When you start to realise that the world really is your oyster, it suddenly opens up to you with endless possibilities. So maybe it has taken me a few years to achieve this realisation, but now that I have, my god, do I feel liberated.
When I left for Europe, four months ago, I had every intention of going back to Oz (or in hindsight maybe that was just my subconscious helping me deal with the farewells and physical departure). But ever since my size 10 feet planted themselves rather comfortably on Europe's fertile soil, I have been toying with the idea of staying and becoming a permanent fixture in this European wonderland. Deep within my mind there has been a rather ferocious battle for destiny, but thankfully (for both my sanity and my loved ones) this war has now been won, I have reached clarity... and this little girl won't be clicking her ruby red heels for some time.
Maybe I've fallen too quickly, but I know my life in Australia like the back of both my left and right hands. I know the way I groove there, I know the way others groove. Sure I could opt for a sea change and try another city or town, but I've been dosed up on Aussie culture all my life and now that I've tried the European stuff, yeah, I may be addicted but at least I'm honest.
The beauty about making a grand decision in ones life, means that you get to live it and see what comes to fruition. Who knows where this pathway will lead me. But I'm wise enough now not to be afraid and to know that I have (or will gain with slight pestering!) the support of so many amazing people which will make the experience that much more incredible. Blessings to you all.
So now with this decision made, I just have two little things to deal with. These are called bureaucracy and reality. GEEEZZZZ...
First on the agenda is hitting up the Italian and UK embassies for some very special and important documentation. To live and work for an extended period of time in the EU I need an EU passport. Thanks Dad for being born in Italy, makes this notion highly achievable! Supported by the 2yr UK visa, I will have the freedom to live and work anywhere in Europe! How's that for 'the world is your oyster'.
Next cab off the rank is a job.
"What do you want to do?" I ask myself, and then "Where do you want to live?"
Right now these questions are a little difficult to answer. Just as the battle field in my mind became barren, another war has been declared.
Should I base where I live on the job that I find or should I base my job on the place I want to live?
Ouch, my head aches and then I realise, "Duh, don't narrow your opportunities now, just when you've realised the world is your oyster!"
So I won't. I am open to any opportunity that comes my way. Sing it with me, "I am open to any opportunity that comes my way!"
But of course, being me, I can't help but commence the decision-making process...
Naturally, given that English is my mother tongue, living in the UK seems the sensible option. I could find a really awesome job where I wouldn't need to worry about any language barriers and live pretty comfortably, well as comfortably as UK weather permits. I've got friends there, the music and art scenes are rocken and so yeah, it would be pretty sweet.
But there is also something very exciting about living in a non-English speaking country where you are challenged from the get-go - communication after all is the way we communicate! And I must admit, I love living in Italy. I'm slowly finding my Italian tongue, minus the 'rrr', and it would be such a shame if I didn't pursue this language that is my roots. I was recently inspired by an old school friend who is making a life with her family in France. She couldn't speak a barr of French before they got there, but five years on and she is brilliant (Rach you may not think so, but you are!). Then of course I only need look to my own family, where both my mother and father left their non-English speaking countries of birth for true-blue Aussie-land so many years ago. Now they both speak fluent English! So why should language be an issue?
The comforting thing is that I still have time. All of this won't happen until mid-next year, after I have returned to Australia to spend time with my family and friends, witnessed the exchanging of vows by my dearest and oldest friend Kathy and Stu, trekked through the southwest forest, swum in its beaches, returned to work and settled all else that remains unsettled. After which, Europe will be my new home (quiet eeks of joy!!!)
But for now I am going to continue to make more-than-the-most out of the travelling joy ride I am on, knowing that with every corner I turn, I may just find the opportunity I cannot refuse.
They say change is as good as a holiday, so imagine then a holiday that sparks incredible change. I am blissful in life, loving the adventure, thriving on the energy that greets me every day with the people I meet, the things I see and the experiences I have. I'll always love Australia and I want to come back one day, but for now, my place is here, in this European wonderland, where the earth is rich and the history richer, where cultures thrive and languages hum.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Memories of Paris and Italia
France: Paris
Rendezvous: Reunion of friends
After bidding farewell to my friend Melinda almost a year ago in Perth, who would have thought that the next time I’d see her we would be in Paris.
But there we were at some café drinking warm beer whilst catching up on a year’s worth of life, and after almost 365 days, Melinda was in Paris directing her first international music video and I was on global roaming. How things had changed!
A Parisian for three months, Melinda’s tour of Paris included showing me why the Parisian suburb she called home was called Belleview, how to be pampered at a hamass, how to enjoy a popular French summer cocktail (it's name I can't recall), but probably the most spectacular – how to make an American music video in Paris, when you don’t speak French!
Voula: There it is
Paris lured me under its spell from the minute I arrived and it wasn’t long after that I started to feel an overwhelming sense of jealousy for the city’s inhabitants who get to walk its tree-lined streets every day. I was in love and tourists parading ‘I love Paris’ shirts constantly reminded me of this feeling. When you’re from Perth and you look at a map of Paris, it’s hard to comprehend how one city can offer so many cultural and historical indulgences to the world, and even harder to know where to start.
But you’ve gotta start somewhere and with just a week to celebrate everything French I became the dedicated tourist, rising early and sleeping late going from one sight to the next as if my life depended on it. I was dosed up big time on the tourist gaze. Smitten with the beauty Paris oozes in all directions I couldn’t put my camera down, behaving in a manner that challenges the photo-happy Japanese tourist. Not only did I add wear to my camera but also to the pavement, walking everywhere and anywhere, stumbling upon the city’s many secrets.
Paris is one hip and happening city, where enjoying the pleasures of life is highly valued. Its buildings are decorated with uber cool street art and the Parisian parades fashions which state quite clearly that anything goes. Its people are fabulously fabulous. I have no idea why Parisians are renowned around the world for their arrogance. My experience was only that of kindness, hospitality and generosity – three important qualities any traveler hopes to encounter.
Its café culture generates lively streets and you can get anywhere within a matter of moments thanks to one awesome metro system. Take a ride on the metro and you’ll see the country’s positive attitude towards multiculturalism – like Australia, the face of the Parisian is universal. It’s kitchens serve the world’s cuisines and its cinemas show films in their original language with French subtitles. Having spent the previous two months in the depths of rural Italy where outside influences are at a minimum, it was a real pleasure to go to Paris and enjoy the world.
