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.
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