cosa? he asked me in Italian
Caldo, fha caldo! I said.
Yes, he explained, this is because otherwise the breath fogs up the mirror. I am pretty sure that in Hong Kong with the shiy-handled devices that there are in use there, this does not happen.
Anyway, aside from the hot mirror incident he seemed very good at his job. Ah yes, he said in the end, You have fnagbah ab flfjvb (unknown Italian word) and a little fksndfksdfb (ditto.) Note to self: learn common Italian illness words....
Ahhhh, I replied.
He seems to think it is not life threatening, and prescribed a whole selection of products to keep a whole selection of Companies in business for a while.
If its not better in 12 days he told me to go back and see him again.
We'll see....
Sunday, August 03, 2008
The usefulness of a Swiss Army Knife
Mestre, Friday evening on my way up to Trieste was predictably a nightmare. Stuck in traffic for more than an hour, completely immobile, with the petrol running out and the air con off to save on fuel, the temperature was happily touching 40 + degrees and I was starting to get desperate.
I tried to call Vlasta, already on the beach in Sistiana at the BBQ, only to realise that my phone was running out of battery too.
I limped through the traffic to the service station, and managed to fill up. First problem solved.
Then into the Autogrill, heaving with folk (the radio said there were 14 million Italians on the road this first holiday weekend) and, having battled my way through the bus load of Croatians buying baguettes and limoncello, I managed to get a phone charger that plugged into the cigarette lighter in the car.
Back outside into the heat, and I was clawing at the hermetically sealed plastic packaging, but failing to make any kind of inroad.
There was only one thing for it. I searched the car park, which resembled a Brussels convention, packed with cars from every nation, for a Swiss car. Finding a large Merc that fit the bill, I approached the family and asked them if they had a Swiss Army Knife.
And believe it or not, they did! Between us we sliced open the packaging (a combination of the large blade, and the hidden scissors) and soon I was zipping along merrily, charging the phone and thankful that the stereotypes were accurate.
The only disappointment was that I didn't manage to find a use for the thing-that-removes-stones-from-horses-hooves!
I tried to call Vlasta, already on the beach in Sistiana at the BBQ, only to realise that my phone was running out of battery too.
I limped through the traffic to the service station, and managed to fill up. First problem solved.
Then into the Autogrill, heaving with folk (the radio said there were 14 million Italians on the road this first holiday weekend) and, having battled my way through the bus load of Croatians buying baguettes and limoncello, I managed to get a phone charger that plugged into the cigarette lighter in the car.
Back outside into the heat, and I was clawing at the hermetically sealed plastic packaging, but failing to make any kind of inroad.
There was only one thing for it. I searched the car park, which resembled a Brussels convention, packed with cars from every nation, for a Swiss car. Finding a large Merc that fit the bill, I approached the family and asked them if they had a Swiss Army Knife.
And believe it or not, they did! Between us we sliced open the packaging (a combination of the large blade, and the hidden scissors) and soon I was zipping along merrily, charging the phone and thankful that the stereotypes were accurate.
The only disappointment was that I didn't manage to find a use for the thing-that-removes-stones-from-horses-hooves!
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Scarlett, or a shade of pink?
Today at lunchtime we were chatting about movies, classic and recent. At a certain point someone mentioned Via Col Vento (Gone with the Wind) and its leading character.
Waiting for the mention of Scarlett, I missed a little the thread of the conversation.
"Wait" I asked "What are you talking about?"
Gone with the Wind (Via Col Vento) was the reply.
"But what about Scarlett?" I asked.
Everyone started laughing.
No, no, her name is Rosella they told me, little Rose.
Unbelievable, Dubbing films is one thing, and I can even understand Principe Carlos for Prince Charles, but Rosella living at Tara ranch is something else.
The word 'rosa' also means pink, so it could just be that Via Col Vento is a tamer version of the flaming scarlet in the original flick. Either way it seems sacrilegious to me.
Waiting for the mention of Scarlett, I missed a little the thread of the conversation.
"Wait" I asked "What are you talking about?"
Gone with the Wind (Via Col Vento) was the reply.
"But what about Scarlett?" I asked.
Everyone started laughing.
No, no, her name is Rosella they told me, little Rose.
Unbelievable, Dubbing films is one thing, and I can even understand Principe Carlos for Prince Charles, but Rosella living at Tara ranch is something else.
The word 'rosa' also means pink, so it could just be that Via Col Vento is a tamer version of the flaming scarlet in the original flick. Either way it seems sacrilegious to me.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Lunch back at the residence
A Sunday without any plans, and it was a nice surprise when the phone squealed with a message. Marco and Cris, two of the guys that are here at the Company this year, doing internships with us were inviting me for lunch at the residence where I used to live. Marco was the chief cook and bottle-washer and Cris and I tucked into the grub, and the wine, with a vengeance. The meal was almost Chinese, with pork rice and vegetables, and it was a blast from the past sitting looking at the kitchen-drobe and the carpark outside.
Following lunch (yum! well done Marco!) we went for a wander around the city, passing on the way this rather sad-looking just married couple wandering through the streets alone, and arriving at Piazza della Signoria. Whereupon the bride, in the style of one in newly wedded bliss, tucked her large blue hat under her arm and lit up a cigarette - looking more like someone in the local in their jeans that someone who has just got married in such auspicious surroundings.
The day ended with the arrival of Cris' friend from Paris and a few aperitivi / sundowners at Moyo near Santa Croce, where, amongst the various free nibbles on offer, I can recommend the chicken!
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Fabulous Figs
The balcony doors are open this evening and the gardens below are in full bloom beyond. This morning I went to the market and picked up my usual armfuls of fruit and veg, before meeting Cristiano, from this year's edition of the MBA course, for lunch. By the time I got home, in the late afternoon, the figs - ripe this morning, were now on the point in which I had to eat them, or chuck them away in the morning.
So eat them I did, for tea with some San Danielle ham and a glass or two of wine.
It is the first time this year I have eaten figs and chose some of the small green ones that are local and others that are black and tear-dropped shaped and come from Puglia. The black ones are slightly sweeter, but, either way, they are both divine with the ham and wine.
So eat them I did, for tea with some San Danielle ham and a glass or two of wine.
It is the first time this year I have eaten figs and chose some of the small green ones that are local and others that are black and tear-dropped shaped and come from Puglia. The black ones are slightly sweeter, but, either way, they are both divine with the ham and wine.
Dedicated to a 'sconosciuta'
When I unexpectedly bumped into Federico, the guy who promised to write me a note in a bottle left outside the Palazzo Strozzi, it made me realise just how small the city is! He recognised me and asked if I ever had received the note - a song that he had adapted to include my name - I hadn't.
He went on to tell me that he is an artist and the fact that I never did get the note he wrote has a certain poetic characteristic. (The fact that he said it was, in all likelihood taken by the bin men kills the poetry somewhat!) but he did keep a copy of the song, and is planning to use it in his next exhibition, framed and entitled 'Dedica a una sconasciuta' - Dedicated to an unknown girl.
If I bump into him again, I might ask him where the exhibition is - its the first time - at least that I know of - that someone has done something like that for me - and I'm curious to see the message in a bottle.
He went on to tell me that he is an artist and the fact that I never did get the note he wrote has a certain poetic characteristic. (The fact that he said it was, in all likelihood taken by the bin men kills the poetry somewhat!) but he did keep a copy of the song, and is planning to use it in his next exhibition, framed and entitled 'Dedica a una sconasciuta' - Dedicated to an unknown girl.
If I bump into him again, I might ask him where the exhibition is - its the first time - at least that I know of - that someone has done something like that for me - and I'm curious to see the message in a bottle.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Gardening in the time of MMS
Big thanks to my gardener David, who not only looks after the garden in Sarnano, but this week sent me a picture of how the place looked in my absence! The roses are in full bloom and thanks to the wonders of TIM mobile, I was able to log on and see a picture of them in all their glory. Now I just need to get back and enjoy them in person, but in the meantime, thanks to David, I can at least enjoy them from here.
My terrace in Florence is barren - I did buy some jasmine a while ago, but with the traveling I have been doing of late, and the hot spell in June, they only lasted a week or two. Perhaps a few cacti are the answer, or what I do at the moment - simply enjoy the greenery in the gardens down below.
My terrace in Florence is barren - I did buy some jasmine a while ago, but with the traveling I have been doing of late, and the hot spell in June, they only lasted a week or two. Perhaps a few cacti are the answer, or what I do at the moment - simply enjoy the greenery in the gardens down below.
Garden Party
Sitting on my sofa writing this, I suddenly had a flash back to Hong Kong.
My terrace doors are open, and from outside I can hear the birds singing and the music blaring from a radion that is playing downstairs in the garden. When I look down I can see the Phillipina helper from downstairs with her friends under the sun shelter. It suddenly reminded me of sitting on my parent's balcony at Mansfield Road on a Sunday afternoon and looking down onto the country park below. I can feel homesickness coming on - it could be time for a trip home...
My terrace doors are open, and from outside I can hear the birds singing and the music blaring from a radion that is playing downstairs in the garden. When I look down I can see the Phillipina helper from downstairs with her friends under the sun shelter. It suddenly reminded me of sitting on my parent's balcony at Mansfield Road on a Sunday afternoon and looking down onto the country park below. I can feel homesickness coming on - it could be time for a trip home...
Overcoming writers block
It's been way too long since my last post. I have been working a lot, and travelling a fair bit too, but I miss the blog - and thanks to those who have written to say they miss it too! I am going to put on some post-dated comments now, and will make a renewed effort from here on in.
It's been a fantastic weekend, with a little bit of Trieste here in Tuscany. We organised a reunion weekend, and, although we were down on the numbers in comparison to last year, it was wonderful to catch up with the people who made it for a weekend in Florence and Mugello.
Last night, at the restaurant Da Giorgione (it says its in Vicchio, much to the confusion of us and the SatNav - its not!) when the waiter asked us where we were from because he was having trouble placing the accents, we explained, Slovenia, Trieste, Udine, Pordenone, the US and Hong Kong - poor bloke - he stood no chance of guessing that lot!
Unsurprisingly for this area, we ate antipasti (crostini) and some steak, albeit the latter with a twinge of guilt as the Agriturismo Francini where we were staying had 400 lovely looking Chianina cattle grazing outside our bedroom windows!
Yesterday afternoon was spent at the pool messing about in the sunshine and playing with the footballs that were laying nearby. It was the perfect end to a day that had started with prosecco and truffle rolls for breakfast!
Chris did a wonderful job with the almost mini-bus that we had hired, driving around like a pro whilst Ale DJ's and interpreted the SatNav and the rest of us drank cold beers and ate rubbish food - like on any good road trip!
This morning started slowly with coffees and brioche on the lawn outside the agriturismo, followed by a stop at the market garden shop down the road, and a tour of a cheese factory, shuffling around the factory in blue plastic shoe covering - just like old times during the MBA! Eventually we dropped the bus back at the car hire place, then had a bite to eat at Boccadama in Santa Croce - heaving with tourists in the restaurant and nearby - making it much less tranquil than normal.
Ale and Massi left at 1740 on the train back to Udine, and I grabbed a cab home, already thinking about how we can get together again in the near future. Weekends like this one make me realise how much I miss everyone when they are not here - but the bright side is that its a good incentive to get together again soon.
And will also give me something to write about on the blog in future!
Monday, July 14, 2008
Monday night movies
Tonight an unexpected treat. I noticed that Sex and the City was on in English at the Odeon original sound cinema in Florence, so with Marco, Emilia and Cris, currently doing internships at work, we set off at the early hour of 1800 to head downtown in order to be there in time for the 1930 showing.
I had checked the time twice on the internet, but, knowing now how these things work, had also tried to call the place. No success.
Predictably, when we arrived the 1930 showing was now at 2100 - so we had some time to kill. We ajourned for a touristy drink on the terrace at La Rinascente, overlooking the Piazza della Republica, then scoffed down some mugello pasta at the Birreria Centrale before making our way back.
The movie was very enjoyable, daft, but what a treat to watchingon the big screen in English! The guys especially enjoyed it as, in the interval, they realised that the cinema was full of young, single american women!
The cinema closes soon for its summer holidays (unbeliveable but true!) but I might try to squeeze in another movie in original language before then.
I had checked the time twice on the internet, but, knowing now how these things work, had also tried to call the place. No success.
Predictably, when we arrived the 1930 showing was now at 2100 - so we had some time to kill. We ajourned for a touristy drink on the terrace at La Rinascente, overlooking the Piazza della Republica, then scoffed down some mugello pasta at the Birreria Centrale before making our way back.
The movie was very enjoyable, daft, but what a treat to watchingon the big screen in English! The guys especially enjoyed it as, in the interval, they realised that the cinema was full of young, single american women!
The cinema closes soon for its summer holidays (unbeliveable but true!) but I might try to squeeze in another movie in original language before then.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Lenny Live
Lenny Kravitz live in Pistoia was a must-do event. I've been listening to Lenny since I was about 15, and the thought of seeing him live in the open air surrounded by ancient buildings at the end of a hot summer's day in Italy was too good to miss!
