The return to Chiusi by cab felt so different to the one leaving for Montepulciano 23 days before. My ability and confidence with my still very limited Italian seemed to reach new heights and chatting to the driver it didn't seem to matter that making the basic errors was such a big deal. There were fewer hesitations this time but what the heck....people here are gracious and are delighted that 'gli stranieri' really want to be able to connect....and having one's ego pampered by being told how magnificently you speak is a delight (even though it really isn't true). The challenge of return was to hold onto the very positive support that automatically came when people around could see that you took your studies and not yourself too seriously. Making mistakes are necessary in order to do it right.
The train back to Rome was fairly full and a guy around 25 yrs had no hesitation in helping me to board with my bags. lt was a still a struggle and a young woman went out of her way similarly to help. Getting off at the other end these two emerged again to help me. l loved them!!
Back home, with grey skies and life inside the M25 (that massive traffic jam that circumscibes London),my time in Montepulciano quickly started to fade. As much as l tried to bring it to life
all l could manage were a series of faded descriptions....its buzz was virtually inaudible and l was starting to lose my sparkle.
It was great to be home but the journey felt that it had only started. Retiring is about looking after myself and maybe finally growing (up),in a way l had never done before. This has 'of necessity' given what l am like, of taking advantage of Bev's ? limitless patience, as well as enjoying that same (almost) limitless generosity.
In this l hoped l had changed for the better and that maybe was now content when being alone as well as being at greater ease in the company of others.
lf anything it has helped to confirm that the growing together is ultimately more fun than growing separately, B U T Y OU NEED BOTH if you are really greedy and want to have your cake AND eat it .
Tuesday, 26 November 2013
Thursday, 14 November 2013
For the final 10 days of work and play there was an element of 'deja vue'.( Don't you just love how the French always seem to sneak in with a killer punch.)
With the newcomers to lntermediate ll the grammer was covered for the first time, but for Mr Old Hand it was a repeat, although it wasn't a bad thing in itself, it had lost the shine of its earlier curtain call when l started at the school. Tabu came and went but there was no fizz this time...perhaps this was because Daniel (Berne Switzerland) and l were surrounded by serious female students who didn't have an anarchistic gene between them...if only girls could see that if they could be boys some of the time too, classes could be a lot more fun. About this l have done a complete 'volte face' ( l know, and l am truely ashamed of myself ) about learning styles. When l was a medical student l would always show my displeasure when colleagues joked during seminars or group discussions. Yes, l was a really self important git ( something that comes within the trade description for most of my medical breatheren, especially those living in Sydney's Eastern Suburbs)....but now see that fun makes learning a real joy, something that 5 year old have taught me to appreciate. Anyway with the boo part missing from the Tabu, and no more stories to make up out of strange sounds life became just a little too tame.
The meals at number 3 started at between 7 and 7.30 pm rather than 8, but with Giuseppe gone and Daniel , Pat (Halifax Nova Scotia) and l (all in lntermediate ll and with much less ltalian to do battle with ) meal times were different. They were tame too.Without those hollow legs of Giuseppe to fill to bursting with platters of food, and wine fountains to fill in the spaces left, Danilo looked crestfall. His head would shake gently as he intoned to the Madonna about the eating habits of his last student cohort of the year. Inside his cardigan you could tell that a nuclear war of terrible proportions was taking place, and that there was no room for prisoners. 'C'est la vie'.
For me too there was a feeling of loss. Il Sasso had become a home of sorts and l felt it a privilege to be a student again. As always the teaching was well planned and professionally executed to the very last minute....there were no reprieves...and l knew l would miss the discipline that was integral to being a student. Still the days were passing and home was pulling me back...weakly at first like the pull of Earth's gravity on a distant object, but now my mind too was shifting backwards and forewards....l was inbetween and keen to be back home.
For 23 days from 5th October l had been a student . Now my student days were over and there were a lot of ideas competing for space within my 'cardigan' . In my next post before l say '' a presto" l will share them with you.
With the newcomers to lntermediate ll the grammer was covered for the first time, but for Mr Old Hand it was a repeat, although it wasn't a bad thing in itself, it had lost the shine of its earlier curtain call when l started at the school. Tabu came and went but there was no fizz this time...perhaps this was because Daniel (Berne Switzerland) and l were surrounded by serious female students who didn't have an anarchistic gene between them...if only girls could see that if they could be boys some of the time too, classes could be a lot more fun. About this l have done a complete 'volte face' ( l know, and l am truely ashamed of myself ) about learning styles. When l was a medical student l would always show my displeasure when colleagues joked during seminars or group discussions. Yes, l was a really self important git ( something that comes within the trade description for most of my medical breatheren, especially those living in Sydney's Eastern Suburbs)....but now see that fun makes learning a real joy, something that 5 year old have taught me to appreciate. Anyway with the boo part missing from the Tabu, and no more stories to make up out of strange sounds life became just a little too tame.
The meals at number 3 started at between 7 and 7.30 pm rather than 8, but with Giuseppe gone and Daniel , Pat (Halifax Nova Scotia) and l (all in lntermediate ll and with much less ltalian to do battle with ) meal times were different. They were tame too.Without those hollow legs of Giuseppe to fill to bursting with platters of food, and wine fountains to fill in the spaces left, Danilo looked crestfall. His head would shake gently as he intoned to the Madonna about the eating habits of his last student cohort of the year. Inside his cardigan you could tell that a nuclear war of terrible proportions was taking place, and that there was no room for prisoners. 'C'est la vie'.
For me too there was a feeling of loss. Il Sasso had become a home of sorts and l felt it a privilege to be a student again. As always the teaching was well planned and professionally executed to the very last minute....there were no reprieves...and l knew l would miss the discipline that was integral to being a student. Still the days were passing and home was pulling me back...weakly at first like the pull of Earth's gravity on a distant object, but now my mind too was shifting backwards and forewards....l was inbetween and keen to be back home.
For 23 days from 5th October l had been a student . Now my student days were over and there were a lot of ideas competing for space within my 'cardigan' . In my next post before l say '' a presto" l will share them with you.
Friday, 8 November 2013
As l walked back to the changing room it was time to reflect on Just Being.
I freely admit that l find it hard to relax.... Part of that is my inner angst which is about doing things better next time, AND / OR surviving all the threats in my immediate enviroment.
Being uber competitive and shorter than average height is a curse. Somehow my credits are overshadowed by the goals that l missed while guarding at net and not my brilliant saves .Keeping the demons in their boxes can be a time consuming journey.
Cycling works as a soother sometimes, but add a few competing cyclists and the occassional dirty white van from Basildon then its back to gritted teeth and hatred...nothing personal, but sharing the bitumen with others who would love nothing more than to shaft you delicately into the next world is a pain.
So it was with mixed feelings that our 3 hours had come to an end in the Terme . There was sadness , because had l tried harder to relax it could have been fun too. Perhaps its time to look beyond Billy Nomates as my role model.
The faces in the dressing room seemed relaxed, but they may have omitted the recommended uterine sojurn, and had a surfit of the 'mud goo' instead. l can't blame them, they are only human....one man's meat and all that.
Giuseppe does not have my angst gene either and he was happily swapping experiences with Pat who clearly had been in an alternative universe. lt was her second trip here, and it seemed to have rejuvenated her....perhaps she too had been suffering from 'cold turkey' in Halifax (Nova Scotia) and comes back to Tuscany for another shot of 'goo' as required. l did not have the gumption (aka testicles as big as grapefruit) to ask about THE..UTERUS..she could have taken it the wrong way, and instead of reading this piece you could be scanning my obituary.
So out we went into the sunshine,optimistic and 'looking foreward' to the gargantuan feast that would have to be negotiated that evening. You see what l mean about angst!
The taxi rank had at least 10 cabs sitting patiently...no unruly scuffling for our custom...Our driver stepped foreward, opened the doors and off we went. The journey takes about 20 minutes and initially all we could do was look with wonder at the beautiful rolling hills, whose cypress trees stabbed like exclamation marks at the puffy white clouds made of cotton wool.Then like all ernest students we got onto grammar....we were sharing our ignorance and it was time for some real light to be cast, so we asked our driver. He looked about 40 yrs old , small well trimmed beard ,very slightly greying, with wire rimmed glasses. He could have easily passed for a senior university lecturer, not just in appearance but also manner as he went through the various complications that we had brought to him.