Highlights
• Hearing the word ‘voula’ being used in every day practice.
• Visiting the Palace of Versailles – the absurd decadence of the place was a feast for the senses.
• Wandering through the Musee D’Orsay and viewing the works of the great Impressionist and Post Impressionist artists.
• Entertaining the locals during an impromptu hootenanny outside the Modern Art Museum.
• Walking deep below the streets of Paris through the eerie catacombs.
• Stumbling upon the café from Amelie and then indulging in their gooey chocolate cake.
• Visiting Jim Morrison’s grave.
Italia: Venezia, Firenze, Roma, Napoli, Pompeii, Sorrento, Amalfi Coast and the Cinque Terre
The catalyst for my three week adventure through Italia was a commitment made whilst still back in Oz to travel with the ever so fabulous Megan, an old mate from uni days. We had one week together and a demanding itinerary that took us to the beautiful cities of Venezia, Firenze and Roma. It was in the latter where Megs had to say her farewells, leaving me to my own devices. This meant two extra weeks on the road, first heading south to the insanity of Napoli then returning to the north to relax in the magnificent Cinque Terre.
Only once before had I visited Venezia, Firenze and Roma. It was in 2001 with my family on our first trip to Italia and ever since I had been dying to return.
Ensemble
I met Megs at Bergamo, a medieval town a few hours southeast of Colico. It was here that we started our travels, catching the local train with shit toilets (this can be taken very very literally) and no airconditioning. We were yearning for a cool breeze, however when we arrived at Venezia, we fast realised that travelling through Italia during its hottest month of the year meant there was no escape. Needless to say you become desensitised to the stench of your sweat especially after carrying a 15kg+ backpack.
With the heat of Venezia too much to handle, we took a ferry to the island of Lido in search of a beach but when we got there even the sea was hot. The only relief we found was a caraf or two of the local cocktail, Spritzer, and plenty of gelati. A tragedy, I know.
Only once night fell could you comfortably walk the maze that is Venezia. Even with a map, it’s easy to lose your sense of direction and know exactly where you are. I couldn’t help but feel for the postie with the challenging job of delivering everyone’s mail. One night a group of us, led by a couple of Venicians, went looking for the one piazzia who’s bars stay open past 12pm – let’s just say we got there just in time to have one drink before everything closed. I was told it takes a person at least 6 months to get a general vibe for Venice but judging by our hosts, perhaps it takes a little longer!
Firenze was brilliant. It’s one of those places that invites you to relax and not feel guilty for doing so. In its heart there are few roads making it very easy to observe the city’s offerings on foot. I was overwhelmed by the amazing display of Florentine craftsmanship, I had to focus very hard not to release the shopaholic in me. This was not helped by the city’s constant scent of leather.
One afternoon we took advantage of our location and jumped on a wine tour headed for the Tuscan hills. We should have known that we were tempting fate, for hilarious, ridiculous, unrepeatable shenanigans only followed and the next day’s journey to Roma was not pleasant.
Roma is one city that I would definitely love to spend an extended length of time in – just nowhere near Stazione Centrale, the location of our hostel, which should really change its name to Noise Pollution Centrale. I fell in love with the area known as Trastevere, the place to go if you want to eat real Roman food among real Romans (not tourists). It’s also the place to go drink the damn finest mojito I’ve ever had in my life. Somewhere near Piazzia Nuova I found a street occupied by a dozen or so vintage clothes stores, and I must say, it was very hard to leave without an exchange, but it was the exchange rate that helped me fight that demon. Just around the corner, near the Trevi Fountain, I tried the gelato Romans agree to be the best in town – honey sorbet – and fuck was it good.
A word of warning to anyone who visits the Colosseo – don’t take the friendliness of the gladiators literally. Upon exiting, Megs and I were their latest prey, encouraged with smiling friendly faces to have a photo with them. So the retarded tourists that we were, agreed, after which we were subjected to a 5 euro ‘thank you very much’ fee. Bastardos.
Solo
Napoli… Before arriving I was told Napoli is ‘un altra monda’ – another world, but those words didn’t hit home until I arrived and saw firsthand the festering, broken down, beat up, shambles that is Napoli. Here, nothing makes sense, rules don’t exist and you can’t expect anything – a tribute to years of mafia rule. When I got to my hostel, I was given a map of Napoli and advised very clearly not to enter a certain suburb because it was occupied by the mafia. It’s a phenomenon that the city actually runs.
Despite the madness and utter inconsideration for order, Napoli is awesome. Graffitied walls and monuments are like newspapers broadcasting the pulse on the street. Scooters carrying whole families zip past you and people in their masses haunt the city’s piazzias at every hour of the day. Then of course there is the pizza, which is so damn good, it’s hard to understand how pizza can taste so different.
Beyond the city of Napoli, the region of Campania offers many incredible adventures. I travelled to the heavenly island of Capri for an afternoon of luxury with my gorgeous new Brazilian friends. The following day, James, our native Italian joined us for a visit to Pompeii, which in addition to the new company was such a delight because it gave me a rest from having to speak Italian, or more so quarrel about the incoherent train systems. A climb to the top of the volcano Vesuvio and visits to Sorrento and the Amalfi Coast ended my first experience of the south of Italia.
The horrible six hour train ride was a distant memory once I reached Riomaggiore, the first of five towns that make up the Cinque Terre. What makes this part of the world so incredible is the fact that each town has somehow wedged itself on the edge of towering cliff faces that plunge violently into the Mediterranean. Look above and its mountains have been tamed with vineyards and olive groves that demand incredible strength and ingenuity from its farmers. It’s hard to imagine how its settlers managed to carve a life here so many years ago, but when you come you understand why.
Twice I walked the 9km coastal path that takes you to each village, first on my own then again with my new friend Caroline, another Perth girl. The trek was undoubtedly the highlight of my entire trip. Grueling at times, it was so unbelievably beautiful that any pain I may have felt has been forgotten. For anyone planning on doing the walk, I strongly recommend starting from Riomaggiore – you give your legs a chance to warm up in preparation for some serious hiking. When you do reach Monterosso, head straight for the beach, kick off your shoes and wash that sweat away in water so clear you can see at least 20m below.