I don't know the ratio of women to men in the crowd (high, to few) but there were many of us who appreciated Lenny's very obvious musical abilities alongside his other obvious qualities! It was a heck of a performance, about 2 1/2 hours and frying hot, but worth it all - even the dash from the plane where I had just landed after my cousin's wedding, and the 1/2 hour search for parking.
Even without lovely Lenny, I suspect that Pistoia would be worth a visit - and ancient town with a beautiful town centre, I have put it on the list of places to return too - although maybe it would have a totally different atmosphere without the African market, selling knock-off cds and Che Guevara t-shirts to drinking and smoking passers-by. It was full of young people and had a great atmosphere - really lively - although that might have been just the festival effect.
Back at the concert, Fly Away, I'll be Waiting, and Are You Gonna Go My Way rang out and reverberated around the Piazza Duomo - and later in the cars as we made our way back to Florence.
Fabulous.
I don't know the ratio of women to men in the crowd (high, to few) but there were many of us who appreciated Lenny's very obvious musical abilities alongside his other obvious qualities! It was a heck of a performance, about 2 1/2 hours and frying hot, but worth it all - even the dash from the plane where I had just landed after my cousin's wedding, and the 1/2 hour search for parking.
Even without lovely Lenny, I suspect that Pistoia would be worth a visit - and ancient town with a beautiful town centre, I have put it on the list of places to return too - although maybe it would have a totally different atmosphere without the African market, selling knock-off cds and Che Guevara t-shirts to drinking and smoking passers-by. It was full of young people and had a great atmosphere - really lively - although that might have been just the festival effect.
Back at the concert, Fly Away, I'll be Waiting, and Are You Gonna Go My Way rang out and reverberated around the Piazza Duomo - and later in the cars as we made our way back to Florence.
Fabulous.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Saving tourists with the SatNav
Finally, after months of getting perpetually lost around the streets of Florence, and needing to 'use the force' to figure out where to go, I have succumbed and purchased a SatNav.
It's already proved useful, and not just for me!
I went to dinner tonight in a new place, near the Porta Romana, and the voice coached me right to the place in which I could dump the car - mere paces from the door of the trattoria. But it was after dinner that it really came into its own.
As I was heading back home in the Panda, I saw an Indian family, in a people mover with Swiss plates. Even from within my car, I could see the stress as they attempted a 5 point turn in a narrow street. Someone got out and approached the window, pleading for directions to the Best Western.
I didn't even know there was a Best Western in Florence, but, a few touches on the screen later, we were off in a small procession, ending up at the hotel (near cascine, hidden away). The family were so happy the man came out and took my hand in both of his to say thank you. He told me that they had been driving around for 2 hours at that point and would never have found it without my help. (He was right - they didnt even have a map!)
From there I made my way home - knowing the way, but anyway following the signals. My only concern is that I will now lose the ability to exist without it - especially as teh satellite reception is rubbish here in Florence. But its pretty addictive stuff- and especially useful when it points out the location of the AutoVelox (speed cameras.
It's already proved useful, and not just for me!
I went to dinner tonight in a new place, near the Porta Romana, and the voice coached me right to the place in which I could dump the car - mere paces from the door of the trattoria. But it was after dinner that it really came into its own.
As I was heading back home in the Panda, I saw an Indian family, in a people mover with Swiss plates. Even from within my car, I could see the stress as they attempted a 5 point turn in a narrow street. Someone got out and approached the window, pleading for directions to the Best Western.
I didn't even know there was a Best Western in Florence, but, a few touches on the screen later, we were off in a small procession, ending up at the hotel (near cascine, hidden away). The family were so happy the man came out and took my hand in both of his to say thank you. He told me that they had been driving around for 2 hours at that point and would never have found it without my help. (He was right - they didnt even have a map!)
From there I made my way home - knowing the way, but anyway following the signals. My only concern is that I will now lose the ability to exist without it - especially as teh satellite reception is rubbish here in Florence. But its pretty addictive stuff- and especially useful when it points out the location of the AutoVelox (speed cameras.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Friday Morning at the Hairdressers
I'm on holiday today, and decided to head to the hairdressers before making the journey to Marche.
It seems that Friday morning might be the time when people go to the hairdressers in Florence. It being a work day, I expected that the place would be quiet. In fact, as I went in, it felt more like a hair factory than anything else! The place was packed, and full of women being pampered, preened and perfected before the weekend.
After the horror of the last time, I decided not to return to Ciro, but instead googled hairdressers in Florence and picked one at random that seemed to have been around for a long time and had good reviews.
The experience is still nothing like Hong Kong, although the prices were pretty much the same. It feels much more like a production line!
I sat on the sofa and waited for the nameless woman who came and washed my hair. No consultations here. And once the drips had been wiped away from the ends of my hair another nameless woman arrived and asked me what I wanted to do with my mop.
Explaining a little that I was thinking to have it cut shorter, she agreed, and, before I had time to blink, whipped out a razor and slashed off about 6 inches.
No going back from here then!
But when it was all done it looked a million times better, and it was a happy customer who headed for the cash desk at reception.
The bill, when it arrived, was highly specific. It turns out that I paid extra for the cut, the wash, the shampoo, the conditioner, the hairdrying etc etc. At the end the prices were high but not over Hong Kong levels, but it took a lot of strength not to feel ripped off for the fact that I had to pay 20 Euros for the blow dry after the wash and cut. An all-inclusive price - even if it was the same - would have seemed less shocking!
I asked the name of the stylist - Tiziana - who had scraped me into shape. She told me that I needed to do ??????? the next time I came. Which made me realise that I still need to do an intensive study of hairdresser terminology in my adopted language - no idea what she was on about! But I guess I will see when I go back again.
It seems that Friday morning might be the time when people go to the hairdressers in Florence. It being a work day, I expected that the place would be quiet. In fact, as I went in, it felt more like a hair factory than anything else! The place was packed, and full of women being pampered, preened and perfected before the weekend.
After the horror of the last time, I decided not to return to Ciro, but instead googled hairdressers in Florence and picked one at random that seemed to have been around for a long time and had good reviews.
The experience is still nothing like Hong Kong, although the prices were pretty much the same. It feels much more like a production line!
I sat on the sofa and waited for the nameless woman who came and washed my hair. No consultations here. And once the drips had been wiped away from the ends of my hair another nameless woman arrived and asked me what I wanted to do with my mop.
Explaining a little that I was thinking to have it cut shorter, she agreed, and, before I had time to blink, whipped out a razor and slashed off about 6 inches.
No going back from here then!
But when it was all done it looked a million times better, and it was a happy customer who headed for the cash desk at reception.
The bill, when it arrived, was highly specific. It turns out that I paid extra for the cut, the wash, the shampoo, the conditioner, the hairdrying etc etc. At the end the prices were high but not over Hong Kong levels, but it took a lot of strength not to feel ripped off for the fact that I had to pay 20 Euros for the blow dry after the wash and cut. An all-inclusive price - even if it was the same - would have seemed less shocking!
I asked the name of the stylist - Tiziana - who had scraped me into shape. She told me that I needed to do ??????? the next time I came. Which made me realise that I still need to do an intensive study of hairdresser terminology in my adopted language - no idea what she was on about! But I guess I will see when I go back again.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Euro Effect Part 2
I wrote last week about the effect of Euro 08 on the traffic.
This week I was later at work and discovered the Euro effect part 2 - if you leave it too late to go home, you run the risk of being mobbed by speeding scooter drivers racing back in time for the game.
But this week Italy won, so maybe it was worth the hazardous journey back.
I'm sitting in my lounge writing this, and hearing the crowds downstairs cheering as Germany have just knocked out Portugal. Either I have unknown German neighbours, or this is a good thing for Italy!
This week I was later at work and discovered the Euro effect part 2 - if you leave it too late to go home, you run the risk of being mobbed by speeding scooter drivers racing back in time for the game.
But this week Italy won, so maybe it was worth the hazardous journey back.
I'm sitting in my lounge writing this, and hearing the crowds downstairs cheering as Germany have just knocked out Portugal. Either I have unknown German neighbours, or this is a good thing for Italy!
Monday, June 09, 2008
The Euro Effect
Tonight as I was leaving the office, my colleague Paola said to me, 'Hey, tonight on the way home you will experience the Euro Effect.'
Immediately thought that it was some kind of inflation, a road tax? an increase in the price of fuel?
In fact, Paola was referring to the strange phenomenon of finding the road home from Sesto empty at 745 at night. It is the same effect that caused there to be no queue in the supermarket at 715 when I entered.
The Euro effect in question is that of the Euro 2008 championships. Half of Florence had left their offices early in order to get home in time to eat, open the wine to breathe and watch the game.
After I parked the car (in the blue line parking outside my door - unheard of! more people away for watching the footy! - I could see the strange green glow in the street - the TVs of every house in town tuned into RaiUno for the start of the game.
Imagine my horror at the final result - 3-0 to Holland. Not only is this a tragedy for the nation of football lovers, and my colleagues who are as poassionate about the game as they are about anything, but also for me.
The Euro effect meant that I was able to shop, drive home and park outside the house all in under 45 minutes. I was hoping to wallow in the emptiness for more than just the 2 remaining group games!
To Italia, in bocca al lupo for the remaining games!
Immediately thought that it was some kind of inflation, a road tax? an increase in the price of fuel?
In fact, Paola was referring to the strange phenomenon of finding the road home from Sesto empty at 745 at night. It is the same effect that caused there to be no queue in the supermarket at 715 when I entered.
The Euro effect in question is that of the Euro 2008 championships. Half of Florence had left their offices early in order to get home in time to eat, open the wine to breathe and watch the game.
After I parked the car (in the blue line parking outside my door - unheard of! more people away for watching the footy! - I could see the strange green glow in the street - the TVs of every house in town tuned into RaiUno for the start of the game.
Imagine my horror at the final result - 3-0 to Holland. Not only is this a tragedy for the nation of football lovers, and my colleagues who are as poassionate about the game as they are about anything, but also for me.
The Euro effect meant that I was able to shop, drive home and park outside the house all in under 45 minutes. I was hoping to wallow in the emptiness for more than just the 2 remaining group games!
To Italia, in bocca al lupo for the remaining games!
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Politically scorretto
In Napoli this ad was everywhere - this one, and its sister ad - where the headless girl is holding her chest with her hands. For the non-Italian speakers, the caption reads 'Vesuvius and Etna.... Have never been so close.'
Apparantly the ad has been very successful for the company, although they are also profiting from the TV courage. The commentators, I understand, are not concerned about the political incorrectness of the ad per se, but more that car-bound Napolitans may have accidents as a result of staring too much at the assets on display.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Strawberries mean summer
Finally it seems as though summer is here in Florence. The weather is still a mess for this time of year, it's chilly at night and raining a lot. But my visit to the Sant'Ambrodgio market this morning confirmed that, despite the inclement conditions, the seasons are changing.
As I rounded the corner to the market, the first thing I smelt were the strawberries. Piled high in their plastic punnets, almost every stall sported a collection of berries, from the farmed variety to the 'contadina' sort (I guess organic, or grown in people's gardens or farms.)
The summertime impression of the strawberries was backed up by glistening piles of cherries, apricots and rock melons.
A visit to the market should never be preceded by breakfast - you eat your way around the stalls, chatting with the stallholders.
'Try these, they are fabulous!' exclaimed the wizened 70-something year old popping s strawberry into my hand, and another into her mouth.... 'Or, if you prefer, a cherry?' with another sample.
I bought both.
Making my way down the outside of the building I snacked on porchetta (a roast stuffed pork) trying to avoid the beady eyes of the head of the pig with a large lemon in his mouth, fetchingly perched next to the server. At the back of the stall, a loaf of bread with a sign proclaiming 'Cooked in a wood oven' that was at least a metre long and half a meter wide. 'The olives are delicious too' I was told. They were. I bought some.
And prosciutto, here try a bit. And cheese... And salami...
My bag bulging, there was just enough space to squeeze in some Sardinian tomatoes - about the strangest tomato variety I have ever seen, a dark emerald green, with mottled tinges of burgundy, that I was told are sweet and delicious in salad.
Having had appetizers en route, I was nonetheless determined that this would not spoil my lunch, and made my way over to Il Pizzaiolo on Via dei Macci, next to the market.
Davide, a Napolitan friend from work, told me during the summer that this was the best pizza to be had in town. The margherita pizza I ordered with buffalo mozzarella was piping hot, and fabulous, although, like many pizzas here, it is pretty runny. Those who come expecting to eat pizza by the slice with fingers could find it messy going!
As I rounded the corner to the market, the first thing I smelt were the strawberries. Piled high in their plastic punnets, almost every stall sported a collection of berries, from the farmed variety to the 'contadina' sort (I guess organic, or grown in people's gardens or farms.)
