"Breaking up is hard to do..."

A "Dear John letter" is a letter written to tell someone their relationship is over, usually because the composser has found another lover. They are often written out of an inability or unwillingness to inform the subject face to face. It pains me to do it, but, this is my "Dear John Letter" to Italy, (only I have not found another lover, just another country)

    

Dearest John, I mean Dearest Italy,

I know this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be done. Writing like this. But, it’s the only way I have left. I am constantly surrounded by you, looking into your food, wine and culture, my mind goes blank, my thoughts jumble, and I am left with nothing for you but tears.

Being with you has been wonderful. Being with you has taught me so much. And there is so much that I am grateful for, so much that I will cherish well into my declining years.

But the time has come to say good-bye.  We both knew that this would not last forever.

We were simply not meant to be, my love.

You have your ways, I have mine, and nothing in the middle seems to make sense, particularly driving habits.  So many things still baffle me about you.

I love you, still. But the carbohydrate intake that lies beneath my stomach lining, has become more than I can endure. More than anyone should have to. For me, and for you. We are too good to settle for something that will never be.

I wish for you, all the things you dream of. All the things you need, such as more patience while queing and a better understanding of customer service.

I wish for you, a happiness that will endure.

Good-bye Italy my love, you will never be forgotton.

"Io vi amo e vi ringrazio per i ricordi."

 

Gonzos Abroad

Love and Loathing

Love and Loathing. I have discovered that it is actually possible to feel these two polar emotions at the same time.  As I think about leaving Italy, I am starting to reflect upon what I love and loath about this unique country.

• Everything is ancient
• LOVE the history, architecture, art, food; Italians respect their past and make an effort to cultivate others of their treasures
• LOATH the hole in the ground toilets and the resistance to change for the better

• The clothing tags are longer than the garments themselves
• LOVE that washing directions are in several languages, feels extremely 'European'
• LOATH forgetting to chop the tags off and feeling like I am shoplifting A4 sized notepads under my shirt or dress
• Disregard for road rules
• LOVE the fact that you arrive faster due to parking where you want, and not stopping when you have to
• LOATH the fact that drivers do not stop when they have to, (stop signs, red lights or pedestrian crossings), and they park where they want, (footpath, middle of the road, double/triple park; as long as the hazard lights are on, "we are all good")
• Ignorance of personal space
• LOVE the innocence of people picking up my children for a cuddle and taking them to show their friends (I know none of these people)
• LOATH my confusion between the two words friendliness and abduction



Random waiter in Florence that insisted we take a picture of him???

• Food
• LOVE it all, delicious, and you are EXPECTED to order first and second courses
• LOATH the amount of carbohydrates

• Coffee
• LOVE that it can cost 80c for a coffee, and a coffee to go is at a bar, served within the minute and you can double park to get it
• LOATH that you do not 'meet' for coffee, or it would be a 1 min 30 second outing, and a really quick conversation
• Wine
• LOVE that it is sooooo cheap and yummy
• LOATH the looks we receive from fellow diners when we order our litre of wine with meals
• Shopping
• LOVE that twice a year EVERYTHING goes on sale from 50 % to 70% off
• LOATH that everything is so expensive otherwise and nobody told me not to shop until July or January
• Children
• LOVE that people you slightly know, eg work colleagues, gym workers, shop assistants all request "meetings" with your children when they find out you have them
• LOATH.... seriously, this a little creepy
• Language
• LOVE the sound of it; it really is a lovely language even if I do not understand it
• LOATH that I do not understand it and am paranoid that I am being called silly French woman (I know, majority think I am French, bizarre)
• Customer Service
• LOVE that most of the smaller retail shops will greet you with an immediate "buongiorno", usually hollered from the opposite end on the store
• LOATH the come down after the enthusiastic greeting. You will now be ignored, even while purchasing something, you take second place to phone calls from Nonna or a review of a co-workers choice of nail polish colour
• Fashion
• LOVE the quality, availability and application of high fashion.  A visit to the local post box appears to be an occasion, you would only leave the house (apartment) in your "Sunday Bests".
• LOATH that imitations of the high fashion is sold on every corner displayed on a sheet or cardboard box.  Also loath that it is not socially acceptable to go to the local post box in my pyjama's (even if accessorised with a nice pair of kitten heels and a pair of over sized sunglasses).  Most are associated with Barbie in Milan, full of plastic and the face expression does not change much.