He clearly loved this land, its language and history and at journey's end showed us on his i pad a text book he thought we should consider getting to help with our studies.
What you get is what there is! My thoughts as we got out turned to how my local cabbie might respond to my uncertainties of English grammar... better let that one just fade away painlessly.
School tomorrow, but with my stay over half way through l was starting to feel like an old hand....still true in one way because l was still the oldest student there even though l was also a beginner in what really matters.
I freely admit that l find it hard to relax.... Part of that is my inner angst which is about doing things better next time, AND / OR surviving all the threats in my immediate enviroment.
Being uber competitive and shorter than average height is a curse. Somehow my credits are overshadowed by the goals that l missed while guarding at net and not my brilliant saves .Keeping the demons in their boxes can be a time consuming journey.
Cycling works as a soother sometimes, but add a few competing cyclists and the occassional dirty white van from Basildon then its back to gritted teeth and hatred...nothing personal, but sharing the bitumen with others who would love nothing more than to shaft you delicately into the next world is a pain.
So it was with mixed feelings that our 3 hours had come to an end in the Terme . There was sadness , because had l tried harder to relax it could have been fun too. Perhaps its time to look beyond Billy Nomates as my role model.
The faces in the dressing room seemed relaxed, but they may have omitted the recommended uterine sojurn, and had a surfit of the 'mud goo' instead. l can't blame them, they are only human....one man's meat and all that.
Giuseppe does not have my angst gene either and he was happily swapping experiences with Pat who clearly had been in an alternative universe. lt was her second trip here, and it seemed to have rejuvenated her....perhaps she too had been suffering from 'cold turkey' in Halifax (Nova Scotia) and comes back to Tuscany for another shot of 'goo' as required. l did not have the gumption (aka testicles as big as grapefruit) to ask about THE..UTERUS..she could have taken it the wrong way, and instead of reading this piece you could be scanning my obituary.
So out we went into the sunshine,optimistic and 'looking foreward' to the gargantuan feast that would have to be negotiated that evening. You see what l mean about angst!
The taxi rank had at least 10 cabs sitting patiently...no unruly scuffling for our custom...Our driver stepped foreward, opened the doors and off we went. The journey takes about 20 minutes and initially all we could do was look with wonder at the beautiful rolling hills, whose cypress trees stabbed like exclamation marks at the puffy white clouds made of cotton wool.Then like all ernest students we got onto grammar....we were sharing our ignorance and it was time for some real light to be cast, so we asked our driver. He looked about 40 yrs old , small well trimmed beard ,very slightly greying, with wire rimmed glasses. He could have easily passed for a senior university lecturer, not just in appearance but also manner as he went through the various complications that we had brought to him.
He clearly loved this land, its language and history and at journey's end showed us on his i pad a text book he thought we should consider getting to help with our studies.
What you get is what there is! My thoughts as we got out turned to how my local cabbie might respond to my uncertainties of English grammar... better let that one just fade away painlessly.
School tomorrow, but with my stay over half way through l was starting to feel like an old hand....still true in one way because l was still the oldest student there even though l was also a beginner in what really matters.
Tuesday, 5 November 2013
For most of the specialst areas a recommended time is suggested to enable the recipient ( now that's a great word too....makes me feel that at last l might get something for nothing ) to enjoy the maximum benefit. So for the Bagno Turco it is 10 minutes, Melmarium con argilla depurativa ( our last friend) its 20 minutes and the list goes on. For the Stanza del silenzio interiore it could be until its closing time ...not for that day or week but probably as close to 9 months ( unless of course you are an elephant)if you get in real early, and there are no complications.
Inside this round walled pod are 6 chairs which seem to be suspended in a darkened space, and shaped to accommodate a large resting head whose only responsibility is to think itself back to the good old days when life in utero was the best thing ever. Once lying all curled up in that no nonsense foetal position it seemed impossible to me that anyone could think seriously about job security, or whether the government could live without Mr Berlusconi°s ways or needed them to secure a popular mandate.. why bother about the Church or the plight of Italy's youth struggling to make sense of decades of corruption and waste. Why be born at all?
Yet fortunately here in this most sacred of darkened spaces where even the floor and walls enclosed the charmed sextuplets, forming a warm comfortable womb there were signs of something else.
Outside Giuseppe and l had no idea yet about what was taking place inside this womb. We ventured inside to darkness and were met with icy stares, from agitated pupils looking us up and down, and the shaking of heads telling us to be quiet. No one inside this uterus seemed content...no one wanted just to be.....something was stirring.
So in this Stanza del silenzio interiore perhaps demons were being faced rather than being put to sleep. Pehaps this wonderful and beautiful country whose language has made my life richer, is able to do more for its own sons and daughters...l hope so.
It was time to go......back to Montepulciano.
Inside this round walled pod are 6 chairs which seem to be suspended in a darkened space, and shaped to accommodate a large resting head whose only responsibility is to think itself back to the good old days when life in utero was the best thing ever. Once lying all curled up in that no nonsense foetal position it seemed impossible to me that anyone could think seriously about job security, or whether the government could live without Mr Berlusconi°s ways or needed them to secure a popular mandate.. why bother about the Church or the plight of Italy's youth struggling to make sense of decades of corruption and waste. Why be born at all?
Yet fortunately here in this most sacred of darkened spaces where even the floor and walls enclosed the charmed sextuplets, forming a warm comfortable womb there were signs of something else.
Outside Giuseppe and l had no idea yet about what was taking place inside this womb. We ventured inside to darkness and were met with icy stares, from agitated pupils looking us up and down, and the shaking of heads telling us to be quiet. No one inside this uterus seemed content...no one wanted just to be.....something was stirring.
So in this Stanza del silenzio interiore perhaps demons were being faced rather than being put to sleep. Pehaps this wonderful and beautiful country whose language has made my life richer, is able to do more for its own sons and daughters...l hope so.
It was time to go......back to Montepulciano.
Wednesday, 30 October 2013
BAGNO TURCO was the place where our true mettle could be tested. Now it was the time of our equivalent of the full monty.....not baring our all, but just showing our legs. All we had to wear were Giuseppe's lycra running shorts; well they looked great on him but he is a good 6 inches taller than me.They were a size larger on the waist too but after Danilo's gentle persuasions over our evening meals, they fitted me perfectly. We each had a pair, and were not sharing one ! However if we had been sharing l doubt that it would have had any impact, as a result of either the Piramide Energetica or the Crom+++ dei Cha++ fusing the switch boards inside those fluffy white dressing gowns.
No one batted an eye lid as we covered our heads with the clear polythene caps and sat around being splashed by water and steam. Everyone was disarmingly friendly ; there was no hierarchy ;...no one was 'beautiful'. There were no side way glances and no sniggers....yes we all walked around with our clear head caps half filled with water, looking like a bunch of berks. We were graceless and common, and it was great. lt was starting to feel right again. Walking around looking as if you had a condom on your head half filled with a clear liquid felt natural to me, as if l was born like that. Can you believe everyone at my kindergarden called me ' dickhead' ? l had thought they called me Deak Ed because l was dyslexic !! Bastards !!
A few moments later, as l opened the door to the next world, my anxiety and neurotic fears disappeared...l was back with my own kind ....l had entered the world of MELMARIUM CON ARGILLA DEPURATIVA. I was hoping you would be impressed. I have not come across this much latin since l studied it 50 + years ago at Randwick Boy's High. In layman's language ( if you are a Prince of the Church then you should be able to work it out for yourself ) its a place where you dip your hand into a clay pot containing a thick warm dark goo which you them smear on yourself or anyone else near who fancies a bit . l was amazed where it got to considering there was no rearranging of swimwear.The next stage was to allow it to dry so that everyone looked like an extra from a horror movie with skin ressembling the parched wastelands of Death Valley. Peer approval in the form of rapid jerking heads of the new comers into the chamber seemed to excite bliss in the reclining disintegrating figures smeared with stuff that looked like but fortunately did not smell of dog poo. Conclusion : this place housed some seriously troubled people and this treatment of "not dog poo" needed to be more of the real thing if they were going for broke and looking for a cure. Sometimes you just shouldn't settle for second best! After all this excitement and opportunity for self expression, there are showers whose fracking like powers remove all this pretend crap off your skin so that you are returned to the world looking just how you did age age dot. You may not be born again, but you definitely smell of clean.