The summertime impression of the strawberries was backed up by glistening piles of cherries, apricots and rock melons.
A visit to the market should never be preceded by breakfast - you eat your way around the stalls, chatting with the stallholders.
'Try these, they are fabulous!' exclaimed the wizened 70-something year old popping s strawberry into my hand, and another into her mouth.... 'Or, if you prefer, a cherry?' with another sample.
I bought both.
Making my way down the outside of the building I snacked on porchetta (a roast stuffed pork) trying to avoid the beady eyes of the head of the pig with a large lemon in his mouth, fetchingly perched next to the server. At the back of the stall, a loaf of bread with a sign proclaiming 'Cooked in a wood oven' that was at least a metre long and half a meter wide. 'The olives are delicious too' I was told. They were. I bought some.
And prosciutto, here try a bit. And cheese... And salami...
My bag bulging, there was just enough space to squeeze in some Sardinian tomatoes - about the strangest tomato variety I have ever seen, a dark emerald green, with mottled tinges of burgundy, that I was told are sweet and delicious in salad.
Having had appetizers en route, I was nonetheless determined that this would not spoil my lunch, and made my way over to Il Pizzaiolo on Via dei Macci, next to the market.
Davide, a Napolitan friend from work, told me during the summer that this was the best pizza to be had in town. The margherita pizza I ordered with buffalo mozzarella was piping hot, and fabulous, although, like many pizzas here, it is pretty runny. Those who come expecting to eat pizza by the slice with fingers could find it messy going!
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Automatic wine tasting
After a long night at Slowly, the day started in an appropriate way - not fast! It was throwing it down with rain, so as Terence picked his way through the puddles to the Uffizi, I chose the more domestic option of cleaning the apartment! After lunch at Yellow, a pizza joint downtown in Florence that is as American as they come butstill pretty appealing - its been there since the 70's and is something of an institution, we were encouraged by the sunshine and headed out to Greve-in-Chianti.
Once we had found a place to dump the car, we made our way through the village to the destination of today's tour - the Automatic Wine Tasting shop.
Le Cantine developed and patented a way to do automatic wine tasting that has now been adopted in other parts of the world (a google search mentioned Australia for a start). You get a stored value card, and a couple of glasses then make your way around the machines, selecting the samples by the glass that you want to try. We didn't have long, so in the photos we are trying the break-the-bank reserve samples at 4 euros a pop. Yum.
Once we had found a place to dump the car, we made our way through the village to the destination of today's tour - the Automatic Wine Tasting shop.
Le Cantine developed and patented a way to do automatic wine tasting that has now been adopted in other parts of the world (a google search mentioned Australia for a start). You get a stored value card, and a couple of glasses then make your way around the machines, selecting the samples by the glass that you want to try. We didn't have long, so in the photos we are trying the break-the-bank reserve samples at 4 euros a pop. Yum.
Terence in Tuscany: the wonders of technology
Through Facebook I have been in touch with many people that I have not seen or heard from for years and years, it has become a fairly common thing to log on and see an email from someone from my past who has added me as a friend - always a nice surprise.
But it was still pretty mind-blowing to see Terence, a guy that I was at school with in Hong Kong way back when, when we met at the taxi rank at Florence station. In Milan for work for 2 weeks, Terence took a few extra days to tour Italy, and started with a stint in Florence.
Despite the slightly soggy weather, we had a great trip around the city - starting with a panino at ino, then making our way up to Piazzale Michaelangelo, and San Miniato, then down again to the Palazzo Pitti and Eduardo's wine bar for a refreshment. The rain started to trickle down, so we went into the Palazzo Pitti museum. The rooms are staggering, OTT opulence, and at first you try to take everything in, later giving up and whisking through to the highlights.
After Palazzo Pitti, a quick stop on the Ponte Vecchio for the obligatory photo shoot, then to the Mercato by the golden pig - another Kodak moment.
We popped into Grom for a gelato near the Duomo, then off to Boccadama to meet Chiara, Kostantino and Goia for dinner. When the waiter brought over the vin santo 'on the house' Chiara said it was a bad sign in terms of the size of the bill - and she was right!
The night finished in Slowly, with mojitos and music - much like many nights in Hong Kong years ago!
But it was still pretty mind-blowing to see Terence, a guy that I was at school with in Hong Kong way back when, when we met at the taxi rank at Florence station. In Milan for work for 2 weeks, Terence took a few extra days to tour Italy, and started with a stint in Florence.
Despite the slightly soggy weather, we had a great trip around the city - starting with a panino at ino, then making our way up to Piazzale Michaelangelo, and San Miniato, then down again to the Palazzo Pitti and Eduardo's wine bar for a refreshment. The rain started to trickle down, so we went into the Palazzo Pitti museum. The rooms are staggering, OTT opulence, and at first you try to take everything in, later giving up and whisking through to the highlights.
After Palazzo Pitti, a quick stop on the Ponte Vecchio for the obligatory photo shoot, then to the Mercato by the golden pig - another Kodak moment.
We popped into Grom for a gelato near the Duomo, then off to Boccadama to meet Chiara, Kostantino and Goia for dinner. When the waiter brought over the vin santo 'on the house' Chiara said it was a bad sign in terms of the size of the bill - and she was right!
The night finished in Slowly, with mojitos and music - much like many nights in Hong Kong years ago!
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
The panda is in back in perfect shape
Finally the Panda is back to its former glory, with huge thanks to Leonardo who took her away while I was away, fixed her up, washed her inside and out, and returned her to my office car park so she was there when I got back from Indy. And I haven't paid a centisimo. However much the insurance was, it was worth it!
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Indianapolis - its a long, long way from home
Indy is far from Florence. I had to look it up on the map, but its in the middle bit of the states, not so so far from Chicago (about 3 hours in a car).
To get to Indy from Florence there are a few routes to take, but no easy solution. Our plane from Italy to Paris was a little late, and as we got off, we had to take a U-turn through customs and then wait on a bus to get over to the next door terminal. Then again through hand luggage control and finally to the gate.
Where the plane had just closed its doors, without there being an announcement of any kind, despite the fact that we arrived with Air France, and were flying on with Air France to our next destination.
Despite the frustration at having missed our plane, we were lucky. It seems that there are a number of flights between Paris and Detroit (who knew it was so popular?!) so we were put on the next plane, and managed to negotiate lounge passes on the back of Maurizio's (expired) elite card for the 3 hour wait.
We worked throughout the flight, and, on arrival in Detroit, were all exhausted. You have to identify your luggage (collect it, and then rescan it) and we also went over to the NorthWest desk, as instructed in Paris, to ask whether our boarding passes were OK, or whether we needed a printed ticket as well.
I approached the desk, already thinking that the bloke sitting in the Northwest uniform behind it, looked less than authoratative. 'Are these alright, these boarding passes?' I asked him.
'Hmmmmm', he said, peering at them through squinted eyes. 'Well no, there seems to be a problem' he added. 'They are in French - where did you get them from?'
'Errrr, Paris...' I said.
'Oh. No, its OK - there is English on them too!' he added.
Not so tired though that we could not appreciate the parade of Monopoly games in the various shops in the airport - with Micheganmania sporting Michiganopoly, next door to the chocolate shop with its own version Chocolateopoly, then Dogopoly, Catopoly - and no, I am not making this up! Needless to say, we resisted the temptation to buy anything.
Hours passed in Detroit, and further plane problems (late crew, a mechanical fault)before we finally headed off to Indy. It certainly seems a long long way from Italy so far!
To get to Indy from Florence there are a few routes to take, but no easy solution. Our plane from Italy to Paris was a little late, and as we got off, we had to take a U-turn through customs and then wait on a bus to get over to the next door terminal. Then again through hand luggage control and finally to the gate.
Where the plane had just closed its doors, without there being an announcement of any kind, despite the fact that we arrived with Air France, and were flying on with Air France to our next destination.
Despite the frustration at having missed our plane, we were lucky. It seems that there are a number of flights between Paris and Detroit (who knew it was so popular?!) so we were put on the next plane, and managed to negotiate lounge passes on the back of Maurizio's (expired) elite card for the 3 hour wait.
We worked throughout the flight, and, on arrival in Detroit, were all exhausted. You have to identify your luggage (collect it, and then rescan it) and we also went over to the NorthWest desk, as instructed in Paris, to ask whether our boarding passes were OK, or whether we needed a printed ticket as well.
I approached the desk, already thinking that the bloke sitting in the Northwest uniform behind it, looked less than authoratative. 'Are these alright, these boarding passes?' I asked him.
'Hmmmmm', he said, peering at them through squinted eyes. 'Well no, there seems to be a problem' he added. 'They are in French - where did you get them from?'
'Errrr, Paris...' I said.
'Oh. No, its OK - there is English on them too!' he added.
Not so tired though that we could not appreciate the parade of Monopoly games in the various shops in the airport - with Micheganmania sporting Michiganopoly, next door to the chocolate shop with its own version Chocolateopoly, then Dogopoly, Catopoly - and no, I am not making this up! Needless to say, we resisted the temptation to buy anything.
Hours passed in Detroit, and further plane problems (late crew, a mechanical fault)before we finally headed off to Indy. It certainly seems a long long way from Italy so far!
Sunday, May 04, 2008
The news says...
... that 12 million Italians were on the roads tonight coming back from the break. No wonder there was traffic! That'a a lot of blown kisses for my friends in the Suzuki...
Latin Lovers in the Traffic
The stories of Italian men tour the world, but often the reality here is that guys are the same as they are anywhere else.
There are times though, when being here really makes me smile.
Today sitting in interminable traffic, there was a Suzuki Swift on the outside lane. As we crawled along, I looked out of the window at the vineyards on the other side of the autostrada, when a sudden movement caught my eye. The guys in the Suzuki were waving furiously.
I gave them a smile back and they both blew me a kiss!
Hilarious, and a very welcome break from the jam.
(5 hours after I left, I finally returned home, many waves later, and still laughing!)
There are times though, when being here really makes me smile.
Today sitting in interminable traffic, there was a Suzuki Swift on the outside lane. As we crawled along, I looked out of the window at the vineyards on the other side of the autostrada, when a sudden movement caught my eye. The guys in the Suzuki were waving furiously.
I gave them a smile back and they both blew me a kiss!
Hilarious, and a very welcome break from the jam.
(5 hours after I left, I finally returned home, many waves later, and still laughing!)
High class cooking
Marchigiana fare tends to be pretty standard - you can count on great antipasti, especially the prosciutto, and normally a nice piece of meat thrown on the wood-burning fire for afterwards, with a mixed salad. A coffee, maybe a digestivo, and everyone is happy.
The food in Marche is generally excellent, even given its simplicity. This is still farming country, so the veggies were in the fields minutes before arriving on the plates, and the same, I suspect is true of the animals, although I would rather not think about that.
But basically it is not messed around with, very few herbs and spices, and seasoned mainly with lemon.
One exception to this simplicity of flavour is truffles. Marche is truffle country, and whilst in other places they cost the earth, here they are both reasonable and fresh. That is to say, they can be, but one of the reasons why truffles are so pricey I guess, is that they are famously fragile - i bought one in the winter and, despite following all instructions to the letter, it had no taste at all.
There are a lot of great pasta dishes with truffles in here, Ai Pini in Sarnano does the most lip-lickingly fabulous tortellini with cream and truffles - totally decadent, but worth the calories.
But Il Colle, a turn or two off the SS78 at Gabella Nuova, just out of Sarnano towards Macerata, is one of the few places I have seen around here that flavours meat with anything. The results last night when I went for dinner, were fantastic. We ordered fillet steak, cooked on the fire, and seasoned with a sauce flavoured with grated fresh black truffle, and fresh parmigiano cheese. The steak melted in the mouth, and the truffle sauce was so good we chased it around the plate with chips to try to mop up every last drop, washing it down with a Rosso Piceno Superiore called Notturno from the producers Cherri, from down at the coast near San Benedetto del Tronto. Highly recommended!
The food in Marche is generally excellent, even given its simplicity. This is still farming country, so the veggies were in the fields minutes before arriving on the plates, and the same, I suspect is true of the animals, although I would rather not think about that.
But basically it is not messed around with, very few herbs and spices, and seasoned mainly with lemon.
One exception to this simplicity of flavour is truffles. Marche is truffle country, and whilst in other places they cost the earth, here they are both reasonable and fresh. That is to say, they can be, but one of the reasons why truffles are so pricey I guess, is that they are famously fragile - i bought one in the winter and, despite following all instructions to the letter, it had no taste at all.
There are a lot of great pasta dishes with truffles in here, Ai Pini in Sarnano does the most lip-lickingly fabulous tortellini with cream and truffles - totally decadent, but worth the calories.
But Il Colle, a turn or two off the SS78 at Gabella Nuova, just out of Sarnano towards Macerata, is one of the few places I have seen around here that flavours meat with anything. The results last night when I went for dinner, were fantastic. We ordered fillet steak, cooked on the fire, and seasoned with a sauce flavoured with grated fresh black truffle, and fresh parmigiano cheese. The steak melted in the mouth, and the truffle sauce was so good we chased it around the plate with chips to try to mop up every last drop, washing it down with a Rosso Piceno Superiore called Notturno from the producers Cherri, from down at the coast near San Benedetto del Tronto. Highly recommended!