By a twist of fate, my last night in the Cinque Terre and in fact my entire Italian adventure was also the last night for the residents of the apartment we shared. And so two Australians, three Finish and two Americans feasted on a enormous pot of seafood marinara and plenty of liquor. We took a midnight swim, marveled at the sea of stars above us, sang improvised acapala and shared insights into each other’s cultures. Such a wonderful memorable way to end what was an incredible trip, grazie a mille!
Reflection
I was hoping to be able to share with you my thoughts on Italia post adventure, but the truth is, with every day that I live here I learn more and more about the historical and modern day fabrics that intertwine together to make up this beautiful and complex country. Sharing my opinions now would be premature, but I do know that with Italia, and with most things, there is always more than meets the eye. So forget any clichés you know about Italia, they’re just that.
Rendezvous: Reunion of friends
After bidding farewell to my friend Melinda almost a year ago in Perth, who would have thought that the next time I’d see her we would be in Paris.
But there we were at some café drinking warm beer whilst catching up on a year’s worth of life, and after almost 365 days, Melinda was in Paris directing her first international music video and I was on global roaming. How things had changed!
A Parisian for three months, Melinda’s tour of Paris included showing me why the Parisian suburb she called home was called Belleview, how to be pampered at a hamass, how to enjoy a popular French summer cocktail (it's name I can't recall), but probably the most spectacular – how to make an American music video in Paris, when you don’t speak French!
Voula: There it is
Paris lured me under its spell from the minute I arrived and it wasn’t long after that I started to feel an overwhelming sense of jealousy for the city’s inhabitants who get to walk its tree-lined streets every day. I was in love and tourists parading ‘I love Paris’ shirts constantly reminded me of this feeling. When you’re from Perth and you look at a map of Paris, it’s hard to comprehend how one city can offer so many cultural and historical indulgences to the world, and even harder to know where to start.
But you’ve gotta start somewhere and with just a week to celebrate everything French I became the dedicated tourist, rising early and sleeping late going from one sight to the next as if my life depended on it. I was dosed up big time on the tourist gaze. Smitten with the beauty Paris oozes in all directions I couldn’t put my camera down, behaving in a manner that challenges the photo-happy Japanese tourist. Not only did I add wear to my camera but also to the pavement, walking everywhere and anywhere, stumbling upon the city’s many secrets.
Paris is one hip and happening city, where enjoying the pleasures of life is highly valued. Its buildings are decorated with uber cool street art and the Parisian parades fashions which state quite clearly that anything goes. Its people are fabulously fabulous. I have no idea why Parisians are renowned around the world for their arrogance. My experience was only that of kindness, hospitality and generosity – three important qualities any traveler hopes to encounter.
Its café culture generates lively streets and you can get anywhere within a matter of moments thanks to one awesome metro system. Take a ride on the metro and you’ll see the country’s positive attitude towards multiculturalism – like Australia, the face of the Parisian is universal. It’s kitchens serve the world’s cuisines and its cinemas show films in their original language with French subtitles. Having spent the previous two months in the depths of rural Italy where outside influences are at a minimum, it was a real pleasure to go to Paris and enjoy the world.
Highlights
• Hearing the word ‘voula’ being used in every day practice.
• Visiting the Palace of Versailles – the absurd decadence of the place was a feast for the senses.
• Wandering through the Musee D’Orsay and viewing the works of the great Impressionist and Post Impressionist artists.
• Entertaining the locals during an impromptu hootenanny outside the Modern Art Museum.
• Walking deep below the streets of Paris through the eerie catacombs.
• Stumbling upon the café from Amelie and then indulging in their gooey chocolate cake.
• Visiting Jim Morrison’s grave.
Italia: Venezia, Firenze, Roma, Napoli, Pompeii, Sorrento, Amalfi Coast and the Cinque Terre
The catalyst for my three week adventure through Italia was a commitment made whilst still back in Oz to travel with the ever so fabulous Megan, an old mate from uni days. We had one week together and a demanding itinerary that took us to the beautiful cities of Venezia, Firenze and Roma. It was in the latter where Megs had to say her farewells, leaving me to my own devices. This meant two extra weeks on the road, first heading south to the insanity of Napoli then returning to the north to relax in the magnificent Cinque Terre.
Only once before had I visited Venezia, Firenze and Roma. It was in 2001 with my family on our first trip to Italia and ever since I had been dying to return.
Ensemble
I met Megs at Bergamo, a medieval town a few hours southeast of Colico. It was here that we started our travels, catching the local train with shit toilets (this can be taken very very literally) and no airconditioning. We were yearning for a cool breeze, however when we arrived at Venezia, we fast realised that travelling through Italia during its hottest month of the year meant there was no escape. Needless to say you become desensitised to the stench of your sweat especially after carrying a 15kg+ backpack.
With the heat of Venezia too much to handle, we took a ferry to the island of Lido in search of a beach but when we got there even the sea was hot. The only relief we found was a caraf or two of the local cocktail, Spritzer, and plenty of gelati. A tragedy, I know.
Only once night fell could you comfortably walk the maze that is Venezia. Even with a map, it’s easy to lose your sense of direction and know exactly where you are. I couldn’t help but feel for the postie with the challenging job of delivering everyone’s mail. One night a group of us, led by a couple of Venicians, went looking for the one piazzia who’s bars stay open past 12pm – let’s just say we got there just in time to have one drink before everything closed. I was told it takes a person at least 6 months to get a general vibe for Venice but judging by our hosts, perhaps it takes a little longer!
Firenze was brilliant. It’s one of those places that invites you to relax and not feel guilty for doing so. In its heart there are few roads making it very easy to observe the city’s offerings on foot. I was overwhelmed by the amazing display of Florentine craftsmanship, I had to focus very hard not to release the shopaholic in me. This was not helped by the city’s constant scent of leather.
One afternoon we took advantage of our location and jumped on a wine tour headed for the Tuscan hills. We should have known that we were tempting fate, for hilarious, ridiculous, unrepeatable shenanigans only followed and the next day’s journey to Roma was not pleasant.