Giuseppe to give him his due, smeared some pretend dog crap on his chest....l have never see him look so possessed;. It was now clear that he had lost his marbles and l had to get him out before he started eating the stuff. Please don't think l'm exaggerating for there is a condition where people really do and its called coprophagia but this time there is no pretending!
There was one more chamber that was left on the list that would make coprophagia taste like the best ice cream sundae ever on a hot day..(sorry about that but there are others things you can turn to as an alternative), and that was the Stanza del silenzio interiore.
No one batted an eye lid as we covered our heads with the clear polythene caps and sat around being splashed by water and steam. Everyone was disarmingly friendly ; there was no hierarchy ;...no one was 'beautiful'. There were no side way glances and no sniggers....yes we all walked around with our clear head caps half filled with water, looking like a bunch of berks. We were graceless and common, and it was great. lt was starting to feel right again. Walking around looking as if you had a condom on your head half filled with a clear liquid felt natural to me, as if l was born like that. Can you believe everyone at my kindergarden called me ' dickhead' ? l had thought they called me Deak Ed because l was dyslexic !! Bastards !!
A few moments later, as l opened the door to the next world, my anxiety and neurotic fears disappeared...l was back with my own kind ....l had entered the world of MELMARIUM CON ARGILLA DEPURATIVA. I was hoping you would be impressed. I have not come across this much latin since l studied it 50 + years ago at Randwick Boy's High. In layman's language ( if you are a Prince of the Church then you should be able to work it out for yourself ) its a place where you dip your hand into a clay pot containing a thick warm dark goo which you them smear on yourself or anyone else near who fancies a bit . l was amazed where it got to considering there was no rearranging of swimwear.The next stage was to allow it to dry so that everyone looked like an extra from a horror movie with skin ressembling the parched wastelands of Death Valley. Peer approval in the form of rapid jerking heads of the new comers into the chamber seemed to excite bliss in the reclining disintegrating figures smeared with stuff that looked like but fortunately did not smell of dog poo. Conclusion : this place housed some seriously troubled people and this treatment of "not dog poo" needed to be more of the real thing if they were going for broke and looking for a cure. Sometimes you just shouldn't settle for second best! After all this excitement and opportunity for self expression, there are showers whose fracking like powers remove all this pretend crap off your skin so that you are returned to the world looking just how you did age age dot. You may not be born again, but you definitely smell of clean.
Giuseppe to give him his due, smeared some pretend dog crap on his chest....l have never see him look so possessed;. It was now clear that he had lost his marbles and l had to get him out before he started eating the stuff. Please don't think l'm exaggerating for there is a condition where people really do and its called coprophagia but this time there is no pretending!
There was one more chamber that was left on the list that would make coprophagia taste like the best ice cream sundae ever on a hot day..(sorry about that but there are others things you can turn to as an alternative), and that was the Stanza del silenzio interiore.
Tuesday, 29 October 2013
Chianciano Terme is situated in a town built specially around the thermal springs and there is a significant industry that has grown up as a result. The spa bit looks quite impressive set out in beautiful sculptured ground with majestic tall trees. The building definitely has an aura....it could be from a film set where the great and the very beautiful mingle, as their flesh is rejuvenated by gentle stretching and massaging, with lots of swirling steam and warm towels,with both sexes smiling and whispering, luxuriating in this simple nest and their afternoon tea of cucumber sandwiches and delicious small pastries that only an establishment like this in rural Tuscany would have the wit and sophistocation to serve.
If this fantasy was only 5% right then my life had not been in lived in vain! There was a lot riding on this visit as if it had become the Holy Grail.
We were asked at the reception desk if we had a reservation (we did not), and established our right of entry after we were made €45 lighter . Then we were gently ushered into the marble ante chamber of the changing room happily clutching our thick snowy white towelling dressing gowns with fluffy towels to match. The fantasy that was in the process of creation started to grow like a giant silver helium balloon slowly filling up as it nudged it way aloft searching for the dizzy heights of the stratosphere. Just like my helium filled friend I too had made it to the big time (just) like everyone else here. This arriving business had a lot going for it.
To finish this ensemble the next attendant who was dressed like a fashional model just about to go into a photo shoot handed over a pair of flip flops, a plastic name tag and a clear plastic hair cover.
The emotional rollercoaster had just begun. We knew that we would look just like MUPPETS in this new uniform and we wondered how this would affect our Bella Figura. The helium fuelled fantasy now floated like a garbage truck falling out of the sky .
Not to be detered by this minor technical hitch we screwed up our courage and depleted purses and marched in. We were going to have the relaxing time of our life because we had paid 45 euros for 3 hours of pampering.
We ( Giuseppe and l decided to give each other buddy support whilst Pat did her own thing) went into the first room of AROMATERAPIA ENERGIZZANTE where a young couple obviously 'in love' looked into each others eyes and sighed, whilst sweet draughts of warmed air gently passed over. Without those energised vapours being pumped into the room l reckon there is little chance of that relationship making it past the bus stop around the corner on their way home . A sign outside the room suggested if you were suffering from depression or any other mental health problems, then aromat...energizz... may be worth avoiding but the risk was yours....pretty strong stuff l thought. You never know because it may be that kind of power is what's needed in today's society.
However if that energy didn't work then CROMATOTERAPIA dei CHAKRA might. Here light came into the room shaped like a pod but after 30 seconds of standing in that room l could bear it no more. My nerves were at screaming pitch and l beat an ungainly retreat. The room was empty and for good reason. The sign outside the door said the same as the first so being a mug l ignored it, and subjected myself to something that was invisible, silent and odourless....never had l felt myself to be in such danger. I hope the long term side effects aren't in the same category as Chernybol. I asked Giuseppe to check me over to make sure nothing had fallen off or changed colour. He hesitated and said he would tell me later.
Just to be sure l insisted on taking a shower and there was no sign saying that being mentally unstable was a contraindication to allowing warm water over your body. At least l was being proactive to the combination of chakra and light...a beastly combination you must agree!
The CAMMINATA NEL FIUME was out of bounds so no extra bravery was called for.
Giuseppe who had been a lawyer and was now a clinicial nurse working in Accident and Emergency department of a Washington hospital suggested l pull myself together and try a bit of time in the PIRAMIDE ENERGETICA to build up my energy stores. He could tell that l was on the edge.
To access the pyramid we had to go through a very short tunnel into its interior where coloured lights and 'energy' coming from its base were gently illuminating the space and filling it with the kind of zip l sorely needed (the helium fantasy was dying too slowly for my body to cope with.). There were no visible doors that could be shut sealing you into what could your resting place till archeologists lasered you out in 500 years time...but you never know. The sign was discretely placed and l had missed it. I was playing with fire and knew just how high the stakes had become.
BAGNO TURKO was something that l had tried before so now l was on terra firma at last!
If this fantasy was only 5% right then my life had not been in lived in vain! There was a lot riding on this visit as if it had become the Holy Grail.
We were asked at the reception desk if we had a reservation (we did not), and established our right of entry after we were made €45 lighter . Then we were gently ushered into the marble ante chamber of the changing room happily clutching our thick snowy white towelling dressing gowns with fluffy towels to match. The fantasy that was in the process of creation started to grow like a giant silver helium balloon slowly filling up as it nudged it way aloft searching for the dizzy heights of the stratosphere. Just like my helium filled friend I too had made it to the big time (just) like everyone else here. This arriving business had a lot going for it.
To finish this ensemble the next attendant who was dressed like a fashional model just about to go into a photo shoot handed over a pair of flip flops, a plastic name tag and a clear plastic hair cover.
The emotional rollercoaster had just begun. We knew that we would look just like MUPPETS in this new uniform and we wondered how this would affect our Bella Figura. The helium fuelled fantasy now floated like a garbage truck falling out of the sky .
Not to be detered by this minor technical hitch we screwed up our courage and depleted purses and marched in. We were going to have the relaxing time of our life because we had paid 45 euros for 3 hours of pampering.