Country Living
After many years in Hong Kong, I am a city girl at heart. I love the energy of a city, the bright lights and the rhythm, the restaurants, bars and shops. But every now and again, there is also a real joy in coming to my house in the country and doing something totally different.
When I am in Florence, I work for hours and hours in the office, staring at the computer screen, or in meetings, talking endlessly about various things. Often when I arrive at work it is dark, and when I leave, dark again. It is not much of an outdoor lifestyle.
But when I come to Marche, everything changes. The country speed is totally different, and, very enjoyable at times!
My days here start with the sun coming through the curtains to wake me up. I deliberately turn off the alarm and leave the shutters open so that it is the warmth and the light that stir me, and not the electronic cuckoo that has that pleasure the rest of the time.
I stroll up to town for breakfast, and a natter with the baker and the man in the bar who makes a cappuccino without even asking for me. And then ponder about how to fill the day.
When I reflect when I am here in the mountains, I realise that there are some things in life that I have missed out learning about, and they seem to be things that are difficult to understand if you do not have the inside track.
I am not a golfer for example, although I can whack a hockey ball, so how different can it be? But it is not a world that I am a part of, or have an access into.
I am not a computer gamer - I am guessing Guitar Hero doesn't count (I love it! but don't own it. But who can resist the chance to make like a rock star with the riff from Stairway to Heaven - its air guitar for techies!)
Nor am I a gardener. Although the difference about gardening is that a) I own a garden so I really need to learn and b) I actually really enjoy it - even though many of the things I buy die within a few months.
I planted a row of rose trees on the edge of the garden some years ago, and from 6, was down to 4. What was once a solid line looked more like perforations. There was a need to fill in the gaps.
With this in mind, yesterday I set off to the garden centre. I can spend hours in the garden centre, hoping that another turn around the plants will help me to absorb some knowledge so that when I get back it is slightly easier to know what I have to do. I found one of the garden centre employees for advice. A man in his 60s with few teeth, gnarled hands and a baseball cap not only looked the part, but was smiling at everyone, so seemed a good bet to ask. "Rose trees" I asked him. At which he indicated the golf cart parked nearby (unnecessary- it wasn't far - but very fun, especially as the driver, on request, went the long way round up and down the hills). On arrival at the trees, we debated the ideal choice for me to take away. In the end I settled on 2 yellow rose trees, which are already in bloom so bring some much needed colour to the side of the garden. The man explained that I needed to make sure that I removed all the roots of the dead trees, or the new ones would be affected from the roots upwards.
So on getting home, I changed into my best gardening gear, and went out in the sunshine to start digging.
The soil here is solid clay, and quite revolting. The roses seem to like it, but it is almost impossible to shift as the spade gets clogged with gloop as soon as it hits the ground.
About 2 hours later, I had successfully dug one hole, and was well on my way with the next when I saw a shadow pass in front of the sun. Someone had come to have a look.
I looked up and pushed the hair out of my eyes (at the same time leaving a smear of grey clay over my cheek) and saw the priest from the church on the corner. "Did you do this?" he asked me, gesturing at the hole.
At this moment, I had one foot down it, so was up to mid calf in mud and clay, the spade was in my hand, I had a recent smear of clay on my cheek and a large blob on my t-shirt (still not sure how that got there!)
"err, yes" i replied.
I was expecting at this point the lesson. The townspeople here in Marche are lovely. They think me rather eccentric I imagine, as I come here on my own and do unfeminine things like dig in the garden, but nonetheless they are always ready to share advice. Normally when someone stops when I am mid-chore, it is to tell me that I am not doing it the right way.
So I was a little surprised when the priest just said "Brava" (like well done) and smiled and moved along.
By the end of the day my face was pink from the sun (the first real sun I have been out in this year) and I was aching all over from the digging. But there are two small yellow rose trees brightening up the side of the garden that make the effort all seem worthwhile.
Now if only I can get them to live....
When I am in Florence, I work for hours and hours in the office, staring at the computer screen, or in meetings, talking endlessly about various things. Often when I arrive at work it is dark, and when I leave, dark again. It is not much of an outdoor lifestyle.
But when I come to Marche, everything changes. The country speed is totally different, and, very enjoyable at times!
My days here start with the sun coming through the curtains to wake me up. I deliberately turn off the alarm and leave the shutters open so that it is the warmth and the light that stir me, and not the electronic cuckoo that has that pleasure the rest of the time.
I stroll up to town for breakfast, and a natter with the baker and the man in the bar who makes a cappuccino without even asking for me. And then ponder about how to fill the day.
When I reflect when I am here in the mountains, I realise that there are some things in life that I have missed out learning about, and they seem to be things that are difficult to understand if you do not have the inside track.
I am not a golfer for example, although I can whack a hockey ball, so how different can it be? But it is not a world that I am a part of, or have an access into.
I am not a computer gamer - I am guessing Guitar Hero doesn't count (I love it! but don't own it. But who can resist the chance to make like a rock star with the riff from Stairway to Heaven - its air guitar for techies!)
Nor am I a gardener. Although the difference about gardening is that a) I own a garden so I really need to learn and b) I actually really enjoy it - even though many of the things I buy die within a few months.
I planted a row of rose trees on the edge of the garden some years ago, and from 6, was down to 4. What was once a solid line looked more like perforations. There was a need to fill in the gaps.
With this in mind, yesterday I set off to the garden centre. I can spend hours in the garden centre, hoping that another turn around the plants will help me to absorb some knowledge so that when I get back it is slightly easier to know what I have to do. I found one of the garden centre employees for advice. A man in his 60s with few teeth, gnarled hands and a baseball cap not only looked the part, but was smiling at everyone, so seemed a good bet to ask. "Rose trees" I asked him. At which he indicated the golf cart parked nearby (unnecessary- it wasn't far - but very fun, especially as the driver, on request, went the long way round up and down the hills). On arrival at the trees, we debated the ideal choice for me to take away. In the end I settled on 2 yellow rose trees, which are already in bloom so bring some much needed colour to the side of the garden. The man explained that I needed to make sure that I removed all the roots of the dead trees, or the new ones would be affected from the roots upwards.
So on getting home, I changed into my best gardening gear, and went out in the sunshine to start digging.
The soil here is solid clay, and quite revolting. The roses seem to like it, but it is almost impossible to shift as the spade gets clogged with gloop as soon as it hits the ground.
About 2 hours later, I had successfully dug one hole, and was well on my way with the next when I saw a shadow pass in front of the sun. Someone had come to have a look.
I looked up and pushed the hair out of my eyes (at the same time leaving a smear of grey clay over my cheek) and saw the priest from the church on the corner. "Did you do this?" he asked me, gesturing at the hole.
At this moment, I had one foot down it, so was up to mid calf in mud and clay, the spade was in my hand, I had a recent smear of clay on my cheek and a large blob on my t-shirt (still not sure how that got there!)
"err, yes" i replied.
I was expecting at this point the lesson. The townspeople here in Marche are lovely. They think me rather eccentric I imagine, as I come here on my own and do unfeminine things like dig in the garden, but nonetheless they are always ready to share advice. Normally when someone stops when I am mid-chore, it is to tell me that I am not doing it the right way.
So I was a little surprised when the priest just said "Brava" (like well done) and smiled and moved along.
By the end of the day my face was pink from the sun (the first real sun I have been out in this year) and I was aching all over from the digging. But there are two small yellow rose trees brightening up the side of the garden that make the effort all seem worthwhile.
Now if only I can get them to live....
Thursday, May 01, 2008
In gamba
May 1st is celebrated as the festival of workers in many parts of the world, with places from China to France having a day off. Last night, after an eventful day in the office, Chiara, my friend from work, and I went for dinner at a place called Il Santo Bevitore. On the Oltrarno, I went there once before on the occasion of the first book club. Its a great place, large but still friendly and we sat at the bar and tucked into aged proscuitto, pecorino from Sardinia with fig chutney and some delicious bread, followed by Pappa al Pomodoro - a tomato soup-type concoction, with bread in it.
Inside the menus there is a phrase written "Ecco quello che sono veramente, sbronzo, cattiva, ma in gamba." I wanted to translate it, but a direct translation won't capture it.
In literal terms, the phrase says 'This is what I really am, drunk, wicked, but ...' it is then that I hit the difficulty.
Gamba is the word for leg. When I have heard the expression used in the past, it is used in the context of when someone is a good person to know - he's in gamba - a compliment. I looked it up in various online dictionaries and the translations that are used indicate 'on the ball' ' no flies on them', but basically its a good thing.
After a bottle of wine and dinner we went over to Santa Spirito. It is a real sign that summer is on the way, as when I have passed the Piazza in the winter it has been totally deserted. Now though there are a few stragglers sitting around the fountain, and many more huddled onto the church steps. Come the summer, when an enterprising soul parks a shipping container and turns it into a bar, and there is live music every night at 9, the place is heaving. Still at this time of the year, you can meet people, and we had a long chat with 2 Tuscan guys who were out for a quiet drink like us. One was from Florence, but did stress that this didn't mean he wasn't 'in gamba'.
Inside the menus there is a phrase written "Ecco quello che sono veramente, sbronzo, cattiva, ma in gamba." I wanted to translate it, but a direct translation won't capture it.
In literal terms, the phrase says 'This is what I really am, drunk, wicked, but ...' it is then that I hit the difficulty.
Gamba is the word for leg. When I have heard the expression used in the past, it is used in the context of when someone is a good person to know - he's in gamba - a compliment. I looked it up in various online dictionaries and the translations that are used indicate 'on the ball' ' no flies on them', but basically its a good thing.
After a bottle of wine and dinner we went over to Santa Spirito. It is a real sign that summer is on the way, as when I have passed the Piazza in the winter it has been totally deserted. Now though there are a few stragglers sitting around the fountain, and many more huddled onto the church steps. Come the summer, when an enterprising soul parks a shipping container and turns it into a bar, and there is live music every night at 9, the place is heaving. Still at this time of the year, you can meet people, and we had a long chat with 2 Tuscan guys who were out for a quiet drink like us. One was from Florence, but did stress that this didn't mean he wasn't 'in gamba'.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Florence - A fine city
In Singapore, where there are fines for everything from chewing gum to jaywalking, there are 1000 naff souvenirs that you can get saying Singapore - a fine city.
I am learning that the phrase applies here in Florence too.
Having a car is pretty much essential in Italy. The public transport is not bad at linking the main cities, but to really see the place, you need to have wheels to get around.
But in the cities, this is not always an advantage.
Friday I received a racomandata (registered letter) at work from the Municipal Police, containing a fine for 84 Euros for passing in front of the station on a forbidden stretch of road (about 50 metres in length.) It is true, guilty as charged, that I used this road, because honestly I had no idea how to reach the other side of the station without crossing this little bit. Of course, there are no signs to the station that let you avoid this bit of road.
The issue is that the penalty was from 11am on December 21st 2007. We are now half way through April. And, in all ignorance, I have used this little stretch many times since then. I am expecting that a large chunk of money could be heading the way of the Florentine local authorities.
Yesterday, following a relaxing day that ended with a stroll in the city with my friend Chiara, I remembered that I needed to move my car from its parking spot as it was street washing night. (This means that if your car is parked in an inopportune spot at an inopportune moment, it is towed away, leaving you carless, with a bill of 150-odd euros to shell out for).
I went off to get the car, parked in its blue line parking. A bit of background at this point. Blue lines mean pay and display here in Italy, but, in theory, if you have a residents permit for that area you do not have to pay.
Residents permits are based on the zone in which you live. I am in zone 3 (dark blue permit) which stretches from my road to Piazza della Libertà , some 10 minutes on foot away. Its a reasonably big area, and very residential, so parking is not normally a huge issue.
But my flat is right on the edge of zone 3. One cross street over and the same road turns into zone 4, meaning I have no right to park there.
But as the place where I had left the car was parallel to my street, I assumed that the Zone 3 pass would still cover me.
Either I was wrong, or given that the parking label is the same colour as the car, the ticket inspector didn't see the permit, as when I went back to the car, I saw the telltale green slip that means you have a fine. This time 36 euros.
Yesterday whilst strolling around the shops, I saw a lovely pair of shoes that I was keen to buy. But at 115 euros, I will have to put them on the list for next month, as I have already spent their equivalent in fines for the car.
I am learning that the phrase applies here in Florence too.
Having a car is pretty much essential in Italy. The public transport is not bad at linking the main cities, but to really see the place, you need to have wheels to get around.
But in the cities, this is not always an advantage.