Roma is one city that I would definitely love to spend an extended length of time in – just nowhere near Stazione Centrale, the location of our hostel, which should really change its name to Noise Pollution Centrale. I fell in love with the area known as Trastevere, the place to go if you want to eat real Roman food among real Romans (not tourists). It’s also the place to go drink the damn finest mojito I’ve ever had in my life. Somewhere near Piazzia Nuova I found a street occupied by a dozen or so vintage clothes stores, and I must say, it was very hard to leave without an exchange, but it was the exchange rate that helped me fight that demon. Just around the corner, near the Trevi Fountain, I tried the gelato Romans agree to be the best in town – honey sorbet – and fuck was it good.
A word of warning to anyone who visits the Colosseo – don’t take the friendliness of the gladiators literally. Upon exiting, Megs and I were their latest prey, encouraged with smiling friendly faces to have a photo with them. So the retarded tourists that we were, agreed, after which we were subjected to a 5 euro ‘thank you very much’ fee. Bastardos.
Solo
Napoli… Before arriving I was told Napoli is ‘un altra monda’ – another world, but those words didn’t hit home until I arrived and saw firsthand the festering, broken down, beat up, shambles that is Napoli. Here, nothing makes sense, rules don’t exist and you can’t expect anything – a tribute to years of mafia rule. When I got to my hostel, I was given a map of Napoli and advised very clearly not to enter a certain suburb because it was occupied by the mafia. It’s a phenomenon that the city actually runs.
Despite the madness and utter inconsideration for order, Napoli is awesome. Graffitied walls and monuments are like newspapers broadcasting the pulse on the street. Scooters carrying whole families zip past you and people in their masses haunt the city’s piazzias at every hour of the day. Then of course there is the pizza, which is so damn good, it’s hard to understand how pizza can taste so different.
Beyond the city of Napoli, the region of Campania offers many incredible adventures. I travelled to the heavenly island of Capri for an afternoon of luxury with my gorgeous new Brazilian friends. The following day, James, our native Italian joined us for a visit to Pompeii, which in addition to the new company was such a delight because it gave me a rest from having to speak Italian, or more so quarrel about the incoherent train systems. A climb to the top of the volcano Vesuvio and visits to Sorrento and the Amalfi Coast ended my first experience of the south of Italia.
The horrible six hour train ride was a distant memory once I reached Riomaggiore, the first of five towns that make up the Cinque Terre. What makes this part of the world so incredible is the fact that each town has somehow wedged itself on the edge of towering cliff faces that plunge violently into the Mediterranean. Look above and its mountains have been tamed with vineyards and olive groves that demand incredible strength and ingenuity from its farmers. It’s hard to imagine how its settlers managed to carve a life here so many years ago, but when you come you understand why.
Twice I walked the 9km coastal path that takes you to each village, first on my own then again with my new friend Caroline, another Perth girl. The trek was undoubtedly the highlight of my entire trip. Grueling at times, it was so unbelievably beautiful that any pain I may have felt has been forgotten. For anyone planning on doing the walk, I strongly recommend starting from Riomaggiore – you give your legs a chance to warm up in preparation for some serious hiking. When you do reach Monterosso, head straight for the beach, kick off your shoes and wash that sweat away in water so clear you can see at least 20m below.
By a twist of fate, my last night in the Cinque Terre and in fact my entire Italian adventure was also the last night for the residents of the apartment we shared. And so two Australians, three Finish and two Americans feasted on a enormous pot of seafood marinara and plenty of liquor. We took a midnight swim, marveled at the sea of stars above us, sang improvised acapala and shared insights into each other’s cultures. Such a wonderful memorable way to end what was an incredible trip, grazie a mille!
Reflection
I was hoping to be able to share with you my thoughts on Italia post adventure, but the truth is, with every day that I live here I learn more and more about the historical and modern day fabrics that intertwine together to make up this beautiful and complex country. Sharing my opinions now would be premature, but I do know that with Italia, and with most things, there is always more than meets the eye. So forget any clichés you know about Italia, they’re just that.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Two week refuge at Roccoli
The arrival of the Italian military to Roccoli proved my theory incorrect – Italians do get drunk.
After six weeks work free, which included two weeks of pure indulgence in Sardegna, I knew I was due for some hard labour. So in keeping to a promise made whilst still in Australia, I called my cousin Giuli offering to work at the rifugo her family runs, after all, I had two weeks up my sleeve before Paris – so why not get them dirty!
Rifugo Roccoli Lorla sits at 1463m above sea level, and is the last major rifugo before Monte Legnone. There you’ll find a bar, restaurant, and basic accommodation. At 2609m, Legnone is the highest peak overlooking Lago di Como. In 2005, I had attempted the climb with my dad and sister, but poor weather forced us to return. In 2007, my dad and mum reached the top, so I knew one of my missions whilst in Italy and in particular whilst at Roccoli was to make the climb.
When I first arrived at Roccoli I was shocked to find the entire south reserve taken over by the Italian military. They had made camp just a few hours before, all 300 of them.
“Gulp!” I gulped.
I had reached camouflage tent city and it was pumped full of Italian testosterone.
Of course I had to be the token ‘Australiana’ at Camp Roccoli. Whilst some women may flaunt their femininity in such circumstances, I was trembling in my ugbooties. Perhaps it was because my lack of Italian meant I couldn’t retaliate with witty humour after receiving not-so-decent remarks, maybe it was because I’m a pacifist at heart and think army green should be worn when making a fashion statement, or maybe it was because they were always so god damn blind-drunk!
“Mio dio, sempre chook, SEMPRE CHOOK!!!”
Italians do get drunk and the Italian military get very drunk. So drunk in fact, Roccoli ran out of liquor and an emergency trip to town for supplies was required. Apparently booze o’clock ticks over at 9am in the military, and so for three days straight Roccoli stunk.
Despite my observations I shouldn’t be too critical of the Italian military. There mission at Roccoli was to make the 3 ½ hr ascent to Legnone – a challenge I unfortunately didn’t achieve after two weeks at Roccoli. You see my family aren’t very keen on the idea of me conquering Legnone ‘da solo’. It can get pretty tough up there with parts of the climb practically vertical. Also, it’s not like I’m a local and can read mountain weather conditions. One minute the sun is scorching, the next lighting strikes and hail falls, so I guess I can understand their concerns. My cousin and man of all alpine knowledge, Mauro, has vowed to take me one day. So now I just have to wait.