• Perception of necessity
• LOVE that on every corner there stands a church, (not a pub) that is older than the country that I was born.  Not often I passed a church without poking my head inside to see if there were fresco's, an organ, or any holy water in the font.
• LOATH the development of my conscience in my time in Italy.  The more churches I visited, the more I felt it disrespectful to take photos in this place of worship, but I have been torn, as I feel that this is the haven for the worlds best art.  Also loath my children's discovery of echo echo echo in these tranquil places of worship.

• Hand language
• LOVE the enthusiasm and expression of emotions. Speaking simultaneously with hands and mouth is a given for young and old, (see hubby, it IS possible to do more than one thing at a time)
• LOATH that arm flapping is a language in itself entirely.  A conversation can also be had with the hands and no words; yet another form of communication to be learnt.  (The only hand language I understood up until now was the middle finger for anger and rub your belly if you are hungry.... apparently there are more than 2 in the hand language index) www.youtube.com/watch?v=jVCuyrPk7P4
• Italy
• LOVE it entirely



Milan's Duomo

• LOATH that it is time to leave

"Tell me what I want for you!"

I have always made it a rule to avoid 'dropping names'; no free advertising and no suing for defamation. So if you work this one out, it is your pure intelligence and nothing to do with my lack of tact.

I have always used the same hair dresser, (I am referring to the company, not a pocket sized assistant that I carry with me to various destinations), and I consider myself lucky that '....&...' are a worldwide company with over 400 salons, so they tend to follow me where ever I go.  But I must admit, there are a few differences to getting a hair cut in Milan compared to back in Australia.  First of all; on my first visit, I was sure that due to translation issues I was going to leave with a 'mullet' and green hair; it actually took until the third visit for me to leave with a 'mullet' and looking like Suzie Quatro, but pretty sure I requested it on that occassion; I think...according to Wikipedia; "The mullet is a hairstyle that is short at the front and sides, and long in the back.  Often ridiculed as a lowbrow and unappealing hairstyle, the mullet began to appear in popular media in the 1960s and 1970s but did not become generally well-known until the early 1980s. It continued to be popular until the mid-1990s". (Apparently, but I think this could be debateable depending on if you lived town or country.)

You have to admit, Suzie made a statement with her hair...

....and she looked awesome in her earlier days!

As I arrive, I am dressed in my very 'Un-Milan' attire of a hairdressing gown, (what no Gucci?) and ushered up the stairs to the colouring level.  As I walk the stairs I am spotted by my 'cutter' Sergio, (yes, not taking the Italian piss, that is his name), and he greets me with an over zealous "Hallo!"  Ok so he obviosly learnt his english off a german cartoon show but I appreciate his memory of my language skills and the effort to make me feel welcome in his salon.

I am seated by my colourist and he talks non-stop for a few minutes; as he comes up for oxygen I feel obliged to inform him that I do not speak Italian so have no idea what he has been saying.  "Bene" he says as he rubs my shoulders, (no sexual assault lawsuit necessary, Europeans are touchy), but I am concerned he has said "bene", as this means good, is he glad I have not understood what he has been saying to me?  Was he greeting me as the big fat cow that was keeping him from his weekend, please make my job easy and do not complain that I smell of nicotene and coffee?  Anyhow; when asked what colour I would like today, I request the colour black.  Like whispers in the school yard, my colourist and cutter are soon seen whispering in the corner, and pointing at me. "Nero, nero", I can manage to lip read Italian.  (Tried this while people watching the other night out to dinner; very unsucessfully; I forget that I am reading Italian words and not english and had all sorts of scenarios happenming involving lost puppies, affairs and purple elephants... do not quite have this skill mastered yet.  Seriously, I am living in Italy... I read hands not lips!).  I am approached by my 'cutter'.  He rubs his hands in my hair and looks at me like a daughter on her wedding day.  A deep breath out...."So".... big pause for effect..."No! Black you say!  Black is too hard!"....  There is an awkward silence shared.  You know the kind when you ask a fat lady if she is expecting a boy or a girl.  Obviously I am making the wrong decision for my future career in the public spot light, (or they have just run out of black hair dye)?  "Oh did I say balck?  I meant dark brown...  marrone... sorry must be the translation..."