Friday I received a racomandata (registered letter) at work from the Municipal Police, containing a fine for 84 Euros for passing in front of the station on a forbidden stretch of road (about 50 metres in length.) It is true, guilty as charged, that I used this road, because honestly I had no idea how to reach the other side of the station without crossing this little bit. Of course, there are no signs to the station that let you avoid this bit of road.
The issue is that the penalty was from 11am on December 21st 2007. We are now half way through April. And, in all ignorance, I have used this little stretch many times since then. I am expecting that a large chunk of money could be heading the way of the Florentine local authorities.
Yesterday, following a relaxing day that ended with a stroll in the city with my friend Chiara, I remembered that I needed to move my car from its parking spot as it was street washing night. (This means that if your car is parked in an inopportune spot at an inopportune moment, it is towed away, leaving you carless, with a bill of 150-odd euros to shell out for).
I went off to get the car, parked in its blue line parking. A bit of background at this point. Blue lines mean pay and display here in Italy, but, in theory, if you have a residents permit for that area you do not have to pay.
Residents permits are based on the zone in which you live. I am in zone 3 (dark blue permit) which stretches from my road to Piazza della Libertà , some 10 minutes on foot away. Its a reasonably big area, and very residential, so parking is not normally a huge issue.
But my flat is right on the edge of zone 3. One cross street over and the same road turns into zone 4, meaning I have no right to park there.
But as the place where I had left the car was parallel to my street, I assumed that the Zone 3 pass would still cover me.
Either I was wrong, or given that the parking label is the same colour as the car, the ticket inspector didn't see the permit, as when I went back to the car, I saw the telltale green slip that means you have a fine. This time 36 euros.
Yesterday whilst strolling around the shops, I saw a lovely pair of shoes that I was keen to buy. But at 115 euros, I will have to put them on the list for next month, as I have already spent their equivalent in fines for the car.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
What a difference the sun makes
It's an incredible day in Florence today, with bright sunshine that has finally shed the chills of winter, and the whole city looks different.
This morning started as my Florentine Saturdays often start with a trip to the San Ambrodgio market. Less touristy than the Central Market, and much nearer to my house, its a small building, in a piazza, surrounded on a Saturday morning by fruit and veg vendors, calling out the highlights of their wares. This morning the Maremma artichokes were getting a big push, but given that I am never entirely sure what to do with them, and have no desire in this sunshine to be inside studying cookbooks, I plumped for foodstuffs that I was a lot more familiar with.
Having bumped into a colleague and having a natter (for a city, this place is really a village) I wandered home and made myself a salad. The mixed lettuce looks like it was in someone's garden this morning, and mixed with feta, yellow pepper, and ox heart tomatoes, with some lemon juice and olive oil from a frantoio in Marche, it was a delicious lunch on the balcony in the sunshine.
In the height of the summer, the city groans with the weight of tourists struggling in the 40 degree heat in lines behind their umbrella/flag/sunflower-toting guide, red-faced and with inappropriate footwear for Florence's broken and beat-up roads and pavements. But they are not here yet. Right now Florence more or less belongs to those of us who live here.
And the sunshine in the city reminds us of the reasons why we do.
This morning started as my Florentine Saturdays often start with a trip to the San Ambrodgio market. Less touristy than the Central Market, and much nearer to my house, its a small building, in a piazza, surrounded on a Saturday morning by fruit and veg vendors, calling out the highlights of their wares. This morning the Maremma artichokes were getting a big push, but given that I am never entirely sure what to do with them, and have no desire in this sunshine to be inside studying cookbooks, I plumped for foodstuffs that I was a lot more familiar with.
Having bumped into a colleague and having a natter (for a city, this place is really a village) I wandered home and made myself a salad. The mixed lettuce looks like it was in someone's garden this morning, and mixed with feta, yellow pepper, and ox heart tomatoes, with some lemon juice and olive oil from a frantoio in Marche, it was a delicious lunch on the balcony in the sunshine.
In the height of the summer, the city groans with the weight of tourists struggling in the 40 degree heat in lines behind their umbrella/flag/sunflower-toting guide, red-faced and with inappropriate footwear for Florence's broken and beat-up roads and pavements. But they are not here yet. Right now Florence more or less belongs to those of us who live here.
And the sunshine in the city reminds us of the reasons why we do.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Incredible but true
If the exit polls are correct, Berlusconi has won the election. My colleagues are now sharing tales of woe about the last time he was in power ( 3 consecutive years of 0% growth.....)
Giulio, who is here at the Company doing an internship was spouting statistics like a fountain - all of them terrible.
It appears that, whilst popular with housewives and those who appreciate his charisma and ageless looks, Silvio has some work to do with the working professionals of Sesto Fiorentino.
Giulio, who is here at the Company doing an internship was spouting statistics like a fountain - all of them terrible.
It appears that, whilst popular with housewives and those who appreciate his charisma and ageless looks, Silvio has some work to do with the working professionals of Sesto Fiorentino.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
The polling stations are open
Voting has begun for Italy's 62nd Parliamentary election in 63 years. Polling stations are open as I type, and will close at 10 tonight and be open again tomorrow morning until they close mid-afternoon.
There seems to be moderate interest in the outcome. I have not seen the papers today, but I do have the radio on at home, and figured I would listen into the 6pm news to see what the updates were.
The leading item on the news was that Kate Moss's bags have been lost in transit...
Perhaps the interest in the next government is less than I thought!
There seems to be moderate interest in the outcome. I have not seen the papers today, but I do have the radio on at home, and figured I would listen into the 6pm news to see what the updates were.
The leading item on the news was that Kate Moss's bags have been lost in transit...
Perhaps the interest in the next government is less than I thought!
Friday, April 11, 2008
Book Club and Blisters
Wednesday was bookclub night. Normally the first Wednesday of every month I meet for dinner with a bunch of girls and we discuss the book we have selected and read the month before. This week the dinner was at a place called Finastaere, tucked behind the Santa Croce church, and the topic for discussion was the classic Pride and Prejudice. And who cannot enjoy Pride and Prejudice with such strong images of Colin Firth in the BBC series emerging from the lake with his wet shirt - what's not to love!
I go down to Santa Croce fairly often, but normally on foot from my house, so I had no idea where to park the car. The riverbank, all along the Lungarno is pretty much restricted to cars, and there are video cameras that take a pic of your licence plate number if you transgress, and the next thing you know there is an 80Euro fine winging its way to you in the mail. So wishing to avoid that, I parked up at the far end of the riverside, near to the place where I do my wine course. And I set out on foot towards Santa Croce.
I had, however, totally underestimated the distance from the car to the restaurant - especially given the high and painful shoes I was wearing at the time. A good 20 minutes later, freezing cold, I hobbled into the restaurant.
The place is nice, and, refreshingly, serves kind of watered down middle eastern cuisine. We had a mix of spanakopita, pita, humous and other dips to start, followed by a chat about the book and Austen, and the changed, or otherwise, role of women in the world today compared to that in Ms Austen's time, during a second course of tagine or moussaka.
Apart from me, all the other book club-ees are married, most to Italians, and one to a Brit. There are mainly Americans, with 2 or 3 Brits, and one French girl - its a nice mixture of people and its good to be out with different people once in a while.
It was late when I tottered back down the lungarno to the car, whilst making a mental note to myself to keep some ballet slippers in the car, or buy a GPS that will indicate better parking spots.
The next book is On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan, that I picked, at the restaurant that I picked, although I have never been there, the Lebanese place also near Santa Croce. This time parking will not be a problem however, as I will be away in Indianapolis when the discussion takes place.
I go down to Santa Croce fairly often, but normally on foot from my house, so I had no idea where to park the car. The riverbank, all along the Lungarno is pretty much restricted to cars, and there are video cameras that take a pic of your licence plate number if you transgress, and the next thing you know there is an 80Euro fine winging its way to you in the mail. So wishing to avoid that, I parked up at the far end of the riverside, near to the place where I do my wine course. And I set out on foot towards Santa Croce.
I had, however, totally underestimated the distance from the car to the restaurant - especially given the high and painful shoes I was wearing at the time. A good 20 minutes later, freezing cold, I hobbled into the restaurant.
The place is nice, and, refreshingly, serves kind of watered down middle eastern cuisine. We had a mix of spanakopita, pita, humous and other dips to start, followed by a chat about the book and Austen, and the changed, or otherwise, role of women in the world today compared to that in Ms Austen's time, during a second course of tagine or moussaka.
Apart from me, all the other book club-ees are married, most to Italians, and one to a Brit. There are mainly Americans, with 2 or 3 Brits, and one French girl - its a nice mixture of people and its good to be out with different people once in a while.
It was late when I tottered back down the lungarno to the car, whilst making a mental note to myself to keep some ballet slippers in the car, or buy a GPS that will indicate better parking spots.
The next book is On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan, that I picked, at the restaurant that I picked, although I have never been there, the Lebanese place also near Santa Croce. This time parking will not be a problem however, as I will be away in Indianapolis when the discussion takes place.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Heading for the polls
Italy is poised to vote. The common opinion seems to be regret, but resigned, that we will, once again, be in the hands of Mr Berlusconi.
It will be interesting to see the effect of this resignation. Will people vote Veltroni or Casini to keep Berlusconi out? Or will the ones that don't feel their candidates have a chance, not vote at all, and as a result Berlusconi will win?
The walls, billboards, lampposts and buses are decorated with the variety of parties on offer. With the charismatic Berlusconi telling Italy to get up again, contrasted by Veltroni's much more sober campaign, at the end of the day the elections, and the results are likely to be complicated.
The voting process, and the structure of the political system is so complex that many attempts are being made to render everything more simple for poll-goers. This includes filmed classroom sessions on MTV in which the VJs explain everything from what the President of the Republic does, to how you need to make sure your vote is counted and what bureaucratic processes you need to go to to be able to vote at all.
I will, with some of the rest of Italy, be watching the results with interest.
May the best, and not necessarily the most charismatic, person win.
It will be interesting to see the effect of this resignation. Will people vote Veltroni or Casini to keep Berlusconi out? Or will the ones that don't feel their candidates have a chance, not vote at all, and as a result Berlusconi will win?
The walls, billboards, lampposts and buses are decorated with the variety of parties on offer. With the charismatic Berlusconi telling Italy to get up again, contrasted by Veltroni's much more sober campaign, at the end of the day the elections, and the results are likely to be complicated.
The voting process, and the structure of the political system is so complex that many attempts are being made to render everything more simple for poll-goers. This includes filmed classroom sessions on MTV in which the VJs explain everything from what the President of the Republic does, to how you need to make sure your vote is counted and what bureaucratic processes you need to go to to be able to vote at all.
I will, with some of the rest of Italy, be watching the results with interest.
May the best, and not necessarily the most charismatic, person win.
Florence Apartment
After spending many weekends, and a great deal of effort with the screwdriver building stuff, my apartment in Florence is almost finished. There are still no pics on the walls, but the rest of the place is getting there. I still have not organised the housewarming, but I do now have a parking permit for residents, and managed to pay the rent online with my Italian bank account - a much bigger achievement than it sounds!
Here are a few pics, to tempt visitors..... The apartment is - by about 180 years, the oldest apartment I have ever lived in, and I feel at home already!
Saturday, April 05, 2008
Picnic in Florence
Saturday lunchtime and I headed to Luci's house in Antella for a picnic for her husband Mario's birthday.
It's not so easy to find the house at first, as its outside Florence, and I am still without a GPS device, which means I have to use the entirely disfunctional built-in version and the scribbled instructions from our call earlier in the day.
I didn't want to turn up empty-handed, and my recent workload has meant that the domestic goddess in me has taken early retirement, so I was in need of good cakes, and fast.
Luckily, it turns out that there are at least 3 good cakeshops between my house and Piazza Libertà which is a few blocks away. I wandered down the road and came across the Napolitan pasticceria.
Most cake shops that I have seen in Italy are really bars that also sell cakes and other things. The Napolitan shop is different, it is a tiny place, with the area for selling things much smaller than that for baking out the back.
As I entered, the lady serving said that I must be hungry (she had seen me outside talking on the phone for a while to Mum and Dad in Hong Kong.) As a result of my presumed hunger, she suggested a try a little pizza - deep and filled with capers and tomato - delicious.
Next up she offered me a small cheese straw, made of light pastry (texture, not calories!) and parmesan cheese.
Once we got to the third sample, it took quite some convincing that I really hadn't been that hungry to begin with.
I left clutching an apple tart, and some cheese straws, and made my way to Antella The picture shows the amazing view from the equally amazing garden, and Iacopo and Mario, just before the cork was popped on the chilled Bolinger.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Friuli Weekend
Back in Friuli for Easter, and a few reminders of the good old days.
A lovely Easter lunch at Luca's house with his family, gave me a chance to learn some Friulano - thanks to Ale, Luca's sister for translating into Italian for me! Friulano is a language, not a dialect, and bears more similarity to French than Italian from the words that I heard.
After lunch - at around 4 - we went to the station to pick up the surprise guest for the weekend, Percy had flown in from Costa Rica to see us all for Easter. In the end there were not many of us, but it was anyway fabulous to see him, looking relaxed and tanned in comparison to the rest of us who have enjoyed the European winter.