Nonetheless, I made some great climbs to Legnoncino and Agronio with Lou, the friendliest St Bernard you’ll ever meet, by my side and my cousin Arianna or Lisa on the other. We’d use the opportunity to teach each other our native tongue, swapping songs and riddles or correcting each others sentences. Children are so helpful when learning a language or learning anything really. They don’t look at you like you’re retarded and incapable of learning. They genuinely want to help you and you genuinely appreciate their help.
Walking amongst the Alps is pure blissful heaven. The views are glorious and the energy so overwhelming, you kinda understand how you could find yourself dressed in curtains singing ‘Doe a deer, a female deer…’ I LOVE MOUNTAINS! I enjoyed many an hour just sitting, taking in the scenery, letting my senses explore, experiencing joyous contemplation time. Om.
Back at Roccoli I was the rifugo’s new in-house dishwasher. I gotta say there is something sincerely therapeutic about washing dishes. You’re task is repetitive but your body gets a wicked work out and your mind has the capacity to daydream. I think back to my pervious job in Perth where my days were spent in front of a computer, stressed to the max because… because… ???
‘Perchè si!’
Weekends are ridiculously busy at Roccoli. The mountains of plates and glasses seem as tall as the Alps in the background and you have many experiences of dejavu. ‘Didn’t I just wash you Mr white porcelain plate?’ But people come in their hundreds to eat the delicious food of Chef Titziano. ‘Chef’ cooks incredible Alpine regional Italian cuisine. He hand makes all of his pastas, including tortellini, cooks mouth-watering game meats such as venison and wild boar served with polenta, and makes his own bread, cakes and pastries. I told my cousin Giuli that she definitely chose well!!!
So maybe I haven’t climbed Legnone yet, but I sure as hell have achieved my goal to learn how to make REAL coffee. Living with a seriously awesome coffee machine is seriously dangerous. I found knocking back just another shot of sweet black velvet love far too easy, so to mix things up a bit, I’d add a touch of delectably foamed milk or perhaps a good dosing of the ol’latte or if I was really in the mood a shot of grappa… Coffee in my belly around the clock – I’m surprised my heart didn’t palpitate absurdly from all of the caffeine hits I was giving it. Take this tick tocker and this.
The day I left Roccoli was the Alpini Festival. Since I arrived to utter madness, why not depart from utter madness! The Alpini are like the boy scout version of the military – they are taught to hunt animals not humans – and on my last day they came to Roccoli in their droves to eat, drink and be merry. Luckily for me, this time I was as cool as a cucumber and there was no trembling in my ugbooties.
After six weeks work free, which included two weeks of pure indulgence in Sardegna, I knew I was due for some hard labour. So in keeping to a promise made whilst still in Australia, I called my cousin Giuli offering to work at the rifugo her family runs, after all, I had two weeks up my sleeve before Paris – so why not get them dirty!
Rifugo Roccoli Lorla sits at 1463m above sea level, and is the last major rifugo before Monte Legnone. There you’ll find a bar, restaurant, and basic accommodation. At 2609m, Legnone is the highest peak overlooking Lago di Como. In 2005, I had attempted the climb with my dad and sister, but poor weather forced us to return. In 2007, my dad and mum reached the top, so I knew one of my missions whilst in Italy and in particular whilst at Roccoli was to make the climb.
When I first arrived at Roccoli I was shocked to find the entire south reserve taken over by the Italian military. They had made camp just a few hours before, all 300 of them.
“Gulp!” I gulped.
I had reached camouflage tent city and it was pumped full of Italian testosterone.
Of course I had to be the token ‘Australiana’ at Camp Roccoli. Whilst some women may flaunt their femininity in such circumstances, I was trembling in my ugbooties. Perhaps it was because my lack of Italian meant I couldn’t retaliate with witty humour after receiving not-so-decent remarks, maybe it was because I’m a pacifist at heart and think army green should be worn when making a fashion statement, or maybe it was because they were always so god damn blind-drunk!
“Mio dio, sempre chook, SEMPRE CHOOK!!!”
Italians do get drunk and the Italian military get very drunk. So drunk in fact, Roccoli ran out of liquor and an emergency trip to town for supplies was required. Apparently booze o’clock ticks over at 9am in the military, and so for three days straight Roccoli stunk.
Despite my observations I shouldn’t be too critical of the Italian military. There mission at Roccoli was to make the 3 ½ hr ascent to Legnone – a challenge I unfortunately didn’t achieve after two weeks at Roccoli. You see my family aren’t very keen on the idea of me conquering Legnone ‘da solo’. It can get pretty tough up there with parts of the climb practically vertical. Also, it’s not like I’m a local and can read mountain weather conditions. One minute the sun is scorching, the next lighting strikes and hail falls, so I guess I can understand their concerns. My cousin and man of all alpine knowledge, Mauro, has vowed to take me one day. So now I just have to wait.
Nonetheless, I made some great climbs to Legnoncino and Agronio with Lou, the friendliest St Bernard you’ll ever meet, by my side and my cousin Arianna or Lisa on the other. We’d use the opportunity to teach each other our native tongue, swapping songs and riddles or correcting each others sentences. Children are so helpful when learning a language or learning anything really. They don’t look at you like you’re retarded and incapable of learning. They genuinely want to help you and you genuinely appreciate their help.
Walking amongst the Alps is pure blissful heaven. The views are glorious and the energy so overwhelming, you kinda understand how you could find yourself dressed in curtains singing ‘Doe a deer, a female deer…’ I LOVE MOUNTAINS! I enjoyed many an hour just sitting, taking in the scenery, letting my senses explore, experiencing joyous contemplation time. Om.
Back at Roccoli I was the rifugo’s new in-house dishwasher. I gotta say there is something sincerely therapeutic about washing dishes. You’re task is repetitive but your body gets a wicked work out and your mind has the capacity to daydream. I think back to my pervious job in Perth where my days were spent in front of a computer, stressed to the max because… because… ???
‘Perchè si!’