I am asked what I would like to drink and when I request water, am asked if sparkling would be good.  So I sit sipping on my 1/4 litre of S.Pellegrino frizzante aqua, and writing on my sanitary napkins I collected from the bathroom.  I am very impatient and after 5 minutes of waiting for requested paper, thought I would source my own.  I ended up quite embarassed when 'new mate who colours hair the colour we say we want to colour' returned with my requested pen to see me scibbling on my second sheet of a sanitary napkin like an eccentric let loose.  I have a bad memory and like to put pen to paper.  In the words of Robin Williams  "You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it."  

Now time for a cut, and I am no longer willing to share an opinion, "Please make me look cool"  I am thinking but "I want to grow it, can you fix the fluffy bits!" escapes my lips.  How about "Tell me what you want from me".  Sergio, (my cutter), seems happy to oblige, or just seems happy in general.  I am apparently paying for the first 3 months worth of nappies for his first child expected next month, but I am happy with end result, quality and attention to customer service.  I am given a blow dry that lasted for 20 minutes, (seriously), every single hair was assured to show jealously of its neighbour.  But I look great now, although I will need to sleep in the sitting position and avoid sweating for 48 hours at least... I will not look like this for another 10 weeks... (next cut before holiday home to Australia... how often are you supposed to wash again?).



This is my "blue steel" pose



Firenze nudie run

View of Perugia

We had a quick tour of Perugia in the morning (to the end of our street and back) before we felt a few drops of rain and decided to head straight to Florence.  You can tell that you are having a scenic drive when you forget to turn on the radio; there is no need for conversation; and the only noise you hear is snoring and lips smacking to retrieve sleep drool escaping from little mouths in the back seat. The scenery was beautiful through the Tuscan rolling hills, and the 2 hour drive appeared to take minutes, (perhaps due to no altercation with our GPS advisor)?

We parked the cars in the public car park next to our hotel and arrived at the hotel balancing bags, on bags, on bags, on prams, with muffled sounds of children enclosed in there somewhere. We seemed to have more luggage than we started with; how?  Less food, less clothing as it was in washing bags in the car, same amount of children, ahhhhhh, travelling with more wine, of course! We walked towards the city centre and stopped next to the markets outside Bascilica di San Lorenzo for some Tuscan soup, Tomato soup and Spaghetti Bolegnese, (to be honest the first spaghetti I have tried in my 10 months in Italy, but well worth the wait)! The soup was deliciously different, my tomoto soup was thickened with bread and incomparable to the Campbell Tin variety I was expecting, (and I think my father was actually enjoying it until my mother described it as "yummy soup with soggy bread").

Spaghetti "Get your own" Bolognaise

Tomato soup



Tuscan vegetable soup

  After exploring the markets and cleaning our hands, (I mean feeling the fabric), on several scarfs, we had a quick look in the Bascilica and then continued on our way.  I love Florence.  It is my third visit, and I still can not tell you why I like it so much, in the words of a spoilt teenager, 'just because'.  Down the street, turn the corner, SLAP!  Right in the face.  "Ta Da!" the Duomo.  I actually said "Ta Da" (to fullfill my tour guide duty) my parents did not react, so I said it again, a little louder with less vigour, "Ta Da!  Sorry the queue is too long, we will enter on another day perhaps?" (Bet you wish you reacted to my first 'Ta Da' now?) Scarily, I am even amazing myself how quickly I am jumping in and out of my tour guide role.



"Ta Da"......"Hmmm hmmm"......"Taaa Daaa!"