We ( Giuseppe and l decided to give each other buddy support whilst Pat did her own thing) went into the first room of AROMATERAPIA ENERGIZZANTE where a young couple obviously 'in love' looked into each others eyes and sighed, whilst sweet draughts of warmed air gently passed over. Without those energised vapours being pumped into the room l reckon there is little chance of that relationship making it past the bus stop around the corner on their way home . A sign outside the room suggested if you were suffering from depression or any other mental health problems, then aromat...energizz... may be worth avoiding but the risk was yours....pretty strong stuff l thought. You never know because it may be that kind of power is what's needed in today's society.
However if that energy didn't work then CROMATOTERAPIA dei CHAKRA might. Here light came into the room shaped like a pod but after 30 seconds of standing in that room l could bear it no more. My nerves were at screaming pitch and l beat an ungainly retreat. The room was empty and for good reason. The sign outside the door said the same as the first so being a mug l ignored it, and subjected myself to something that was invisible, silent and odourless....never had l felt myself to be in such danger. I hope the long term side effects aren't in the same category as Chernybol. I asked Giuseppe to check me over to make sure nothing had fallen off or changed colour. He hesitated and said he would tell me later.
Just to be sure l insisted on taking a shower and there was no sign saying that being mentally unstable was a contraindication to allowing warm water over your body. At least l was being proactive to the combination of chakra and light...a beastly combination you must agree!
The CAMMINATA NEL FIUME was out of bounds so no extra bravery was called for.
Giuseppe who had been a lawyer and was now a clinicial nurse working in Accident and Emergency department of a Washington hospital suggested l pull myself together and try a bit of time in the PIRAMIDE ENERGETICA to build up my energy stores. He could tell that l was on the edge.
To access the pyramid we had to go through a very short tunnel into its interior where coloured lights and 'energy' coming from its base were gently illuminating the space and filling it with the kind of zip l sorely needed (the helium fantasy was dying too slowly for my body to cope with.). There were no visible doors that could be shut sealing you into what could your resting place till archeologists lasered you out in 500 years time...but you never know. The sign was discretely placed and l had missed it. I was playing with fire and knew just how high the stakes had become.
BAGNO TURKO was something that l had tried before so now l was on terra firma at last!
Saturday, 26 October 2013
It was over the next 3 days as the new house guests Pat (Halifax Canada) and Daniel (Berne Switzerland)were settling in, that l declined any wine with the meal. My action was seen as a challenge to the status quo, but other than pouring wine through my hand covering the glass it was agreed by the looks exchanged that this was far from over., but it was time for both sides to step back...not being adverse to 'testing the water 'again l refuse the limoncello which came out next...the temperature started to rise as this had become far too provocative and our fingers were inching towards the nuclear buttons we each carried. This was MAD ( mutually assured destruction) and a total waste of energy for the only rational basis of my efforts was to regain some autonomy, and not cause egos to spontaneously autodestruct.
My only court of appeal was Vanna for although Danilo wore the trousers she most definitely made sure they never fell down,and that had to be avoided at all costs.
She ia a wonderful listener and was aware that both sides needed to maintain face and bit by bit l explained over the meal times about reducing my calorie intake to my desired level. The message was starting to get through as portion control was helped by my 2 new school colleagues who were both keen to leave number 3 in the same state of fitness as they arrived.
Slowly, it all became forgotten and smaller portions were graciously served as my time for departure came closer, but made me very aware that hospitality may be more complicated than just being a paying guest and NEVER underestimate the power of a woman.
There was movenent in Itermediate ll, as new students joined, and with that the whole landscape changed. The easy relationships that had been established only 2 weeks previously were consigned to the 'imperfetto' and it seemed it only took hours before the 'passato prossimo ' was used to describe our time together . By the end of my week 3 at the school, the relationships so alive and important previously had gone into the 'trapassato prossimo'.
We are all consigned to the 'trapassato remoto' like it or not.
There was unfinished business in the form of a trip to local thermal baths.
Terme di Chianciano was our chosen destination ( the area is very well known for its thermal springs), and Pat had enjoyed being there before, so off we went. No public transport for the day but Vanna always the jewel in the crown gave us a lift. These terme are known as being a haunt for the beautiful people of Rome so although it may not be where Bella Figura was born it certainly was its home from home. Worth a look.
My only court of appeal was Vanna for although Danilo wore the trousers she most definitely made sure they never fell down,and that had to be avoided at all costs.
She ia a wonderful listener and was aware that both sides needed to maintain face and bit by bit l explained over the meal times about reducing my calorie intake to my desired level. The message was starting to get through as portion control was helped by my 2 new school colleagues who were both keen to leave number 3 in the same state of fitness as they arrived.
Slowly, it all became forgotten and smaller portions were graciously served as my time for departure came closer, but made me very aware that hospitality may be more complicated than just being a paying guest and NEVER underestimate the power of a woman.
There was movenent in Itermediate ll, as new students joined, and with that the whole landscape changed. The easy relationships that had been established only 2 weeks previously were consigned to the 'imperfetto' and it seemed it only took hours before the 'passato prossimo ' was used to describe our time together . By the end of my week 3 at the school, the relationships so alive and important previously had gone into the 'trapassato prossimo'.
We are all consigned to the 'trapassato remoto' like it or not.
There was unfinished business in the form of a trip to local thermal baths.
Terme di Chianciano was our chosen destination ( the area is very well known for its thermal springs), and Pat had enjoyed being there before, so off we went. No public transport for the day but Vanna always the jewel in the crown gave us a lift. These terme are known as being a haunt for the beautiful people of Rome so although it may not be where Bella Figura was born it certainly was its home from home. Worth a look.
Wednesday, 23 October 2013
Expectations can be a bugger. Ever been fairly sure when you have sussed out the lie of the land, only to find you aren't on terra firma,but sinking in the deepest of guano without a clear idea of how to take the next deep breath? Well that's how l felt as l looked at the scales in the bathroom when checking my weight after week two.
It wasn't just a matter of self control either. I usually have that to excess, which means l have a more miserable time than anyone else....'come on Alex, give yourself a break ' are the entire lyrics of my song, sung to the melody of The Sound Of Music ( no comment!).
The problem wasn't the food - always delicious and different every evening. The table was always freshly laid out and reflected the honour we the (paying) guests were shown. Nothing was too much trouble for Vanna and Danilo.
My weight gain was due to the spectacular miscalculation in which l thought l knew how to manage my food intake here. There was no alternative. l had to face the MASTER, and that meant his theatre, and like all theatre, timing is king.Let me explain.
In Italy senior citizens whose lives are is based in the countryside have a tradition which dictates that the man of the house is master of the table.
By 8pm sharp, in our first 2 weeks , Meredith, Giuseppe and l would have spent 1/2 hour testing our wit and struggling with the unfamiliar vocabulary of the game shows. (There is a small annex of the kitchen with a TV, around which we gathered). There we wrestled with the aromas that were turning the gastic juices of our pitifully shrunken stomachs from a barely perceptable drip into a raging torrent that sloshed forewards and back looking for a way out. It took just 30 minutes of this 'gastric waterboarding' to turn us into docile automatons. We had become ' anatrocolli,' (baby ducklings)willing to follow Il Padrone anywhere for he was THE bearer of food.
Serving dishes that moments before had been lying abandoned were now brimming with freshly cut Tuscan bread, and salads usually of 2 different sorts waited patiently nearby whilst on the stove the second course of meat and vegetables was in its final phase of being cooked. There was always a pasta first course which by now was in a large 'ciottola'(bowl) steaming with a fragrant aroma of the ragu or the pesto or the Matriciana or simply the freshly made tomato sauce. Pasta was often home made and if we had those light as air gnocci (potato dumplings), we were over the moon.. This large steaming bowl of pasta was lifted high and carried into the dining room and the only sound heard as the chairs were being pulled in, was the sound of either the wine being poured or our gastric juices about to explode out of our fragile bodies. By this time we had become gibbering wrecks trying to give the appearance of mature nonchalance as if eating like this was our norm.
Eating late for me had become quite difficult long before this trip. I ate like a man possessed and it seemed that even after the main course l could keep eating until all the dessert had been demolished. Giuseppe and l always did our bit equally. Meredith showed restraint.
It took only a week before the effects became obvious BUT what to do? With the second course rivalling the first, whether we had wild boar shot by Danilo, or roasted chicken or veal escallopes in lemon sauce or Tuscan sausages grilled with a mouth watering selection of seasonal vegetables it was all a FEAST. The desserts fortunately were much simpler affairs.