Weekends are ridiculously busy at Roccoli. The mountains of plates and glasses seem as tall as the Alps in the background and you have many experiences of dejavu. ‘Didn’t I just wash you Mr white porcelain plate?’ But people come in their hundreds to eat the delicious food of Chef Titziano. ‘Chef’ cooks incredible Alpine regional Italian cuisine. He hand makes all of his pastas, including tortellini, cooks mouth-watering game meats such as venison and wild boar served with polenta, and makes his own bread, cakes and pastries. I told my cousin Giuli that she definitely chose well!!!
So maybe I haven’t climbed Legnone yet, but I sure as hell have achieved my goal to learn how to make REAL coffee. Living with a seriously awesome coffee machine is seriously dangerous. I found knocking back just another shot of sweet black velvet love far too easy, so to mix things up a bit, I’d add a touch of delectably foamed milk or perhaps a good dosing of the ol’latte or if I was really in the mood a shot of grappa… Coffee in my belly around the clock – I’m surprised my heart didn’t palpitate absurdly from all of the caffeine hits I was giving it. Take this tick tocker and this.
The day I left Roccoli was the Alpini Festival. Since I arrived to utter madness, why not depart from utter madness! The Alpini are like the boy scout version of the military – they are taught to hunt animals not humans – and on my last day they came to Roccoli in their droves to eat, drink and be merry. Luckily for me, this time I was as cool as a cucumber and there was no trembling in my ugbooties.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
One month in Italia
Well, I've now called Italy home for one month. And what a month it has been. From the snow capped mountain tops to the heat of the Mediterranean sun, I've had an absolute ball. Here's an update on the adventures so far...
Week One - Finding my bearings and my Italian tongue
When I sat quietly on the plane headed for Milan, I knew I was in for an adventure, but it didn't really hit me until I saw my cousin Pietro at the airport waiting for me at the gates.
"Ciao, tutto posto," he said.
FUCK, brain switch to Italian, you must speak Italian.
And so it did. I was chitchatting away to him about things the whole ride from Milano to Dongo. The truth was that I had practised in my head everything I could say about me and my family weeks before arriving. But once I had said everything, what next....
FUCK, need to improve my vocab.
And so my second cousin Giorgia who is 8 gave me her book 'Pimpa' to read. Giorgia got 'Pimpa' when she was 3. It's a picture book with images of every day objects. It tells you the Italian version of 'upstairs', 'fridge', 'toothbrush' etc. I was very humbled, because at this point all I could do was point and say "Questo/a" or "This".
When I wasn't madly studying my new found bible, I was wandering the streets of Colico to get my bearings. After all, this town, in the north of Italy on Lake Como will be my second home over the next year. Every morning I rose at about 6 o'clock (something I was only able to do the first week whilst my body clock adjusted to Italian time) to go on my four hour walk, sometimes along the lake or through the villages or up the mountain. I found short cuts and secret passages, cherry trees bearing fruit, furry animal friends and street art scrutinizing the Italian PM.
I also went rock climbing, something I've wanted to do for ever, but never had. My cousin Mauro LOVES rock climbing, so I have a feeling it won't be the last time.
Did I mention that I also ate a lot of pasta and a lot of olive oil? My god was my stomach feeling ill...
Week Two - What's the difference between Australia and Italy
I spent most of the week with my cousin Giuliana and her family, often during unplanned circumstances - I'd be walking down the street and there they'd be driving in their car and I'd hop in for an inproptu shopping adventure or feast. In December 08/January 09 they had come to Australia for a month and fell in love with the place. Now they want to live in Oz sometime in the future so over many delicious meals and bottles of wine I shared with them many of the differences between Australia and Italy.
Things that may interest you is that their supermarkets sell the lot. In the same store you can buy the latest plasma tv, speakers, bottles of booze, fresh fish, tampons, bottled water, barbie, camping gear and laundry detergent. In summer, the sun rises at about 4.30am and doesnt set til 10pm. They coat their food in olive oil, eat so much pasta, bread and gelati yet they are so god damn slim (???). You don't even ask for a cappucino or latte after 11am. You eat salad at the end of a meal. Kids go to school on a Saturday. ITALIAN'S DON'T GET DRUNK... I haven't been drunk for a month...
We also went on a day trip train ride from Tirano in Italy to St Moritz in Switzerland. St Moritz sits high in the Swizz alps and oozes wealth and everything fashionable. I could have spent my entire bank balance on one item in the Gucci store... thankfully I didn't otherwise I'd be back in Oz. The train ride was spectacular. With so much snow lacing the alps in summer, I get excited about what winter will be like!!! Ahhh, my first Winter Christmas is only six months away!
Weeks Three and Four - Mediterranean Getaway
Sardegna... a glorious island off the coast of Italy in the Mediterranean. When I stepped foot on the island after a 15 hour journey I sensed something remarkably familiar about the place. Honestly you could almost be down south at some beach around Yallingup or Dunsborough. The only thing that was missing was the Dunsborough bakery. This is an island with dramatic blue coves, white sandy beaches and a harsh rugged terrain that the Sardi have let loose with sheep for their own personal gain, delicious mouth watering cheese of all varieties. Heaven! There even Eucalyptus trees and geckos. Close your eyes for a second and you could be in Oz.
We spent every day at the beach. I don't think my skin can get any darker than it is. Surprisingly I never got sunburned, even after 10 hours+ in the sun. I think it has something to do with the fact that I wasn't directly under a hole in the ozone layer, as we West Aussies have to put up with as a result of the world's lifestyle. What was also welcoming about the place was the fact that come night time, frogs in their thousands hopped from their place of rest and hung out to enjoy the warm summer nights. There were literally frogs every where, and dogs. One set back about Sardegna is there K9 problem. Stray dogs roam the streets in gangs like they own the place. And when a bitch is on heat, things can get a little nasty with the sounds of dogs fighting sending you to sleep. I was a little sick to the stomach about this whole affair. I even asked if it was possible to call the ranger but there was no interest, or perhaps no ranger.
We spent a day along the Smerelda Coast, a stretch of coast line that some wealthy investors bought and turned into a havan for the rich and famous. Its ports were filled with boats the size of mansions. It's hotels no less than 5 star. I joked that my family should leave me there to find a husband... of course I was only joking. No ring on this finger!