We walked on to catch up with my mate Dave, and was quite releived that I was not seeing him under the same circumstances as our last meeting.  Which for your information, was when our GPS advisor took my husband to see 'Statue of David' through the busy pedestrian only Piazza della Signoria; I think she took soul mate literally when he mentioned the statue, (after all, there was no GPS button stating "in the vicinity of, with a nice park for a car larger than a 'smart car' that would not cost more than 20€ an hour, (please), (thank you)".    Apparently my husband is on some sort of quest to enter the Guiness Book of Records for 'Most driven pedestrian only piazzas in Europe'.  You can do it sweetheat, (but preferably not with me in the car)!




Parents with my mate Dave

 

Next stop was the famous Ponte Vecchio; a medievil bridge over the Arno River, noted for still having shops built along it,  butchers initially occupied the shops but now present tenants are jewellers.  Yes jewellers.  Great jewellers. Mmmmmmmm.  Gelati on the way, some had smaller gelati than others, then some serious window shopping.  The sort that had the shop owners following me with windex to remove the drool stains from the windows.  I can dream can't I? 



Double waffle, gelati and chocolate sauce equals 4 pilates sessions!

Little bit of bling.

hhhmmmmm.......



Children told to dance in the street, (bit of busking), so mummy could get a ring!



After drinks in the hotel bar for happy hour, a shower followed by a naked run up and down our hallway, (children not adults), another glass of wine, (adults not children), then bed. Impetuous Italian tour is almost at its conclusion, and I am feeling a little victorious and somber. Yes, it is possible to be happy and sad at the same time. (Kind of like the whole chicken or egg conundrum?)

Nice bar, and children managed entry without fake ID (passport).

Tapas on tap

For the foodies among us, Madrid’s tapas are a must-try. There is some interesting history attached to them, dating back to the 13th century. Stagecoach drivers would stop off at a tavern to take a break with a glass of wine after completing another long and often dangerous leg of their journey. After many such stops, they would get so drunk and eventually become such a menace to other travelers, that the government actually passed a law forcing them to eat something along with their drink. This snack would usually be a piece of bread and ham placed on top of their glass. These tapas (tops or lids) have now evolved into a delicious edible tradition that can be enjoyed all over the world. (Let's face it, Tapas Bars and Sushi Stops can be found most places.)


We found a great food market that called us for tapas and drinks each day. A sangria or cold beer seemed to be the perfect accompanyment, (we saved the Rioja wine for evenings). Instant tapas; tapas on tap, could I ask for anything more?!














Some Spanish food we tried:

• Olives with a filling of red bell pepper, cheese or ham.
  
• Banderillas, (or pinchos de encurtidos), a cold tapa made out of small food items pickled in vinegar and skewered together. They are also known as gildas or piparras and consist of pickled items, like olives, baby onions, baby cucumbers, chillis (guindilla) with pieces of pepper and other vegetables.


• Calamares or rabas; rings of battered squid.


• Chorizo spicy sausage.


• Croquettes served as a tapa.
  
• Empanadas or empanadillas large or small turnovers filled with meats and vegetables.


• Pulpo; octopus served in small chunks in the oil in which it was cooked.


• Tortilla; a type of omelet containing fried chunks of potatoes and some onion.


• Jamón serrano (cured ham)


• Paella (saffron rice)


• Churro; fried-dough pastry-based snacks

I would like to officially thank all of the stagecoach drivers out there; your need to indulge has resulted in the birth of my favourite food. I am even considering screen printing a " I heart Tapas" t-shirt.

I managed to restrain myself as far as the sweets were concerned, (to be totally honest, I just couldn't possibly fit anything else in), but I am pretty sure that I put on a couple of kilos just seeing the desserts.

IF Interesting Fact

Gazpacho (cold tomato soup) is generally only served during the summer months, even if it remains on the menu all year long.

The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plane

Have you ever had one of those days? A day that you can bet that the public toilet will be out of paper, or the bird will pick you out of the crowd to release itself. This was a great day; but it was definitely one of 'those' days.