Danilo loved playing the part of bountiful host and he did so to a T. The house wine flowed too and it really was a party......and l couldn't find the off button.
With a waist line about to confirm a 6 month pregnancy it was time for ?? This all had to stop but how ? because l loved it all and looked foreward every day to the excesses of the evening.
Vanna who conjured all of this up as if by magic in less than 2 hours having started from scratch, sat modestly and ate what would not have satisfied a real 'antrocollo'.
I had to wait till Meredith and Giuseppe moved out to hatch my plan.
It wasn't just a matter of self control either. I usually have that to excess, which means l have a more miserable time than anyone else....'come on Alex, give yourself a break ' are the entire lyrics of my song, sung to the melody of The Sound Of Music ( no comment!).
The problem wasn't the food - always delicious and different every evening. The table was always freshly laid out and reflected the honour we the (paying) guests were shown. Nothing was too much trouble for Vanna and Danilo.
My weight gain was due to the spectacular miscalculation in which l thought l knew how to manage my food intake here. There was no alternative. l had to face the MASTER, and that meant his theatre, and like all theatre, timing is king.Let me explain.
In Italy senior citizens whose lives are is based in the countryside have a tradition which dictates that the man of the house is master of the table.
By 8pm sharp, in our first 2 weeks , Meredith, Giuseppe and l would have spent 1/2 hour testing our wit and struggling with the unfamiliar vocabulary of the game shows. (There is a small annex of the kitchen with a TV, around which we gathered). There we wrestled with the aromas that were turning the gastic juices of our pitifully shrunken stomachs from a barely perceptable drip into a raging torrent that sloshed forewards and back looking for a way out. It took just 30 minutes of this 'gastric waterboarding' to turn us into docile automatons. We had become ' anatrocolli,' (baby ducklings)willing to follow Il Padrone anywhere for he was THE bearer of food.
Serving dishes that moments before had been lying abandoned were now brimming with freshly cut Tuscan bread, and salads usually of 2 different sorts waited patiently nearby whilst on the stove the second course of meat and vegetables was in its final phase of being cooked. There was always a pasta first course which by now was in a large 'ciottola'(bowl) steaming with a fragrant aroma of the ragu or the pesto or the Matriciana or simply the freshly made tomato sauce. Pasta was often home made and if we had those light as air gnocci (potato dumplings), we were over the moon.. This large steaming bowl of pasta was lifted high and carried into the dining room and the only sound heard as the chairs were being pulled in, was the sound of either the wine being poured or our gastric juices about to explode out of our fragile bodies. By this time we had become gibbering wrecks trying to give the appearance of mature nonchalance as if eating like this was our norm.
Eating late for me had become quite difficult long before this trip. I ate like a man possessed and it seemed that even after the main course l could keep eating until all the dessert had been demolished. Giuseppe and l always did our bit equally. Meredith showed restraint.
It took only a week before the effects became obvious BUT what to do? With the second course rivalling the first, whether we had wild boar shot by Danilo, or roasted chicken or veal escallopes in lemon sauce or Tuscan sausages grilled with a mouth watering selection of seasonal vegetables it was all a FEAST. The desserts fortunately were much simpler affairs.
Danilo loved playing the part of bountiful host and he did so to a T. The house wine flowed too and it really was a party......and l couldn't find the off button.
With a waist line about to confirm a 6 month pregnancy it was time for ?? This all had to stop but how ? because l loved it all and looked foreward every day to the excesses of the evening.
Vanna who conjured all of this up as if by magic in less than 2 hours having started from scratch, sat modestly and ate what would not have satisfied a real 'antrocollo'.
I had to wait till Meredith and Giuseppe moved out to hatch my plan.
Monday, 21 October 2013
A mezzanotte nel centro storico e passata una macchina ( una ferrari rossa e nuova), andava molte veloce! In quel momento un uomo cieco camminava lentamente con il suo bastone verso casa, e all' improviso un falegname ha comminciato a tagliare un pezzo di legno per fare una bara. Il falegname aveva ucciso sua moglie colpendola con le catene ma in quel momento qualcuno aveva aperto il cancello; questa persona era appena tornata dal pub dove aveva bevuto molto infatti la barista vedendolo ubrica avevo chiamato un suo amico, il ragazzo con la ferrari.
Il falegname era al settimo cielo perche finalmente aveva l' opportunita per vendicarsi del tradimenti della moglie. Adesso poteva uccidere il suo amante. Intanto il cieco aveva sentito tutto e aveva scritto questa storia con sua macchina da scrivere.
Il falegname ha pugnato l'amante che pero e riuscito a scappare e rientrato nel pub.
Apologies for the absence of appropriate accents.
At midnight in the centro storico a red new ferrari was moving very fast. At that moment a blind man with his stick was walking slowly home, and a carpenter had started to saw a piece of wood to make a coffin. The carpenter had just murdered his wife by strangling her with a chain BUT at that moment someone opened the gate; that person had just returned from the pub where he had drunk a lot, so much so that the bar man had telephoned one of his friends who was the man who had the ferrari.
The carpenter was over the moon because finally he had the chance to avenge himself against the infidelity of his wife. Now he would be able to murder her lover.
Meanwhile the blind man having heard everything wrote it all down using his type writer.
The carpenter punched the lover who was able to run away and went back into the pub.
No one from any of the major film studios has shown any interest YET.
I reckon it would make a huge hit as a children's story. Just the right amount of gratuitous violence,
no horrible 4 letter words and a brilliant plot that is totally believable and best of all a not unhappy ending....the moral of the story seems in keeping with our times as well as being tamer than lots of fairy tales out there!
I can see why the caring professions would find this piece worriesome though.
This piece started out in fact an exercise to show our understanding of the 'imperfetto'.
What bothers me is that we could have written exactly the same story with any combination of sounds audible to the human ear.
The next piece of theatre rivals any seen at La Scala or La Fenice, and takes place at 'home'.
Il falegname era al settimo cielo perche finalmente aveva l' opportunita per vendicarsi del tradimenti della moglie. Adesso poteva uccidere il suo amante. Intanto il cieco aveva sentito tutto e aveva scritto questa storia con sua macchina da scrivere.
Il falegname ha pugnato l'amante che pero e riuscito a scappare e rientrato nel pub.
Apologies for the absence of appropriate accents.
At midnight in the centro storico a red new ferrari was moving very fast. At that moment a blind man with his stick was walking slowly home, and a carpenter had started to saw a piece of wood to make a coffin. The carpenter had just murdered his wife by strangling her with a chain BUT at that moment someone opened the gate; that person had just returned from the pub where he had drunk a lot, so much so that the bar man had telephoned one of his friends who was the man who had the ferrari.
The carpenter was over the moon because finally he had the chance to avenge himself against the infidelity of his wife. Now he would be able to murder her lover.
Meanwhile the blind man having heard everything wrote it all down using his type writer.
The carpenter punched the lover who was able to run away and went back into the pub.
No one from any of the major film studios has shown any interest YET.
I reckon it would make a huge hit as a children's story. Just the right amount of gratuitous violence,
no horrible 4 letter words and a brilliant plot that is totally believable and best of all a not unhappy ending....the moral of the story seems in keeping with our times as well as being tamer than lots of fairy tales out there!
I can see why the caring professions would find this piece worriesome though.
This piece started out in fact an exercise to show our understanding of the 'imperfetto'.
What bothers me is that we could have written exactly the same story with any combination of sounds audible to the human ear.
The next piece of theatre rivals any seen at La Scala or La Fenice, and takes place at 'home'.
Saturday, 19 October 2013
TABU has rules but it seems than only the competitive amongst us take them seriously.
When beaten fairly and squarely in scrabble by Bev ( my long suffering wife ),l go into a period of irreversible mourning. Somehow winning still seems more important than playing.If you are fortunate to be driven to play by the rules then this game is heaven sent..why be nice when its so much more fun being a cad...l love that word...so understated!
So you can understand that my greater struggle was not the ltalian,that was challenging enough, but to coax my troubled male ego aside.
It goes like this.
You are given a printed card with the answer eg CUCCHIAIO (table spoon) and 4 words included below it that you must NOT use ( that's the taboo bit cause then its a giveaway and no real teasing) eg metal,meals, cutlery, soup. and the rest of the class have to see if they can take the right path to the answer. No deception, or red herrings by clever clogs with the answer in his (her) hand, but no point in being generous either. Cucchiaio was dispensed with faster than even Uri Geller could lick a fork.. Keener than mustard are we in Intermediate II!