To compensate for all of the eating I have been doing, I have had to do a lot of exercise. I've added one kilogram to the scales which could quite easily have been seven had I not kept with the exercise. Whilst my yoga has suffered (but not completely) I got on the bike for a number of rides around Sardegna. And they aren't easy rides, not only is it fucking hot, but there are lots of good hills to keep your thighs entertained. I made a 30km ride one day down the coast and at one point of the ride I actually thought I was going to die. This climb was hardcore for a person that comes from a country that is mainly flat, but I got through it thank god!
One thing that I learnt whilst in Sardegna is that Italians know how to relax. When they say they are going on a seaside holiday, they mean it. They will spend the entire day at the beach sunbaking, reading, eating, doing nothing. More than half of them don't know how to swim, so they aren't really there for the water sports. It took me a little while to get into the swing of doing nothing, but once I got the hang of it, I could comfortably lay in silence for hours, only moving to turn over and brown some more.
Things to do (in no particular order)
1. Find a bookshop that sells books written in English, and find one fast
This is by no means a cop out for not learning Italian, but my god how much do I love the English language, and how much do I miss it! Thank you Michelle for the book "Eat Pray Love", it was the most joyous read and I recommend it to everyone. Thank you Kathy for all of the delightful Lonley Planet books, they too have been an absolute treat and I have learnt so much about this part of the globe and where I want to go and how to go about doing it. I have one English novel up my sleeve - Peter Jnr, its some crime novel you left here one time, so thank you!
2. Learn Italian, and learn it fast
When I'm not reading the few English texts in my possession, I am being very studious about my Italian. Naturally I am in an Italian speaking country, so every day I am being forced to speak the most beautiful language in the world not all that beautifully (damn I can't even roll my r's), but I've also been reading everything, and I mean everything, newspapers, cereal boxes, kids books, dictionaries, magazines, anything that's written in Italian. I have improved my vocab dramatically and whilst my tongue hasn't quite caught up with my mind, I am reading Italian better than ever before. Okay so it might take me an hour to decipher a newspaper article, but it's worth it. Take the recent death of Michael Jackson (god bless) for example. The Italian paper read "Michael Jackson é morto", being a Westerner I was like "WHAT THE FUCK". What happened? What are they saying? I want to know now!!! I imagined the news bulletins back home paying homage to the man and the newspapers with The King of Pop written all over it. But all I had was this Italian newspaper article, so I read it!
3. Work
Yep, its not all fun and games. I am going to work with my cousin and her family in their mountain refugi. Don't be mistaken with imagines of refugee camps. Here in Italy, a refugi is a place where mountaineers who are off on exciting adventures can stop after a days hike for a meal or stay the night. For about two weeks I'll be helping in the restaurant, behind the bar and maintaining the dorms!
4. Visit Mel in Paris
From 14 to 19 July I'll be wandering the streets of Paris with the delightful Mayhem herself, Miss Melinda!
5. Whirlwinding through Venice, Firenze and Roma with Megs (and then some...)
From 31 July to 7 August Megs and I will be speed dating these three beautiful cities. Will we sleep? Once Megs departs I'm thinking the Amalfi Coast or the Cinque Terra, or both...
6. Plan for my next adventures
Notions are filling my head very fast
Interesting Fact
Did you know that my English last name is G Bones? That's because Ossi means Bones in Italian.
Week One - Finding my bearings and my Italian tongue
When I sat quietly on the plane headed for Milan, I knew I was in for an adventure, but it didn't really hit me until I saw my cousin Pietro at the airport waiting for me at the gates.
"Ciao, tutto posto," he said.
FUCK, brain switch to Italian, you must speak Italian.
And so it did. I was chitchatting away to him about things the whole ride from Milano to Dongo. The truth was that I had practised in my head everything I could say about me and my family weeks before arriving. But once I had said everything, what next....
FUCK, need to improve my vocab.
And so my second cousin Giorgia who is 8 gave me her book 'Pimpa' to read. Giorgia got 'Pimpa' when she was 3. It's a picture book with images of every day objects. It tells you the Italian version of 'upstairs', 'fridge', 'toothbrush' etc. I was very humbled, because at this point all I could do was point and say "Questo/a" or "This".
When I wasn't madly studying my new found bible, I was wandering the streets of Colico to get my bearings. After all, this town, in the north of Italy on Lake Como will be my second home over the next year. Every morning I rose at about 6 o'clock (something I was only able to do the first week whilst my body clock adjusted to Italian time) to go on my four hour walk, sometimes along the lake or through the villages or up the mountain. I found short cuts and secret passages, cherry trees bearing fruit, furry animal friends and street art scrutinizing the Italian PM.
I also went rock climbing, something I've wanted to do for ever, but never had. My cousin Mauro LOVES rock climbing, so I have a feeling it won't be the last time.
Did I mention that I also ate a lot of pasta and a lot of olive oil? My god was my stomach feeling ill...
Week Two - What's the difference between Australia and Italy
I spent most of the week with my cousin Giuliana and her family, often during unplanned circumstances - I'd be walking down the street and there they'd be driving in their car and I'd hop in for an inproptu shopping adventure or feast. In December 08/January 09 they had come to Australia for a month and fell in love with the place. Now they want to live in Oz sometime in the future so over many delicious meals and bottles of wine I shared with them many of the differences between Australia and Italy.
Things that may interest you is that their supermarkets sell the lot. In the same store you can buy the latest plasma tv, speakers, bottles of booze, fresh fish, tampons, bottled water, barbie, camping gear and laundry detergent. In summer, the sun rises at about 4.30am and doesnt set til 10pm. They coat their food in olive oil, eat so much pasta, bread and gelati yet they are so god damn slim (???). You don't even ask for a cappucino or latte after 11am. You eat salad at the end of a meal. Kids go to school on a Saturday. ITALIAN'S DON'T GET DRUNK... I haven't been drunk for a month...
We also went on a day trip train ride from Tirano in Italy to St Moritz in Switzerland. St Moritz sits high in the Swizz alps and oozes wealth and everything fashionable. I could have spent my entire bank balance on one item in the Gucci store... thankfully I didn't otherwise I'd be back in Oz. The train ride was spectacular. With so much snow lacing the alps in summer, I get excited about what winter will be like!!! Ahhh, my first Winter Christmas is only six months away!