To celebrate our daughters 3rd birthday we planned a holiday to Spain to meet a friend, (any excuse for some more travel really). We allowed an hour to get to the airport, which would of been plenty of time, had I put the right airport into the GPS. You could cut the tension in the air of the car with a knife as we counted down the minutes from check in time to GPS arrival time, we lost a minute here, gained a minute there, and felt like we were in an episode of The Amazing Race. We agreed to park in the first available car space we could find, (surely better to pay for expensive parking as apposed to purchasing new plane tickets). Looking, looking, and parked 500 meters away! We could just see the airport in the distance like a mirage. Out of car, set up pram, kids scarves and hats on, kids in pram, back pack on, birthday presents bag over shoulder, handbag, toiletries bag, I'm running, "Lock the car!" yelled over my shoulder, husband takes up the rear pulling large bag and daughters pretty pink butterfly bag. We run 100meters and spot a transit bus, "Bus, bus!" I hear from behind. Open boot of van, large bag in, pink bag in, toiletries bag in, present bag in, back pack in, kids out of pram, "Off the road!", take pram apart, pram in, door locked, "ahem ahem", door still locked, "ahem ahem", climb in the van, quick head count, all good. Drive 200meters. End of line. Time to get out and start all over again. (Not to sure if we saved any time here?) So with daughter surfing the front of the pram and son under my arm hanging on for dear life, I take of like a football player wanting to score. Hubby is behind looking like he is about to go kung-fu on our luggage, but manages to make up some distance once his 5 items are balanced correctly.

One minute late for check in, the lovely lady accepts our tickets and we place our bag and pram at an external door. We rush to our gate, (which is obviously the one furtherest away), and join the end of the remaining queue that is boarding the plane. This is where we are told that our carry on luggage of 5 bags is to be condensed to 3. "Infants don't count, everyone else has only one piece of carry on Madam." (Did you know that a small handbag is carry on luggage?) So now would be the perfect time for our daughter to unpack her bag and play with some toys, "Can I open my presents now?" I take a deep breath and unpack and repack bags as fast as possible, trying to keep out of the corridor, so the last 2 remaining passengers with two carry on bags each may pass through!

So, yes, we are now officially those people. The last ones onto the plane hoping to get sympathetic looks, instead receiving glares of detest. I think we held the plane up one minute. I just wanted to sink into my seat. If I could find one. With six free rows at the front and four free rows at the back, we are still unable to take a seat. Ushered to the back to be ushered back to the front again, worried that the plane was going to be too top heavey? I presumed that all would be fine as long as the pointy end of the plane was pointing forward, but then I am no pilot. So to anger more patrons, others are moved so I can sit with my daughter, as my husband takes the rear of the plane with our son on his lap. This was going to be a long flight.

After ten minutes in the air, the stewardess informs me of some great news, in Spanish, a language that I do not comprehend. I tell her I do not understand, so she speaks again, slower and louder, (this obviously does not help my comprehension, it just makes me feel, quite frankly, a little special). So I nod, smile and thank her. My husband eventually flags me down, and I realise I am now able to join him in the back so we can all sit together. Reunited; we can regroup and start our holiday. The morning can only get better. Right?

My husband makes his way to our carry on luggage in the front of the plane to search for a nappy for our son that has just managed to pee through his nappy and on to both of us. He is stuck for ten minutes behind the food trolley, so I hold my son above me by the waist to avoid more spillage, (and make the most of an arm weights session). I decide to take a little toilet brake, and a moment to breath, when I find a 5 pence coin on the floor. Opting to combine two of the dirtiest things, (money and toilet floors), I decide it is a sign, pick up the money smiling and saying to myself "Find a penny, pick it up, all day long you'll have good luck!" I practically skip back to my seat and inform my husband of our new fortune of luck. Not quite a winning lottery ticket, but it was enough for me to boost some positive thinking.

I rest back into my seat, take the cup of energy drink my husband has poured me. We hit turbulance; I now have drink up my nose and down my clothes. The landing was not exactly smooth either and we gripped onto each other as Captain Kangaroo bounced us to the terminal. The morning can only get better. Right?

"Thank you for flying with us today. We hope you enjoyed giving us the business, as much as we enjoyed taking you for a ride!"