The class was stumped with (sleepwaker) SONNAMBULO, but l did try to make it accessible...lots of laughs; in this business anything that helps you to remember, Use it. The only trouble is, when would you?
But the best game of all had to do with sounds, and here there was a stroke of genius, because it revealed so much about ourselves, and had our delightful teacher beaming from ear to rear or was it ear to ear but either way she loved it. The game goes like this.
A series of sounds are played and as they are come, one by one we have to construct a story all in Italian that holds together; if we don't know the word we are helped out but not with the story outline.
The sounds were - Car revving -Tapping sound - Sawing sound - Chain links rattling? Ours as you will read is one for psychiatrists to burn themselves out on,and l expect social anthropologists to opt for early retirement citing our piece as the reason.
This is what we came up with, and for my Italian scholars, the first account is for you .....the rest who make up the greater majority, the English follows.
When beaten fairly and squarely in scrabble by Bev ( my long suffering wife ),l go into a period of irreversible mourning. Somehow winning still seems more important than playing.If you are fortunate to be driven to play by the rules then this game is heaven sent..why be nice when its so much more fun being a cad...l love that word...so understated!
So you can understand that my greater struggle was not the ltalian,that was challenging enough, but to coax my troubled male ego aside.
It goes like this.
You are given a printed card with the answer eg CUCCHIAIO (table spoon) and 4 words included below it that you must NOT use ( that's the taboo bit cause then its a giveaway and no real teasing) eg metal,meals, cutlery, soup. and the rest of the class have to see if they can take the right path to the answer. No deception, or red herrings by clever clogs with the answer in his (her) hand, but no point in being generous either. Cucchiaio was dispensed with faster than even Uri Geller could lick a fork.. Keener than mustard are we in Intermediate II!
The class was stumped with (sleepwaker) SONNAMBULO, but l did try to make it accessible...lots of laughs; in this business anything that helps you to remember, Use it. The only trouble is, when would you?
But the best game of all had to do with sounds, and here there was a stroke of genius, because it revealed so much about ourselves, and had our delightful teacher beaming from ear to rear or was it ear to ear but either way she loved it. The game goes like this.
A series of sounds are played and as they are come, one by one we have to construct a story all in Italian that holds together; if we don't know the word we are helped out but not with the story outline.
The sounds were - Car revving -Tapping sound - Sawing sound - Chain links rattling? Ours as you will read is one for psychiatrists to burn themselves out on,and l expect social anthropologists to opt for early retirement citing our piece as the reason.
This is what we came up with, and for my Italian scholars, the first account is for you .....the rest who make up the greater majority, the English follows.
Thursday, 17 October 2013
Giuseppe had made it to the top table, and had a wistful smile on his lips. They had certainly got that right.
My fate was to go into Intermediate ll. It sounded like the half way house between kindergarten and proper school. Nothing could be further from the truth.
We were Anne ( Seattle) Carlos ( San Diego) Trudy (Canada,Australia) Angelo (San Francisco) , Sarah (Atlanta) and yours truely.
The morning session went from 8:45 to 10:15, a 1/2 hour break to 10:45 and then late morning session to 12:15 ,1/4 break to 12:30 and the final session to 13:15.
It became obvious very quickly that there was a huge range between us.Some had a richer vocabulary, others spoke more fluently but with errors,whilst a few had more hesitancy...that included me. Yet the group worked together and the teaching was a delight. For each session there could be a different teacher yet there was a cohesiveness between the lessons,even though different aspects of grammar were being examined. The enviroment was non competitive except when it comes to struggling with your own demons. So for me, it was pistols drawn every time...something had to change if l was going to survive.
So it was GRAMMAR that was our short suite and that brought back the idea of my relearning the basics of English grammar as l did 60+ years ago, and which l have been grappling with ever since.
We started to cover the grammar that we had all learned before. The 'imperfetto' tested our sense of humour as we struggled to understand how much of the 'past' was in the 'past' and not just recently passed, but really all over and finished with...kaput as our Northern neighbours say..., before the next event in the 'past', happened....if this is lost on you, then, then 'just' stick to English or German....but if you do you will be missing out.
Homework also meant looking at the 'past' until the fog of uncertainty lifted and a quiet confidence started to shine through....there was going to be a lot of this and l wondered how much mental stamina it took to make it to the end ?
We hadn't even touched on the 'congiuntivo' yet.
Ever played TABU
Now it was time to be introduced to parlour games, and l wondered if it might have something to do with Christmas that was just 2 months away.. It turned out to be better....it was to help us with our ability to ask questions and give a straight answers something that all our very self important politicians could consider if they had any sense; BUT that's really a no brainer.
My fate was to go into Intermediate ll. It sounded like the half way house between kindergarten and proper school. Nothing could be further from the truth.
We were Anne ( Seattle) Carlos ( San Diego) Trudy (Canada,Australia) Angelo (San Francisco) , Sarah (Atlanta) and yours truely.
The morning session went from 8:45 to 10:15, a 1/2 hour break to 10:45 and then late morning session to 12:15 ,1/4 break to 12:30 and the final session to 13:15.
It became obvious very quickly that there was a huge range between us.Some had a richer vocabulary, others spoke more fluently but with errors,whilst a few had more hesitancy...that included me. Yet the group worked together and the teaching was a delight. For each session there could be a different teacher yet there was a cohesiveness between the lessons,even though different aspects of grammar were being examined. The enviroment was non competitive except when it comes to struggling with your own demons. So for me, it was pistols drawn every time...something had to change if l was going to survive.
So it was GRAMMAR that was our short suite and that brought back the idea of my relearning the basics of English grammar as l did 60+ years ago, and which l have been grappling with ever since.
We started to cover the grammar that we had all learned before. The 'imperfetto' tested our sense of humour as we struggled to understand how much of the 'past' was in the 'past' and not just recently passed, but really all over and finished with...kaput as our Northern neighbours say..., before the next event in the 'past', happened....if this is lost on you, then, then 'just' stick to English or German....but if you do you will be missing out.
Homework also meant looking at the 'past' until the fog of uncertainty lifted and a quiet confidence started to shine through....there was going to be a lot of this and l wondered how much mental stamina it took to make it to the end ?
We hadn't even touched on the 'congiuntivo' yet.
Ever played TABU
Now it was time to be introduced to parlour games, and l wondered if it might have something to do with Christmas that was just 2 months away.. It turned out to be better....it was to help us with our ability to ask questions and give a straight answers something that all our very self important politicians could consider if they had any sense; BUT that's really a no brainer.
Wednesday, 16 October 2013
The next morning over breakfast Giuseppe's eyes didn't respond to the stimulanting effect of the thick black 'caffe'. Mine always met in the centre of my forehead after the first drop. We were due to report at 9am for the written paper.
We talked over points of grammar but that just increased the tension; the breakfast coffee of 'casa nostra' is incredibly strong and enough to cause a weakling even such as l to give Husein Bolt a run for his money over the first 20 yards. No one has yet managed two, so the record books need to be kept open. By this time l had started to pour my second cup!
Giuseppe was trying to make out he wasn't worried! As a result l was close to panic....Meredith looked at us with maternal concern....it was clear that she believed boys never grow up, and are prone to lose their sense of proportion at the first hurdle.
At the expected time there we all were assembled in a large room with separate desks.....from Australia,USA,Mexico,Poland,England,Switzerland,Holland. Our ages seemed to range from 40 + to 60+
The paper took about 1 hour to complete, and no histrionics evident. Silence reigned supreme, and no one even tried to cheat !! How cool is that !! I remember only too clearly in my exams previously, how the cursing and gnashing of teeth,was as integral as the grunting 'sotto voce' and deep inhaling, as panic was being brought under control...this was a very sophistocated bunch who knew their business.
For the first 40 minutes l was able to rip right through and feel really please (having done as much as time allowed since Fiumicino to build a robust perch), but started to wilt at the end.This was a professionally run exam, and whatever the result it would be right for me, BUT any fantasy of being at the top table had gone...it was clear l had a huge amount to learn and was in the right place to do so.
Then the results came out.