Easter Sunday was absolutely freezing, with scattered snow and hail, so it must have been surprising to Massi when we told him that we would meet him in the gelateria near Luca' s house. When he arrived, we were drinking hot chocolates with rum - for purely medicinal purposes!
With a brief stop for wine and ham in San Daniele - where the ham is so fresh it seems unrecognisable from the packaged stuff in my local Esselunga - we went off to Celante, Massi's family house in the countryside. Long-term readers will remember that we have been there once before, after VinItaly last year.
On a freezing night, we played Jenga and sat around the fireplace catching up.
The fireplace - called a Fogolar - was the centre point of every Friulano household. It is an open-sided fireplace - in the case of the Celante house, circular, which the family used to sit around to cook, eat and stay warm. Its a convivial spot, with benches surrounding the flames, meaning that all the occupants can warm their hands/feet/both as they eat and chat. Friuli used to be a very poor region - now is one of the richest in Italy - but in old times the families would have snuggled close to the flames eating their daily staple food of polenta.
Easter Monday and after a very slow start, Massimiliano and Barbara arrived and took up their spots with the rest of us near to the fire. And there we stayed until it was time to get back on the road, Luca and Massi to Udine and Percy and I to Trieste.
A lovely Easter lunch at Luca's house with his family, gave me a chance to learn some Friulano - thanks to Ale, Luca's sister for translating into Italian for me! Friulano is a language, not a dialect, and bears more similarity to French than Italian from the words that I heard.
After lunch - at around 4 - we went to the station to pick up the surprise guest for the weekend, Percy had flown in from Costa Rica to see us all for Easter. In the end there were not many of us, but it was anyway fabulous to see him, looking relaxed and tanned in comparison to the rest of us who have enjoyed the European winter.
Easter Sunday was absolutely freezing, with scattered snow and hail, so it must have been surprising to Massi when we told him that we would meet him in the gelateria near Luca' s house. When he arrived, we were drinking hot chocolates with rum - for purely medicinal purposes!
With a brief stop for wine and ham in San Daniele - where the ham is so fresh it seems unrecognisable from the packaged stuff in my local Esselunga - we went off to Celante, Massi's family house in the countryside. Long-term readers will remember that we have been there once before, after VinItaly last year.
On a freezing night, we played Jenga and sat around the fireplace catching up.
The fireplace - called a Fogolar - was the centre point of every Friulano household. It is an open-sided fireplace - in the case of the Celante house, circular, which the family used to sit around to cook, eat and stay warm. Its a convivial spot, with benches surrounding the flames, meaning that all the occupants can warm their hands/feet/both as they eat and chat. Friuli used to be a very poor region - now is one of the richest in Italy - but in old times the families would have snuggled close to the flames eating their daily staple food of polenta.
Easter Monday and after a very slow start, Massimiliano and Barbara arrived and took up their spots with the rest of us near to the fire. And there we stayed until it was time to get back on the road, Luca and Massi to Udine and Percy and I to Trieste.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
At the hairdressers
I have been to the hairdressers finally, to have a trim.
This is the first visit to the hairdressers in Italy for me - I have been going either in Hong Kong when I go back, or in London if I am there on business. But I could not put it off any longer, so I asked around for tips from the gals at work.
Saturday morning saw me along the Lungarno (the street that runs along the river bank) at Ciro's hair salon.
I walked in and Ciro, in his black turtleneck looked me up and down with disdain.
"And who sent you?" he asked
"Alessia" I replied, forgetting the surname of my colleague in my discomfort at his withering glances, at me in general, not just the hair.
He smiled for a second.
"Ah, Alessia Antinori?" (The Antinoris, of wine fame, are Florentine royalty).
"Errr, no" I replied, giving him instead the name of my colleague and telling him the name of the company I work for. It clearly did not leave him inspired.
At this he whisked me into the middle of the salon, and started pawing disparagingly at my locks, which were unwashed for 2 days so that I could maximise the return on my hairdresser expenditure.
"LOOK!" he shrieked in Italian.
At which all of the women in the place turned slowly in my direction, to do as he suggested.
"These Americans, their hair is SO CLEAN!" he yelled. The other clients nodded knowingly at each other. "They get up every morning and think to themselves, I have to get in a hot shower immediately and wash my hair. Terrible!"
All the ladies seemed in agreement with this too.
I cleared my throat and said
"Errrrm, but I am English, not American. And actually for 2 days...."
"ENOUGH: we can't wash your hair, its too clean. We will just wet it. Go." And that was that discussion over with.
Some time later I left the salon with my new haircut (essentially the same, but a little shorter) and went to have a glass of wine to recover!
This is the first visit to the hairdressers in Italy for me - I have been going either in Hong Kong when I go back, or in London if I am there on business. But I could not put it off any longer, so I asked around for tips from the gals at work.
Saturday morning saw me along the Lungarno (the street that runs along the river bank) at Ciro's hair salon.
I walked in and Ciro, in his black turtleneck looked me up and down with disdain.
"And who sent you?" he asked
"Alessia" I replied, forgetting the surname of my colleague in my discomfort at his withering glances, at me in general, not just the hair.
He smiled for a second.
"Ah, Alessia Antinori?" (The Antinoris, of wine fame, are Florentine royalty).
"Errr, no" I replied, giving him instead the name of my colleague and telling him the name of the company I work for. It clearly did not leave him inspired.
At this he whisked me into the middle of the salon, and started pawing disparagingly at my locks, which were unwashed for 2 days so that I could maximise the return on my hairdresser expenditure.
"LOOK!" he shrieked in Italian.
At which all of the women in the place turned slowly in my direction, to do as he suggested.
"These Americans, their hair is SO CLEAN!" he yelled. The other clients nodded knowingly at each other. "They get up every morning and think to themselves, I have to get in a hot shower immediately and wash my hair. Terrible!"
All the ladies seemed in agreement with this too.
I cleared my throat and said
"Errrrm, but I am English, not American. And actually for 2 days...."
"ENOUGH: we can't wash your hair, its too clean. We will just wet it. Go." And that was that discussion over with.
Some time later I left the salon with my new haircut (essentially the same, but a little shorter) and went to have a glass of wine to recover!
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Busy days in Florence
It has been all quiet on the blog of late. No pictures and no posts.
Apologies, but life has been pretty hectic.
I am over the honeymoon period at work and now have a things to do list that stretches from here to my house in Marche. As yet, I also do not have the internet at home, and when I am at work, clearly, I need to work! So no chance to write on the blog.
I should also say that with the amount of time I am spending behind the desk / in front of a computer screen these days, I have not got a massive desire to find a screen to perch behind somewhere else to update the blog.
But a few people have requested that I get going again on the writing, and also, I miss having an outlet for my scribbles about life here, so expect a few updates in the days to come.
Apologies, but life has been pretty hectic.
I am over the honeymoon period at work and now have a things to do list that stretches from here to my house in Marche. As yet, I also do not have the internet at home, and when I am at work, clearly, I need to work! So no chance to write on the blog.
I should also say that with the amount of time I am spending behind the desk / in front of a computer screen these days, I have not got a massive desire to find a screen to perch behind somewhere else to update the blog.
But a few people have requested that I get going again on the writing, and also, I miss having an outlet for my scribbles about life here, so expect a few updates in the days to come.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Car, stairs and other bits of progress
In my normal one step forward two steps back mode, with a little bit of patience, things here turn right in the end.
I have completed the required forms for the insurance, and am assured by the garage that they will cover everything and that the car should be back in one piece in no time, without it costing me a penny.
The stairs, are, I see on my trip to Marche this weekend, unbelievably now finished. There is a distinct wobble to them once I removed the masking tape from the painting, but I think this just adds to their charm. After all it is not often that you get to have an addition to your house that is useful, architecturally pleasing and musical at the same time!
I am loading up the car tomorrow with armfulls of useful clobber that I can bring from Marche to Florence to the new apartment, which is currently furnished more in street style - as in person who lives on the street, and not actually in any way trendy. All of my possessions are scattered in plastic bags around the place in lieu of an emergency Ikea run to stock up on some furniture!
But slowly, slowly, I think there is progress...
I have completed the required forms for the insurance, and am assured by the garage that they will cover everything and that the car should be back in one piece in no time, without it costing me a penny.
The stairs, are, I see on my trip to Marche this weekend, unbelievably now finished. There is a distinct wobble to them once I removed the masking tape from the painting, but I think this just adds to their charm. After all it is not often that you get to have an addition to your house that is useful, architecturally pleasing and musical at the same time!
I am loading up the car tomorrow with armfulls of useful clobber that I can bring from Marche to Florence to the new apartment, which is currently furnished more in street style - as in person who lives on the street, and not actually in any way trendy. All of my possessions are scattered in plastic bags around the place in lieu of an emergency Ikea run to stock up on some furniture!
But slowly, slowly, I think there is progress...
Monday, February 18, 2008
Not a great start to a Monday
On the way to work this morning, someone rear-ended my new car. I was happily singing along to the radio to pass the time in the traffic when the girl in the Golf behind me, who was still some distance away, shot into the rear bumper - boom.
The whole of the back of the car needs replacing and the bumper is scratched and also needs attention.
It is at times like this that you realise quite how far away you are from the systems that you know. Meaning that I did not follow the processes that I needed to...
I grabbed the details from the girl, her phone number, name, address, licence plate etc, but when I later asked in the bar near to the accident they told me that I needed to do the CID. (Pronounced Chid).
It turns out that this is a form that you fill in when someone has smacked into you (or vice versa I suppose) to start the insurance process. The idea is that you do a small drawing, tick the box of who based whom and then the rest is sorted out by the insurance company. It seems like a great system, once you know about it!
The benefit of working for a company like mine is that we are big enough that someone comes to the office to give you a quote for the damages. There is also an insurance consultant who comes here to give us discounts on policies, and tells us what to do with any problems.
So looking on the bright side, there has been a heap of advice since the accident this morning. I am still hoping it will not happen again, but from now on, to be safe, I am carrying a CID in my car.
The whole of the back of the car needs replacing and the bumper is scratched and also needs attention.
It is at times like this that you realise quite how far away you are from the systems that you know. Meaning that I did not follow the processes that I needed to...
I grabbed the details from the girl, her phone number, name, address, licence plate etc, but when I later asked in the bar near to the accident they told me that I needed to do the CID. (Pronounced Chid).
It turns out that this is a form that you fill in when someone has smacked into you (or vice versa I suppose) to start the insurance process. The idea is that you do a small drawing, tick the box of who based whom and then the rest is sorted out by the insurance company. It seems like a great system, once you know about it!
The benefit of working for a company like mine is that we are big enough that someone comes to the office to give you a quote for the damages. There is also an insurance consultant who comes here to give us discounts on policies, and tells us what to do with any problems.
So looking on the bright side, there has been a heap of advice since the accident this morning. I am still hoping it will not happen again, but from now on, to be safe, I am carrying a CID in my car.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Botticelli, Boccadama and the breeze
Finally.
Today I made it to the Uffizi Gallery for the first time.
Created as offices for the judges of Florence back in 1581, (hence the name - uffici in Italian means offices) it was used by the omnipresent Medicis to show off their collection of art - making it the oldest art gallery in the world.
With all such galleries (think National Gallery in London, the Louvre in Paris etc) its a behemoth, and better perhaps not to follow the arrows from room to room with military-like precision with map in hand, or worse clutching one of the audio guides (there were a collection of miserable looking couples walking around with the black wands of extra information) but preferable to follow your interests. I make no apologies for enjoying the big hitters of the art world - starting with Botticelli's Spring, Birth of Venus (and more or less all of his others too - the man was a genius). Also much loved by me - Piero della Francesca's realistic portraits of the Duke of Urbino and his wife, with the Duke sporting the broken nose he really had - realism at its best.
Some of the sculpture galleries were fabulous too, and the ceiling of the galleries, flooded with light, and surrounded by stunning views, were gorgeous. The views from the terrace outside the bar were also pretty fab, and worth the trip outside in the cold.But to paraphrase, man cannot live by art alone, and after sumptuous art, it was sumptuous food we were after. having tried and failed to get a table in the Lebanese restaurant I found the other day, and with the same story in the Birreria Centrale (we have booked for Monday) we ended up in Boccadama, in Piazza Santa Croce, a lovely little place that I found one day on my Friday afternoon wanderings. The meal was fantastic, and fairly priced - in the expected price zone - and the service was super too. Really recommended.
The only downside after being looked after so well in the warm for a few hours was struggling back out into the breeze which is currently cooling Florence down nicely. The weather forecast says it comes to us directly from the arctic, somthing that given the temperature I am not going to dispute.