IF Important Fact
There is more than one airport in Milan.

Modena - pizza for health

Modena is a city and commune on the south side of the Po valley, in the Emilia-Romagna region of Italy. This was the last overnight stop of our Christmas Vacation before returning to our Italian home, Milan.

It is an ancient town, and the seat of an archbishop; but is now best known as "the capital of engines". Factories of the famous Italian sports car makers Ferrari, De Tomaso, Lamborghini, Pagani and Maserati are, or were, located here and all, except Lamborghini, have headquarters in the city or nearby. As we are driving into town we spot a white Lamborghini being towed on a truck. I instantly predicted our next destination to be filled with sports cars, turtle neck sweaters and botoxed passengers holding fluffy white dogs. Askew prediction. Modena greeted me with old Fiats, woolen vests and double chins. (Not entirely true, but I was definitely off the mark.) It was not what I was expecting from a town that prided itself on fast cars. In fact everything seemed a little slow...

We did manage to see and have some interesting moments:

• sighting an old man selling lottery tickets with cardboard posters stapled to his head





• spotting a 'gym restaurant' that was a pizzeria (not sure if this is the healthiest food?)





• having our breakfast waiter speak to my husband in French, children in Italian, and myself in English, (we must be looking like quite the international family at present), for some reason he was certain soul mate was French?

Modena is well known in culinary circles for its production of balsamic vinegar. Aceto balsamico tradizionale, is aged for 12 to 25 years, more effort than a good wine, and a lot cheaper too. Due to the city's reputation as 'Balsamic King', I presumed that there would be deli's and specialty stores on every corner. Surely they should be capitalising on their reputation; like Rome selling Rosemary beads, French selling champagne, or Australia selling a shrimp on the barbie. Where was my man standing on the corner dressed as a foam balsamic vinegar bottle? We searched, and searched, and eventually ended ten minutes walk out of town to the local grocery store. This was the reason I picked Modena in the first place; I must have my vinegar! In conclusion; the bottles look no different than than the ones purchased in the shop under my apartment at home, I did however buy a balsamic caramelised vinegar, 1.70€, never would of got it if I did not come to Modena. (Actually it was a product of La Loggia, 3 hours away from Modena, and half the distance to home Milan. Oops.)

IF Interesting Fact

Residents of Modena obviously do not get a discount on the price of sports cars otherwise everyone would be driving them.

You can buy delicious balsamic vinegar anywhere, no need to travel too far.

San Gimignano - How big's your tower?

San Gimignano is a small walled medieval hill town in the province of Sienna, Tuscany, north-central Italy. It is mainly famous for its medieval architecture, especially its towers, which may be seen from several kilometres outside the town.

The town has 14 towers, (used to be 72), and they were considered symbols of power and wealth of the medieval families. The towers themselves are rather dull and lacking of design, but with the contrast of the sloping terracotta roofs and the rolling Tuscan hills, it really was quite magical. San Gimignano has managed to conserve these towers of varying height which have become its international symbol.

In 1348 the plague wiped out much of the population; this is a funny fact that sprung to mind after we were strolling the streets after dinner. We appeared to be the only inhabitants. It was peaceful, beautiful under the stars, but a little hard to revel for too long at 0 degrees.

San Gimingano was a beautiful destination, day and night. We managed some fantastic accommodation with thick stone walls, (good for sound proofing the children), high ceilings and wrought iron beds. 'L'Antico Pozzo' was named after the old 'pozzo' (well) just off the lobby; our Princess used it to pretend she was Snow White, and we found an underground cellar with old relics. Staff were very helpful providing extra bedding, being accommodating in their under ground bar, fast service, chocolates for the kids and super gluing my husbands fingers together.

The town is also known for the white wine, Vernaccia di San Gimignano, grown in the area. We purchased a couple of bottles, and if we manage some restraint, it may even get home unopened. Other culinary delights tried were wild boar sausage, (very rich in flavour but delicious), and rabbit, (if my daughter asks, it was chicken).

IF Important Fact

Use tape not superglue when trying to mend sons broken head phones.