We talked over points of grammar but that just increased the tension; the breakfast coffee of 'casa nostra' is incredibly strong and enough to cause a weakling even such as l to give Husein Bolt a run for his money over the first 20 yards. No one has yet managed two, so the record books need to be kept open. By this time l had started to pour my second cup!
Giuseppe was trying to make out he wasn't worried! As a result l was close to panic....Meredith looked at us with maternal concern....it was clear that she believed boys never grow up, and are prone to lose their sense of proportion at the first hurdle.
At the expected time there we all were assembled in a large room with separate desks.....from Australia,USA,Mexico,Poland,England,Switzerland,Holland. Our ages seemed to range from 40 + to 60+
The paper took about 1 hour to complete, and no histrionics evident. Silence reigned supreme, and no one even tried to cheat !! How cool is that !! I remember only too clearly in my exams previously, how the cursing and gnashing of teeth,was as integral as the grunting 'sotto voce' and deep inhaling, as panic was being brought under control...this was a very sophistocated bunch who knew their business.
For the first 40 minutes l was able to rip right through and feel really please (having done as much as time allowed since Fiumicino to build a robust perch), but started to wilt at the end.This was a professionally run exam, and whatever the result it would be right for me, BUT any fantasy of being at the top table had gone...it was clear l had a huge amount to learn and was in the right place to do so.
Then the results came out.
Monday, 14 October 2013
My first morning here, l was woken after a wonderful rest by a sound that l didn't recognise. When l rummaged through those miles of neural connections l was no better off... .no surprise really since remembering my d.o.b. and e passwords etc had already become a bridge too far.
Then it dawned on me that it was the SILENCE. The vaulted ceiling of my room made it seem even louder. Had someone painted frescos on the ceiling and walls whilst l slept, l could be forgiven for believing that l had died and gone to the Sistine Chapel ( a fate sadly still reserved for the few).
Today there was serious business to be had. No more frivolity!! My ego was about to be formally challenged and it was bad at respecting the Geneva Convention on taking prisoners.
Just like marines preparing to assault the beach heads so was l preparing for THE exam, which was due to take place tomorrow morning. Just where to start was like finding that proverbial haystack needle, but never being a slouch when it comes to competing, l dived into the 'congiuntivo' cause this is where you can differentiate the 'wheat from the chaff '.
Fortunately we were joined by a new house mate, Giuseppe ( never called Joe) from Philadelphia and he brought enlightenment to the breakfast table. Exams he suggested would take care of themselves and getting to share experiences and ideas was much more fun,especially in ltalian, but being no slouch he also spoke Spanish and Portugese fluently. No prizes for guessing where his confidence came from ! l think l hated him for a moment but he is such a delightful and amusing man, that 'che sara, sara'.
Later that evening we joined all the other new arrivals in the 'welcome' to the school.Sylvia the boss moved easily amongst us and when we chatted l made sure to use every tense,conjunction,adverb, and idiomatic expression l could to confirm that l could sit at the top table........my ego had much to learn. Tomorrow l would be brought down to my rightful place,but l didn't know that yet.
Then it dawned on me that it was the SILENCE. The vaulted ceiling of my room made it seem even louder. Had someone painted frescos on the ceiling and walls whilst l slept, l could be forgiven for believing that l had died and gone to the Sistine Chapel ( a fate sadly still reserved for the few).
Today there was serious business to be had. No more frivolity!! My ego was about to be formally challenged and it was bad at respecting the Geneva Convention on taking prisoners.
Just like marines preparing to assault the beach heads so was l preparing for THE exam, which was due to take place tomorrow morning. Just where to start was like finding that proverbial haystack needle, but never being a slouch when it comes to competing, l dived into the 'congiuntivo' cause this is where you can differentiate the 'wheat from the chaff '.
Fortunately we were joined by a new house mate, Giuseppe ( never called Joe) from Philadelphia and he brought enlightenment to the breakfast table. Exams he suggested would take care of themselves and getting to share experiences and ideas was much more fun,especially in ltalian, but being no slouch he also spoke Spanish and Portugese fluently. No prizes for guessing where his confidence came from ! l think l hated him for a moment but he is such a delightful and amusing man, that 'che sara, sara'.
Later that evening we joined all the other new arrivals in the 'welcome' to the school.Sylvia the boss moved easily amongst us and when we chatted l made sure to use every tense,conjunction,adverb, and idiomatic expression l could to confirm that l could sit at the top table........my ego had much to learn. Tomorrow l would be brought down to my rightful place,but l didn't know that yet.
Sunday, 13 October 2013
Smiles make some of the best sounds. When the imposing heavy old door to number 3 opened , l extracted myself slowly from the taxi, got soaked in the process, saw a white headed lady of the right age and size coming out towards me. She picked up my bike bag and pushed it inside. Just the idea of having to pick it up again with my bladder fighting for control brought out the wimp in me.This could only be Vanna -and she made me beam like a man possessed, or maybe a man right on the edge. I was both.
Not only had l lost my refugee status but the cooking smells coming out of the open door were lifting me through . These floors that had suffered hundreds of years of feet scouring, marking and leaving debris behind were left untouched by mine.
This was a 'palazzo'!
Vanna brought out Danilo and inside introduced me to Meredith ( hometown near Seattle) who was one week into her course. Meredith had the en suite (rule of the house - this room belongs to the girl) and l had to accept 2nd best which was a room about 25 feet long,15 feet wide, ceiling 25-30 feet high with a balcony looking over a beautiful valley and lakes in the distance. In the room was a desk,divan,comfortable winged back chair and single bed with an excess of cupboard space. Enough space to rebuild and rest my bike, as well as in times of dire emergency, land a small aircraft. Well as my mother used to say to me,"Alex my son, you never know!" That's a difficult perspective to challenge.
Supper was going to be ready in 30 minutes so at 8pm on the dot we sat down to feast.
It was a simple affair,starting with a steaming heaped bowl of home made pasta with a ragu sauce and freshly grated parmesan washed down with a light local red, then fried chicken and fried potatoes with a green salad followed by the dessert of locally grown plums in a plum crostata .....oh yes limoncello and more wine if wanted.
Tomorrow would take care of itself, if l survived the night and didn't burst.
To state the obvious l felt wonderful,....but knew that l was here to improve and build on my ltalian which was the purpose of the trip......BUT that plan was beginning to unravel already.
Not only had l lost my refugee status but the cooking smells coming out of the open door were lifting me through . These floors that had suffered hundreds of years of feet scouring, marking and leaving debris behind were left untouched by mine.
This was a 'palazzo'!
Vanna brought out Danilo and inside introduced me to Meredith ( hometown near Seattle) who was one week into her course. Meredith had the en suite (rule of the house - this room belongs to the girl) and l had to accept 2nd best which was a room about 25 feet long,15 feet wide, ceiling 25-30 feet high with a balcony looking over a beautiful valley and lakes in the distance. In the room was a desk,divan,comfortable winged back chair and single bed with an excess of cupboard space. Enough space to rebuild and rest my bike, as well as in times of dire emergency, land a small aircraft. Well as my mother used to say to me,"Alex my son, you never know!" That's a difficult perspective to challenge.
Supper was going to be ready in 30 minutes so at 8pm on the dot we sat down to feast.
It was a simple affair,starting with a steaming heaped bowl of home made pasta with a ragu sauce and freshly grated parmesan washed down with a light local red, then fried chicken and fried potatoes with a green salad followed by the dessert of locally grown plums in a plum crostata .....oh yes limoncello and more wine if wanted.
Tomorrow would take care of itself, if l survived the night and didn't burst.
To state the obvious l felt wonderful,....but knew that l was here to improve and build on my ltalian which was the purpose of the trip......BUT that plan was beginning to unravel already.
Saturday, 12 October 2013
Sometimes its the journey that matters,with the destination being runner up.As the Florence train pulled with even greater determination to get away from Rome the horror of that idea was beginning to take hold and grabbing some of my oxygen. Mr. & Mrs American Traveller never made it to this train. When I last saw them,they had left me on the correct platform in search of 'official' help to make sure they were where they should be when the train stopped. Unfortunately they ended up where they shouldn't have been (l presume), missed the train, and deprived me of further lurid details of their marathon. My schadenfreude was going to have a bleak time too.