Monday, February 04, 2008
15 nights in the Westin Excelsior
I'm finally actively improving my knowledge about wine by doing more than just quaffing noticeable quantities of the stuff. Tonight I started my sommelier course and so far so good! Held at the Westin Excelsior for a total of 15 weeks, the course is the first of 3 steps on the way to becoming a professional sommelier. The class was really interesting, and, although we were in 100+ people in the room, I managed to have a natter with the 2 guys either side of me – a gynaecologist and someone who used to be a waiter in a Cantine in Tuscany. After a lesson on how to hold the glass, what glasses to use for what, and how to use (or not) the corkscrew, it was time for the tasting. We sampled a champagne from a boutique French producer – toasty and smooth – a sweetish Italian white that would work like a chutney with cheese or salami – full of pineapples and bananas, just delicious, although I was missing a great piece of Parmeggiano or Pecorino to go with it – and a full-bodied red – from the Bolgheri vineyard, which smelt of cabernet and tasted of Merlot – full of stewed plums and raspberries. I have my blue leather Associazione Italiana Sommeliers wine glass box, with space for 3 glasses and the corkscrew, and 2 enormous books to study in Italian. So I look the part, even if I am not entirely sure of all of the descriptive words used by the teacher during the session. Next week, the biological side of wine producing, followed by tasting another 3 wines - surely my favourite bit of the lesson...
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Have wheels Will travel
I am thoroughly enjoying my new-found flexibility thanks to my new Panda. It means I can start exploring a little bit at the weekends and it will save me a fortune in car hire too - expect shares in Europcar to take a plunge. The Panda is thankfully pretty fuel efficient so, whilst not exactly green, it does mean that there is not too much of a shock in adding diesel bills to my outgoings.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Pruning the olive tree
Today, back home in Marche, I decided that the time had come to give the olive tree in my garden a good trim. I googled for tips on pruning, and came to the conclusion that there is no standard way to do it. It seems to depend on the country, the location, the gardener/farmer/cultivator etc. One site I found said that if the function of the olive tree was to be a tree then you should let it be just that. Not something that I found entirely useful.
So in the end, I googled again for pictures of olive trees and tried my best to trim mine accordingly.
It has to be said that I am no Vidal Sassoon. I remember in the past trying to cut hair with clippers, and creating a kind of inverse mallet that no-one would be proud of. My rose trees are not exactly shaped into the beautiful balls of blooms that the garden centre promised when I bought them (in fact 2 are dead, and 2 of the others lean like a lamp post in a strong wind), and the hedge, which I attack with my electronic hedge clippers in a power tooled slasher film-type swinging motion, is thick, but with a perceptible wave along the top where a straight edge used to be.
So I started gingerly with the clippers - snipping off the smaller bits of branch crowding the middle of the tree. An olive, according to Pepe at the garden centre and Marco at the flower shop, is supposed to bear the form of a chalice or a wine glass - empty in the middle and bowl shaped around the edges.
The fact that I have always preferred wine glasses to be at least a little full did not deter me.
After plucking up a little more courage, I started to snip away at one particularly ambitious Jack-and-the-Beanstalk type frond that was almost as tall as Augustino's balcony.
But once that had come down, I realised that the other 2 similarly sized pieces looked a bit mad.
And so it started. Much to the amusement of all passers-by (it was church kicking-out time, so there were many!) I snipped and trimmed and tidied. Until I turned around and saw an enormous pile of leaves and branches behind me on the terrace.
So I stopped.
All in all, I dont think it looks too terrible - but was cheered also to see on the web another comment (from my friend who was so deep with the tree comment previously). Don't worry, he assures his readers, Olives are forgiving of even the most crudely attempted pruning.
Here's hoping!
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Lunching with a Nobel Peace Prize Winner
Today at work an exceptional experience.
I had lunch, and spent the best part of the afternoon, with Betty Williams, Nobel Peace Prize winner 1976.
Betty Williams was living in her native Ireland when she was driving her children to the local church. She heard gun shots, and saw a car careening around a corner. She was horrified to see the car smash at high speed into a mother and 3 children. The driver had been shot by the British army, and had fallen with his foot on the accelerator. All 4 were killed instantly, and Betty was the first on the scene.
What she saw propelled her to do something, so she went that night to the area in Belfast designated as IRA territory, and started to knock on the doors, asking the inhabitants to sign a petition for peace.
That weekend, she worked with the media, with whom she had never worked before, to tell them that she was organising a peace rally on the site of the accident. Worried that noone would turn up, she started to work the telephones, calling her family and friends.
That weekend 10,000 people turned up, Catholics and Protestants to protest that they wanted peace in Northern Ireland.
Her work in Northern Ireland started a crusade for peace that today led her to Italy, where she is working on a City of Peace for Children in the region of Basilicata.
And today, to the company, where she met with many colleagues to talk to us about her experiences.
She is an incredible person, for her work and the people she has met, but also for her way of just being herself. She is just a fun person to hang out with - she tells stories about her family, and her friends, and then about the Dalai Lama....
It was a pretty great way to spend the afternoon. Even if at the end it means that I am way behind on the rest of my work....
I even put on special green shoes for the Irish occasion!
I had lunch, and spent the best part of the afternoon, with Betty Williams, Nobel Peace Prize winner 1976.
Betty Williams was living in her native Ireland when she was driving her children to the local church. She heard gun shots, and saw a car careening around a corner. She was horrified to see the car smash at high speed into a mother and 3 children. The driver had been shot by the British army, and had fallen with his foot on the accelerator. All 4 were killed instantly, and Betty was the first on the scene.
What she saw propelled her to do something, so she went that night to the area in Belfast designated as IRA territory, and started to knock on the doors, asking the inhabitants to sign a petition for peace.
That weekend, she worked with the media, with whom she had never worked before, to tell them that she was organising a peace rally on the site of the accident. Worried that noone would turn up, she started to work the telephones, calling her family and friends.
That weekend 10,000 people turned up, Catholics and Protestants to protest that they wanted peace in Northern Ireland.
Her work in Northern Ireland started a crusade for peace that today led her to Italy, where she is working on a City of Peace for Children in the region of Basilicata.
And today, to the company, where she met with many colleagues to talk to us about her experiences.
She is an incredible person, for her work and the people she has met, but also for her way of just being herself. She is just a fun person to hang out with - she tells stories about her family, and her friends, and then about the Dalai Lama....
It was a pretty great way to spend the afternoon. Even if at the end it means that I am way behind on the rest of my work....
I even put on special green shoes for the Irish occasion!
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Marche by public transport
Today I went to Marche to get my car. I have never been to my house in anything other than a car, rented or borrowed. But there is a first time for everything, and, as I was driving back, I had to get there on public transport.
This was quite an experience. After Tuesday's horror on the trains, I was worried that everything would go to pot if a train was late.
The journey was as follows:-
0630 Bus number 17 to the station at Santa Maria Novella
0708 Train to Bologna, arrived at 0812
0905 Train to Ancona, arrived at 1100 (it was late)
1130 Train to Civitanova Marche, arrived at 1201
1206 Train to Macerata, arrived at 1234
1315 Bus to Amandola, arrived at 1430
So 8 hours after I left the residence, and after 7 different types of public transport, I arrived to collect the car. It is certainly the long way to do the trip, its only 3 1/2 hours in the car, but I was so happy that it all worked out with the connections that I didn't mind. Having the car to pick up at the other end was clearly a big help too!
There were a few fun things about the journey too.
The Eurostar trains on the first two routes are lovely. Clean, spacious and quiet. (Especially if you pay the few Euros extra and go in First Class!) There is also power on the trains, so I plugged in the laptop, and watched Gorky Park on DVD to pass the time.
The train from Ancona to Civitanova Marche hugs the Adriatic Coast, and the views out of the window are of endless sea, stretching to the horizon - just beautiful.
The train from Civitanova Marche was tiny - two small carriages and the engine sounded like something from a 3-wheeled Ape.
I arrived at the station in Macerata, and my main doubt was how to reach the bus station. Despite endless attempts at Via Michelin and Google Maps, there was no record of either the station or the bus station in Macerata. I waited in line at the ticket desk (behind the Marchegiana guy, who was sharing his travel plans to Rome with the station attendant - "Ooo, it's been years since I went, I am not sure about the trip, I hear Rome has changed a lot, it's a long way from here, there are a lot of trains to take etc etc etc) and when it was finally my turn, I asked for directions to the bus station.
The guy started to pull oh-goodness-it's-a-long-way faces, and then asked me about the speed at which I walk. Not being sure how to reply, he asked me again, in that international gesture of communication - the same question, same words, just slower and louder! In the end we determined it was at least a 20 minute walk.
Leaving the station, I saw a cab, but as I was about to jump in, someone else got into the front seat. It was the Roman traveller!
Seeing me, he unwound the window, and asked if I was looking for the cab. When he found out where I was going, he asked the cabbie if we could drop me off first. Then they told me to jump in and they would take me to catch my bus.
I figured this was some kind of cab share arrangement - in pursuit of ecology - but when I asked about the price when we arrived they said - oh no, we were passing anyway, we are just giving you a lift! Have a good day, and it was nice to meet you! That's Marche for you!
I persuaded the bus driver to drop me off near to the garage, and then went to peer in the glass doors. There was the car, glistening and ready to go.... but Giovanni, the owner of the garage was no-where in sight. I rang his mobile and he said that there was no way he could be there now, he had had to work late that morning, so was late going home for his lunch - he would be back at 1530.
I had in fact, been up since 0530, and had been on the road 8 hours, but not to worry! I went to the nearby bar for a spot of lunch.
In the end I drove away in the car at 1630. It was worth the journey, and the wait!
This was quite an experience. After Tuesday's horror on the trains, I was worried that everything would go to pot if a train was late.
The journey was as follows:-
0630 Bus number 17 to the station at Santa Maria Novella
0708 Train to Bologna, arrived at 0812
0905 Train to Ancona, arrived at 1100 (it was late)
1130 Train to Civitanova Marche, arrived at 1201
1206 Train to Macerata, arrived at 1234
1315 Bus to Amandola, arrived at 1430
So 8 hours after I left the residence, and after 7 different types of public transport, I arrived to collect the car. It is certainly the long way to do the trip, its only 3 1/2 hours in the car, but I was so happy that it all worked out with the connections that I didn't mind. Having the car to pick up at the other end was clearly a big help too!
There were a few fun things about the journey too.
The Eurostar trains on the first two routes are lovely. Clean, spacious and quiet. (Especially if you pay the few Euros extra and go in First Class!) There is also power on the trains, so I plugged in the laptop, and watched Gorky Park on DVD to pass the time.
The train from Ancona to Civitanova Marche hugs the Adriatic Coast, and the views out of the window are of endless sea, stretching to the horizon - just beautiful.
The train from Civitanova Marche was tiny - two small carriages and the engine sounded like something from a 3-wheeled Ape.
I arrived at the station in Macerata, and my main doubt was how to reach the bus station. Despite endless attempts at Via Michelin and Google Maps, there was no record of either the station or the bus station in Macerata. I waited in line at the ticket desk (behind the Marchegiana guy, who was sharing his travel plans to Rome with the station attendant - "Ooo, it's been years since I went, I am not sure about the trip, I hear Rome has changed a lot, it's a long way from here, there are a lot of trains to take etc etc etc) and when it was finally my turn, I asked for directions to the bus station.
The guy started to pull oh-goodness-it's-a-long-way faces, and then asked me about the speed at which I walk. Not being sure how to reply, he asked me again, in that international gesture of communication - the same question, same words, just slower and louder! In the end we determined it was at least a 20 minute walk.
Leaving the station, I saw a cab, but as I was about to jump in, someone else got into the front seat. It was the Roman traveller!
Seeing me, he unwound the window, and asked if I was looking for the cab. When he found out where I was going, he asked the cabbie if we could drop me off first. Then they told me to jump in and they would take me to catch my bus.
I figured this was some kind of cab share arrangement - in pursuit of ecology - but when I asked about the price when we arrived they said - oh no, we were passing anyway, we are just giving you a lift! Have a good day, and it was nice to meet you! That's Marche for you!
I persuaded the bus driver to drop me off near to the garage, and then went to peer in the glass doors. There was the car, glistening and ready to go.... but Giovanni, the owner of the garage was no-where in sight. I rang his mobile and he said that there was no way he could be there now, he had had to work late that morning, so was late going home for his lunch - he would be back at 1530.
I had in fact, been up since 0530, and had been on the road 8 hours, but not to worry! I went to the nearby bar for a spot of lunch.
In the end I drove away in the car at 1630. It was worth the journey, and the wait!
Thursday, January 24, 2008
The fall of the government (again)
Tonight in the senate, the government fell due to a no confidence vote.
Prodi is out, Berlusconi just itching to get in.
I am watching to see what happens next. Whatever it is, I doubt it will be as unreal as the scenes that came from the chamber today, with politicians popping prosecco corks, and others fainting out cold as they were being harrangued by former colleagues. Its not great advertising for the country that's for sure.
One of my Italian friends told me that it is great news. When I asked for an explanation as to why this might be the case, he said. "This is the time that the government does the least harm to the Italian people." I said, puzzled, "But there is no government right now..." and to which he replied, "Exactly!"