Weeks Three and Four - Mediterranean Getaway
Sardegna... a glorious island off the coast of Italy in the Mediterranean. When I stepped foot on the island after a 15 hour journey I sensed something remarkably familiar about the place. Honestly you could almost be down south at some beach around Yallingup or Dunsborough. The only thing that was missing was the Dunsborough bakery. This is an island with dramatic blue coves, white sandy beaches and a harsh rugged terrain that the Sardi have let loose with sheep for their own personal gain, delicious mouth watering cheese of all varieties. Heaven! There even Eucalyptus trees and geckos. Close your eyes for a second and you could be in Oz.
We spent every day at the beach. I don't think my skin can get any darker than it is. Surprisingly I never got sunburned, even after 10 hours+ in the sun. I think it has something to do with the fact that I wasn't directly under a hole in the ozone layer, as we West Aussies have to put up with as a result of the world's lifestyle. What was also welcoming about the place was the fact that come night time, frogs in their thousands hopped from their place of rest and hung out to enjoy the warm summer nights. There were literally frogs every where, and dogs. One set back about Sardegna is there K9 problem. Stray dogs roam the streets in gangs like they own the place. And when a bitch is on heat, things can get a little nasty with the sounds of dogs fighting sending you to sleep. I was a little sick to the stomach about this whole affair. I even asked if it was possible to call the ranger but there was no interest, or perhaps no ranger.
We spent a day along the Smerelda Coast, a stretch of coast line that some wealthy investors bought and turned into a havan for the rich and famous. Its ports were filled with boats the size of mansions. It's hotels no less than 5 star. I joked that my family should leave me there to find a husband... of course I was only joking. No ring on this finger!
To compensate for all of the eating I have been doing, I have had to do a lot of exercise. I've added one kilogram to the scales which could quite easily have been seven had I not kept with the exercise. Whilst my yoga has suffered (but not completely) I got on the bike for a number of rides around Sardegna. And they aren't easy rides, not only is it fucking hot, but there are lots of good hills to keep your thighs entertained. I made a 30km ride one day down the coast and at one point of the ride I actually thought I was going to die. This climb was hardcore for a person that comes from a country that is mainly flat, but I got through it thank god!
One thing that I learnt whilst in Sardegna is that Italians know how to relax. When they say they are going on a seaside holiday, they mean it. They will spend the entire day at the beach sunbaking, reading, eating, doing nothing. More than half of them don't know how to swim, so they aren't really there for the water sports. It took me a little while to get into the swing of doing nothing, but once I got the hang of it, I could comfortably lay in silence for hours, only moving to turn over and brown some more.
Things to do (in no particular order)
1. Find a bookshop that sells books written in English, and find one fast
This is by no means a cop out for not learning Italian, but my god how much do I love the English language, and how much do I miss it! Thank you Michelle for the book "Eat Pray Love", it was the most joyous read and I recommend it to everyone. Thank you Kathy for all of the delightful Lonley Planet books, they too have been an absolute treat and I have learnt so much about this part of the globe and where I want to go and how to go about doing it. I have one English novel up my sleeve - Peter Jnr, its some crime novel you left here one time, so thank you!
2. Learn Italian, and learn it fast
When I'm not reading the few English texts in my possession, I am being very studious about my Italian. Naturally I am in an Italian speaking country, so every day I am being forced to speak the most beautiful language in the world not all that beautifully (damn I can't even roll my r's), but I've also been reading everything, and I mean everything, newspapers, cereal boxes, kids books, dictionaries, magazines, anything that's written in Italian. I have improved my vocab dramatically and whilst my tongue hasn't quite caught up with my mind, I am reading Italian better than ever before. Okay so it might take me an hour to decipher a newspaper article, but it's worth it. Take the recent death of Michael Jackson (god bless) for example. The Italian paper read "Michael Jackson é morto", being a Westerner I was like "WHAT THE FUCK". What happened? What are they saying? I want to know now!!! I imagined the news bulletins back home paying homage to the man and the newspapers with The King of Pop written all over it. But all I had was this Italian newspaper article, so I read it!
3. Work
Yep, its not all fun and games. I am going to work with my cousin and her family in their mountain refugi. Don't be mistaken with imagines of refugee camps. Here in Italy, a refugi is a place where mountaineers who are off on exciting adventures can stop after a days hike for a meal or stay the night. For about two weeks I'll be helping in the restaurant, behind the bar and maintaining the dorms!
4. Visit Mel in Paris
From 14 to 19 July I'll be wandering the streets of Paris with the delightful Mayhem herself, Miss Melinda!
5. Whirlwinding through Venice, Firenze and Roma with Megs (and then some...)
From 31 July to 7 August Megs and I will be speed dating these three beautiful cities. Will we sleep? Once Megs departs I'm thinking the Amalfi Coast or the Cinque Terra, or both...
6. Plan for my next adventures
Notions are filling my head very fast
Interesting Fact
Did you know that my English last name is G Bones? That's because Ossi means Bones in Italian.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Eight days... but who's counting?
Today a friend reminded me that I have eight days until I fly to Europe.
Of course I knew the day was upon me, but now that I can count the number of days I have left in Australia on my two hands, one becomes a little nervous.
I bought the ticket towards the start of the year. A procrastinator at heart, I had the ticket reserved for close to a month before I plucked up the courage to hand over my savings. Six months before that I finally made the commitment to myself (and my hungry piggy bank) to bring to fruition the idea I had toyed with in my mind since a teenager - travel the world!
When I finally did receive my ticket, I eagerly wrote in my diary the count down until departure, 90, 89, 88 ... 45, 44, 43 ... 3, 2, 1, Lift off!
I now only have to turn the page over to see the date 'May 30' pop out.
D Day. Departure Day.
And then what?
Of course I knew the day was upon me, but now that I can count the number of days I have left in Australia on my two hands, one becomes a little nervous.
I bought the ticket towards the start of the year. A procrastinator at heart, I had the ticket reserved for close to a month before I plucked up the courage to hand over my savings. Six months before that I finally made the commitment to myself (and my hungry piggy bank) to bring to fruition the idea I had toyed with in my mind since a teenager - travel the world!
When I finally did receive my ticket, I eagerly wrote in my diary the count down until departure, 90, 89, 88 ... 45, 44, 43 ... 3, 2, 1, Lift off!
I now only have to turn the page over to see the date 'May 30' pop out.
D Day. Departure Day.
And then what?
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