Getting off at Chiusi meant that my journey's end was only a taxi ride away, and 'subito' l was looking at beautiful green rolling countryside with those stunning terracotta and hewn stone country houses and farms.
The taxi driver told me that "il Sasso" received students from all over the world and was very well liked by them. I thought in my complete ignorance it would probably be a small school and that l might find myself alone much of the time. Now it seemed more and more, that my great organisation was a greater disorganisation than anything that had come before.
Montepulciano sat like a magnificent and proud potentate on a huge slab of rock as we came closer at which point the heavens opened up. Going into the 'centro storico' on the one cobbled road which was now running with torrents of water seemed a fitting end to a journey that seemed to have been going on for much longer than my prostate was ever meant to deal with, and that running water almost put me out of action for good as any male above a certain age can understand.
I had tried to ring my family from Chiusi but got the recorded voice of the operator telling me that l had dialled incorrectly. That turned out to be true but l was sure it was another example of the dark forces working against me. Would my family be in when l got out of the taxi, and if not what on this earth was l going to do?
My inner chaos returned, BUT Montepulciano looked so beautiful that for the first time l didn't care because l really had arrived.
Getting off at Chiusi meant that my journey's end was only a taxi ride away, and 'subito' l was looking at beautiful green rolling countryside with those stunning terracotta and hewn stone country houses and farms.
The taxi driver told me that "il Sasso" received students from all over the world and was very well liked by them. I thought in my complete ignorance it would probably be a small school and that l might find myself alone much of the time. Now it seemed more and more, that my great organisation was a greater disorganisation than anything that had come before.
Montepulciano sat like a magnificent and proud potentate on a huge slab of rock as we came closer at which point the heavens opened up. Going into the 'centro storico' on the one cobbled road which was now running with torrents of water seemed a fitting end to a journey that seemed to have been going on for much longer than my prostate was ever meant to deal with, and that running water almost put me out of action for good as any male above a certain age can understand.
I had tried to ring my family from Chiusi but got the recorded voice of the operator telling me that l had dialled incorrectly. That turned out to be true but l was sure it was another example of the dark forces working against me. Would my family be in when l got out of the taxi, and if not what on this earth was l going to do?
My inner chaos returned, BUT Montepulciano looked so beautiful that for the first time l didn't care because l really had arrived.
'Ignorance can be bliss', THE hackneyed phrase guaranteed to set my teeth on edge,was uttered by the exhausted guy next to me on the train out of Fiumicino. He was American still in shorts,feet in sandals, an open necked shirt and surrounded by his wife and their luggage. She patiently rolled her eyes as his level of angst increased with the telling of his story. The past 25 hours had not been part of their original itinery. Plane diverted and landed miles from Rome, bused to Fiumicino and now being another sardine in the local train to Roma Tiburtina.They were going to Florence and so we would be on the next train together.
Street urchins 'scugnizzi' got on and off the train looking for 'pickings' (perhaps), as we ever so slowly made our way from one stop to the next, each suburb looking like a relative of the other but that bit more mauled. I stood and faced off the 'scugnizzo' very bravely (there is a side that says Don't Mess with Me) even though he didn't look a day over 10.... Ok l have to admit that no else battered an eyelid when he came in twice and had a good look around, BUT at least l thought l had been uber brave.
Street urchins 'scugnizzi' got on and off the train looking for 'pickings' (perhaps), as we ever so slowly made our way from one stop to the next, each suburb looking like a relative of the other but that bit more mauled. I stood and faced off the 'scugnizzo' very bravely (there is a side that says Don't Mess with Me) even though he didn't look a day over 10.... Ok l have to admit that no else battered an eyelid when he came in twice and had a good look around, BUT at least l thought l had been uber brave.
Friday, 11 October 2013
The short hop between touch down at Fiumicino and arrival at my my future home was a good induction to what lay ahead. My internal chaos got off to a really good start with immigration providing EEC passport holders with 2 lines and non EEC with 4. It looked as if it should have been the other way around,as any seasoned traveller to this beautiful and confounding country will know . I had forgotten that signs in ltaly often don't mean what they say and nor did these....another lesson learnt! Just do what makes more sense,because that's what the locals do.
Baggage unassigned to any of the 11carousels initially meant tracking down my luggage in the midst of shoals of passengers struggling past one another dragging their luggage, grateful to have made it this far and the EXIT door looking more like the portal to heaven.
Angels can be dressed to look like custom officers too, and by the time l had made it this far l was prepared to believe that l had used up any resources left and was at journey's end.
Fiumicino is a tired ,battered ,and crowded place that has seen better days, but once outside in that warm sunshine with lots of smiling family members and friends greeting new arrivals,it felt really good. Neither bike bag, rucksack, nor pull-along that l had rescued from that pitching storm of luggage forever going round and round seemed to carry any weight because here l was,and about to find the train for Roma Tiburtina, from where the final dash for Montepulciano was to be launched .
It did me no good when l realised that the phrase book that l kept in my head ,had clearly fallen off its perch,and it was back to basics.
Fiumicino and l had more in common than l cared to admit.
Baggage unassigned to any of the 11carousels initially meant tracking down my luggage in the midst of shoals of passengers struggling past one another dragging their luggage, grateful to have made it this far and the EXIT door looking more like the portal to heaven.
Angels can be dressed to look like custom officers too, and by the time l had made it this far l was prepared to believe that l had used up any resources left and was at journey's end.
Fiumicino is a tired ,battered ,and crowded place that has seen better days, but once outside in that warm sunshine with lots of smiling family members and friends greeting new arrivals,it felt really good. Neither bike bag, rucksack, nor pull-along that l had rescued from that pitching storm of luggage forever going round and round seemed to carry any weight because here l was,and about to find the train for Roma Tiburtina, from where the final dash for Montepulciano was to be launched .
It did me no good when l realised that the phrase book that l kept in my head ,had clearly fallen off its perch,and it was back to basics.
Fiumicino and l had more in common than l cared to admit.
Wednesday, 9 October 2013
Beginnings can be hard to recognise, and that applies to me. Once this trip started l realised that it was a new start. It was easy to know because l was certain that l had bitten off too much,and that there would be no turning back. l have no idea just yet what will change,except that when it does, l will be the better for it.
My struggle began 3 days ago here in Montepulciano at this delightful language school. I am at age 68 years next week, so no excuses about not knowing better. My precious grey matter has handled far more complicated assignments,and more tedious ones as well in earlier years. What could be more exciting now than that voluptuous, seductive, often surprising and delightful tongue that l have been struggling with for the past 2+ years....MY ltalian.
Now is the time that 6 months of planning has come to pass and l have to face my new reality. Let me say.......
I had no idea of what awaited me last week as l packed my bags for a 4 week stay with an ltalian family in this beautiful 'hill town', famous for its great wine and beautiful scenery.
My struggle began 3 days ago here in Montepulciano at this delightful language school. I am at age 68 years next week, so no excuses about not knowing better. My precious grey matter has handled far more complicated assignments,and more tedious ones as well in earlier years. What could be more exciting now than that voluptuous, seductive, often surprising and delightful tongue that l have been struggling with for the past 2+ years....MY ltalian.
Now is the time that 6 months of planning has come to pass and l have to face my new reality. Let me say.......
I had no idea of what awaited me last week as l packed my bags for a 4 week stay with an ltalian family in this beautiful 'hill town', famous for its great wine and beautiful scenery.
Wednesday, 2 October 2013
Beginning, the first dot.
Today l have started to put ideas down that l never thought that l could given my fear and absolute displeasure with all things associated with keyboard tapping...perhaps there is hope left for me yet in this age of tweaks, tweets, and geeks. My age...well who cares but l have been retired for years, and irritable ex doctors usually don't just die.....they usually find another career to get their teeth into.In my case it was to get my tongue around, but more of that later.
About 25 years ago computers were introduced into suburban medical practice. After all those years of hassle that followed these infernal machines had forever changed the landscape of General Practice, some of it for the better, and some not. Well, then it dawned on me that it was the computer screen that demanded my full attention, with the patient languishing on the sidelines helping to fill in the gaps.
About 25 years ago computers were introduced into suburban medical practice. After all those years of hassle that followed these infernal machines had forever changed the landscape of General Practice, some of it for the better, and some not. Well, then it dawned on me that it was the computer screen that demanded my full attention, with the patient languishing on the sidelines helping to fill in the gaps.
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