Prodi is out, Berlusconi just itching to get in.
I am watching to see what happens next. Whatever it is, I doubt it will be as unreal as the scenes that came from the chamber today, with politicians popping prosecco corks, and others fainting out cold as they were being harrangued by former colleagues. Its not great advertising for the country that's for sure.
One of my Italian friends told me that it is great news. When I asked for an explanation as to why this might be the case, he said. "This is the time that the government does the least harm to the Italian people." I said, puzzled, "But there is no government right now..." and to which he replied, "Exactly!"
A Social Life in Florence
I have been working exceptionally long hours, but am determined that I can get a better balance in my life once I am a bit more settled.
Once I have the car (Saturday - and counting!), and the apartment, (Feb 15th), I am hoping to also find some friends.
This week, 2 steps in the right direction.
I have registered for the first level course of the Italian Association of Sommelliers, which starts on Feb 4th for 15 weeks. I hear that there is a lot of studying to do, but I am looking forward to it!
I am also going to the first meeting of the new Book Club next week, thanks to my boldness at the Paperback Exchange! We are supposed to be discussing Eat Drink Love by Elisabeth Gilbert - which is a book that I have actually already read, due to the fact that it was part of the selection of English-language books at the Venice airport when I was leaving to go to Dubai.
I am signing the official contract for the apartment on Monday, so life is starting to take shape.
Next on the list is a gym. If I can put up with the hard sell tactics of the one near to the Arno, then i will go there... It's on the list for this week.
Life is slowly taking shape at last!
Once I have the car (Saturday - and counting!), and the apartment, (Feb 15th), I am hoping to also find some friends.
This week, 2 steps in the right direction.
I have registered for the first level course of the Italian Association of Sommelliers, which starts on Feb 4th for 15 weeks. I hear that there is a lot of studying to do, but I am looking forward to it!
I am also going to the first meeting of the new Book Club next week, thanks to my boldness at the Paperback Exchange! We are supposed to be discussing Eat Drink Love by Elisabeth Gilbert - which is a book that I have actually already read, due to the fact that it was part of the selection of English-language books at the Venice airport when I was leaving to go to Dubai.
I am signing the official contract for the apartment on Monday, so life is starting to take shape.
Next on the list is a gym. If I can put up with the hard sell tactics of the one near to the Arno, then i will go there... It's on the list for this week.
Life is slowly taking shape at last!
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Another 5 mins...
A trip to Rome today for work.
Dubbed 'The Eternal City,' it seemed to have earned the name today for two reasons.
The first was the traffic - the city is snarled to a halt most of the time, and without Robberto, Gemma (my colleague)'s TomTom friend I am not sure we would have made it anywhere!
The other was the wait for the train. I was scheduled to leave at 1930, meaning that I would be back at the residence at a reasonable hour, even though it meant that I had to sacrifice dinner or drinks with Daniele, from MIB.
But at 1930 there was a delay of 5 minutes. Then another 5. Then another.
Without a seat, and with the hope that, at any minute, the train would leave, I waited and waited in front of the board to see when the train would actually be ready for boarding.
Finally at 2100 there was a platform and we chugged out of Termini station at 2105.
At which point the Capo Treno (like the conductor) made an announcement.
In which he welcomed all of us on the High Speed train to Florence!
I finally got back 2 minutes ago.
Dubbed 'The Eternal City,' it seemed to have earned the name today for two reasons.
The first was the traffic - the city is snarled to a halt most of the time, and without Robberto, Gemma (my colleague)'s TomTom friend I am not sure we would have made it anywhere!
The other was the wait for the train. I was scheduled to leave at 1930, meaning that I would be back at the residence at a reasonable hour, even though it meant that I had to sacrifice dinner or drinks with Daniele, from MIB.
But at 1930 there was a delay of 5 minutes. Then another 5. Then another.
Without a seat, and with the hope that, at any minute, the train would leave, I waited and waited in front of the board to see when the train would actually be ready for boarding.
Finally at 2100 there was a platform and we chugged out of Termini station at 2105.
At which point the Capo Treno (like the conductor) made an announcement.
In which he welcomed all of us on the High Speed train to Florence!
I finally got back 2 minutes ago.
Friday, January 18, 2008
The little book of fabulousness
I bought another book about my adopted city. This one is much less cultured than the others I have bought in some ways, but in others is much more practical.
Called 'The Civilised Shopper's Guide to Florence' the book profiles some of this city's most fabulous shops.
So this evening I took the opportunity to check out whether the recommendations were accurate enough to justify the teeth-sucking price of 10 Euros.
When I passed the newly-visible Santa Maria Novella church (it was being renovated all summer) it seemed like I was in an unlikely spot to see one of Florence's oldest Farmacias. But in fact, hidden at the end of the corridor was indeed the Officina Profumo Farmaceutica Di Santa Maria Novella. In fact, you smell the place long before you see it, as you approach down the corridor you are assaulted by wonderful perfumes, from lavender, to cloves, to meadow flowers - it's glorious.
The smells are only a part of the whole experience though. The whole place is awe-inspiring. It's one of the world's oldest pharmacies - started by Dominican monks in 1221, and opened to the general public in 1612. They now make no end of potions and lotions. The prices are steep, but the Pot Pourri I bought is now perfuming the entire office at work.
From the perfume shop, the next shopping stop was The Paperback Exchange. In the book it says that they offer thousands of English-language titles. The great thing is that some of them are second-hand - literally an exchange - so you can pick up books for less than the normal astronomical price for English language offerings here.
The other note in the book about the Paperback Exchange was that the staff are helpful and that there are sometimes community events. It was this latter that was the real reason for going to have a look. Having been back here for almost 3 months, I have yet to start a social life here.
In fact, there were no formal events organised that I could see, but the very friendly Melissa who works there and I fell into conversation, and has since invited me to her book club a week on Thursday. Which makes it more than worth a trip to the bookstore!
Called 'The Civilised Shopper's Guide to Florence' the book profiles some of this city's most fabulous shops.
So this evening I took the opportunity to check out whether the recommendations were accurate enough to justify the teeth-sucking price of 10 Euros.
When I passed the newly-visible Santa Maria Novella church (it was being renovated all summer) it seemed like I was in an unlikely spot to see one of Florence's oldest Farmacias. But in fact, hidden at the end of the corridor was indeed the Officina Profumo Farmaceutica Di Santa Maria Novella. In fact, you smell the place long before you see it, as you approach down the corridor you are assaulted by wonderful perfumes, from lavender, to cloves, to meadow flowers - it's glorious.
The smells are only a part of the whole experience though. The whole place is awe-inspiring. It's one of the world's oldest pharmacies - started by Dominican monks in 1221, and opened to the general public in 1612. They now make no end of potions and lotions. The prices are steep, but the Pot Pourri I bought is now perfuming the entire office at work.
From the perfume shop, the next shopping stop was The Paperback Exchange. In the book it says that they offer thousands of English-language titles. The great thing is that some of them are second-hand - literally an exchange - so you can pick up books for less than the normal astronomical price for English language offerings here.
The other note in the book about the Paperback Exchange was that the staff are helpful and that there are sometimes community events. It was this latter that was the real reason for going to have a look. Having been back here for almost 3 months, I have yet to start a social life here.
In fact, there were no formal events organised that I could see, but the very friendly Melissa who works there and I fell into conversation, and has since invited me to her book club a week on Thursday. Which makes it more than worth a trip to the bookstore!
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
200 years and counting
I am now the very proud tenant of an apartment in downtown Florence, only 10 minutes on foot from the Duomo.
The place in question is in a building from the early 1800s, and has, amongst other things, a terrace with a view of the gardens below, a fireplace that is usable in the kitchen, and a four poster bed. It's pretty amazing.
The thing that really blows me away though, is its age. The building, and thus the apartment, is from the early 1800s. This means that I will soon be residing in a place that is older than the oldest (at least the oldest Western-type) building in Hong Kong - the LegCo building which was built in 1847. Its pretty incredible.
The process of renting an apartment is never easy, and here in Italy its no exception. The agency were good, and negotiated on my behalf with the landlady, which was not a simple procedure. And of course the money that needs to be paid up front is prohibitive at best, but I think it will all be worth it.
I am even planning to organise a house-warming drinks party with some of the people from work. (I still haven't managed to make friends outside of work in Florence.)
Opposite me, my neighbours are related to the trainer of the Florentine football team, so the agent said that sometimes there are Fiorentina football players coming and going. They could certainly get an invitation to come in for a drink or 2, although it would be great if they could leave at home the purple shell-suits that I saw them sporting this evening - not exactly the sartorial elegance you would expect from an Italian team.
The place in question is in a building from the early 1800s, and has, amongst other things, a terrace with a view of the gardens below, a fireplace that is usable in the kitchen, and a four poster bed. It's pretty amazing.
The thing that really blows me away though, is its age. The building, and thus the apartment, is from the early 1800s. This means that I will soon be residing in a place that is older than the oldest (at least the oldest Western-type) building in Hong Kong - the LegCo building which was built in 1847. Its pretty incredible.
The process of renting an apartment is never easy, and here in Italy its no exception. The agency were good, and negotiated on my behalf with the landlady, which was not a simple procedure. And of course the money that needs to be paid up front is prohibitive at best, but I think it will all be worth it.
I am even planning to organise a house-warming drinks party with some of the people from work. (I still haven't managed to make friends outside of work in Florence.)
Opposite me, my neighbours are related to the trainer of the Florentine football team, so the agent said that sometimes there are Fiorentina football players coming and going. They could certainly get an invitation to come in for a drink or 2, although it would be great if they could leave at home the purple shell-suits that I saw them sporting this evening - not exactly the sartorial elegance you would expect from an Italian team.
Monday, January 14, 2008
The Dark Heart of Italy
There is a book about the corruption in Italy that was a hit a few years ago.
I have bought it, but not finished it yet, and so still need to be enlightened about what constitutes Italy's Dark Heart.
Frequently on this blog, I write about the fabulous stuff. Maya Angelou, in one of my favourite quotes says "If you don;t like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your perspective."
So despite the occasional frustrations expressed 'sottovoce', I try to remain positive about my adopted nation.
Sometimes though, it is a little tough to do.
Tonight coming back from work too 4 hours and cost me Euros 41.20. Unfortunately that's not a typo, it really does say 4 hours.
To drive the car to the car hire place in the city centre took nearly an hour and 40 minutes. Meaning the car hire place was closed (it shuts the door at 7). So I had to park in the overnight parking. That's an extra 20 euros.
Then I walked to the nearest bus stop and stood in the cold and damp and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Then I looked around a bit and saw the desperation written on the faces of my fellow would-be travellers. Turning around I saw it - the dreaded piece of white paper stuck to the bus stop with sellotape. "Your reasons are our reasons" said the heading - and went onto explain that there were many reasons why the bus drivers were on strike and that the public were at one with the drivers.
The long and the short of it was that it was at least an hour for the next bus.
So I went into the nearest place for pasta. And a glass of wine. And some water. That's another 20 euros.
Finally I went back outside, and, as is frequently the case post-strike (yes, I now recognise the routine, unfortunately!) two busses on the 11 and 17 routes were missing from the schedule.
At last, a number 17 rattled around the corner, and brought me back to the residence for 1 Euro 20. Some 4 hours after I left work.
I hate to contradict the bus-drivers, but I doubt very much if their sentiment matched mine this evening.
I have bought it, but not finished it yet, and so still need to be enlightened about what constitutes Italy's Dark Heart.
Frequently on this blog, I write about the fabulous stuff. Maya Angelou, in one of my favourite quotes says "If you don;t like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your perspective."
So despite the occasional frustrations expressed 'sottovoce', I try to remain positive about my adopted nation.
Sometimes though, it is a little tough to do.
Tonight coming back from work too 4 hours and cost me Euros 41.20. Unfortunately that's not a typo, it really does say 4 hours.
To drive the car to the car hire place in the city centre took nearly an hour and 40 minutes. Meaning the car hire place was closed (it shuts the door at 7). So I had to park in the overnight parking. That's an extra 20 euros.
Then I walked to the nearest bus stop and stood in the cold and damp and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Then I looked around a bit and saw the desperation written on the faces of my fellow would-be travellers. Turning around I saw it - the dreaded piece of white paper stuck to the bus stop with sellotape. "Your reasons are our reasons" said the heading - and went onto explain that there were many reasons why the bus drivers were on strike and that the public were at one with the drivers.
The long and the short of it was that it was at least an hour for the next bus.
So I went into the nearest place for pasta. And a glass of wine. And some water. That's another 20 euros.
Finally I went back outside, and, as is frequently the case post-strike (yes, I now recognise the routine, unfortunately!) two busses on the 11 and 17 routes were missing from the schedule.
At last, a number 17 rattled around the corner, and brought me back to the residence for 1 Euro 20. Some 4 hours after I left work.
I hate to contradict the bus-drivers, but I doubt very much if their sentiment matched mine this evening.
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