Ferry

Hey all,

Writing this on what feels like a largely deserted ferry – was full (and late) when it arrived at port, but less people seem to be heading to Corsica now that the holidays are finishing up over here. Thought I would take the opportunity to bash this out before I start to feel queasy as I inevitably will and have to lie down – don't know when I'll get to post it though. Don't like big boats – they are so massive and metallic but they quiver under power in a way that nothing this big and apparently solid should. Took the time this morning to leave a good review of the hostel I just left – don't bother usually because they seem for the most part to be places to endure, not enjoy – but this one was good, and cheap too for a room that I only had to share with one other person – a Chinese woman (I think I mentioned her before) – she wants to do a PhD here in the treatment of disabled people – because she wants to take some of the ideas back to China, where disabled are apparently shoved quickly out of sight. Grabbed a train after spending about half an hour agonising over whether or not to spend about 100 AU on a new backpack – the one I have is a bit heavy, and although good in airports might be a bit of a pain given that I plan to do a total of 19000 metres of up and down over the next couple of weeks. It is all airport smooth and does not have enough pockets to get stuff out of. In the end I decided not to but a new one.

Spent the entire train journey talking to some Italian bloke about the state of his country – he is from down south, where all the mob stuff goes on, or at least where it goes on at the surface – and said that he frankly would not advise travelling there unless you had someone to show you around. Interesting character – had done a couple of years of medicine but then had to stop due to lack of funds so went into computers instead. At one point we saw a couple of Arab passenger planes land at some military airfield, swarming with soldiers - “Gadafi,” my companion sneered. Got to the coastal town (Livorno) and he sorted out which bus I had to get on, which was helpful – I then promptly got off at the wrong spot but found a cafe run by some Italian/American and his girlfriend (both dream of moving to Aus) who pointed me in the right direction. Back to good cheap food: fish, some wet salad made with onions, tomatoes, bread – coffee, bottle of water, a basket of bread on the side, all for less that 10$AU. Found the port, wandered around it for ages looking for somewhere to buy a ticket – found this weird and almost deserted “New American Market” which was basically a bunch of stalls selling army disposals and hiking stuff – so did get a new pack, for about 60$AU, which is a lot cheaper than the one I bought with me – decided in the end because the belt strap is broken on the expensive one I bought from home – and you do need them when you are walking to take the weight on your hips a bit. Still got it with me – will cut the buckles off it tonight for some spares for the new one. Pack is still too heavy, but at least I can console myself that a fair chunk of that is food, so will only get lighter. Don't now if it was a great idea to lug the food around for a couple of days first, but at least it gives me some idea of what it will be like. Got a ticket for a 6:30 sail – according to the internet there were not any past 1:00 so here's for just winging it and hoping for the best.

Ferry was running late, which means I won't get off it until some time past midnight – then have to try to find somewhere to stay the night, which could be a bit iffy, given that I was reading the guidebook while waiting for the ferry – lots of dire warnings about booking ahead. Oh well. Plan to spend a couple of nights in the town (Bastia) I am heading to, so I can spend tomorrow getting the internet sorted and maybe post a couple of things home – also need to figure out how to get to the place where the walk starts. Anyway, might add to this later – hopefully from a hotel room, not under a bridge somewhere...

Photos. 1. Mildly lost. 2. Still mildly lost, but have found the ocean. 3. Success – that yellow sign you can see on the building way off in the distance is for the ferry. 4. Four hours of my life spent here, waiting for the boat. 5. And we're away – almost certainly in the right direction. Watched this and listened to Corelli until it started to get dark and cold.

Going back outside to have a cigar and look at the ocean and coastal lights at night. Don't want the cigar at all – just doing it to cut down on weight.

Cheers, B.

Later – in a hotel, easily the most expensive place I have been at – came here first, left in horror at the prices – tried four or five others, all full, so came back, tail between my legs, and let the creature behind the desk gloat as she signed me in, saying things in French, probably "Hah, this is what you get for speaking English, vile pig!"

Productivity

Hey all,

After spending all day yesterday reading – I caught up last night with the Australian model agent that I mentioned a few weeks ago – the one that they call “The Stranger” despite the fact that she has been living here and working here for 20 years – interesting work too – organising functions and models for events at places like, well, the statue of David... She had been hunting for the last few weeks – I asked what – she claimed deer – I suspect Albanians, but anyway, she took me to some exclusive no-one knows about it terrace to have a look at the town – a stunning view – the waiter there smiled at model agent – then cast a suspicious look over me. A stream of Italian issued from model agent – imperious and rapid. The waiter became unctuous, accommodating – he oozed over towards me and asked if I wanted something to drink. When he had left I asked her what she had said: “Oh, I told him I was showing around a client who was thinking of hiring the place for a function,” she said. Given the state of my clothes she must have a serious amount of stick to make that even half believable. Then we went to an incredibly cheap place for a fantastic hamburger – and then she showed me the flat she is about to move out of (!). The first picture is out the window – that is the Uffizi across the water... The next is another view – that is the Ponte Vecchio – what an astonishing place to live. Ran into an alley somewhere on the way home to escape the motorbikes and talked to K for a while – the play is going well, good reviews – joy. Got some photos of her today, all proud of her mystery present which just arrived, a red leather bag. So – I had a win with my choice of bag...

Today I was hugely productive – ditched my huge NZ coat with model agent for a month – I love it and will need it in not much more than 4-6 weeks, but it weighs a ton and I don't want to try walking around Corsica for a fortnight carrying it. Then found (eventually, after walking past it three times) a camping shop and bought some gas for the stove – a rain-proof poncho, a compass – also got myself a guide-book for Corsica which has about 50 pages dedicated to the GR20 – the walk I plan to do.

And – the highlight of my day – the good cigar shop is open again. I bought a box of Nicaraguans – the guy that owned the shop nodded approvingly – we discussed the scandalous state of Cigar rolling in Cuba, the way they trade shamelessly on the whole Cuba thing, put out boxes where at least three, sometimes as many as five, are too tightly packed to smoke. The Dominicans, the Nicaraguans – they don't have the same mystique – they can't get away with substandard products – they are always (always) well made. He began to lament the fact that no one in Florence seems to understand this – they all want Cubans – they are fools – they are little better than tourists – Cigar tourists!! I left before he got too impassioned.

Everyone I talk to here thinks that I am mildly retarded because I keep getting lost. I can kind of see their point – the entire place is only a few k's across – but was looking today at the numbers on the street where the current hostel is – here they are, in order: 6, 10, 12, 8, 10, 12, 16, 14, 16. Seriously. I guess they do at least trend upwards. These people managed to build enormous churches that have lasted centuries, surviving floods, earthquakes, who knows how many wars. How, I am not sure – it may have been an error of translation but my teacher at school assured me one day that there was no difference in Italian between “on my left” and “on your left”. Which might explain the street numbers.

Was getting extremely stressed yesterday evening online trying to organise train, then accommodation, then ferry, then more accommodation, then more transport etc. Today I have decided that it is stupid to get stressed about details, and I just gave up on it. I will walk to the station tomorrow, get the first train, get a ferry if one is there, otherwise find somewhere to sleep for the night.

Leonard Cohen is playing on Wednesday night here, in the square that the statue of Dante is in. Considered sticking around for it, but decided not too – I like his music – but his voice makes me want to hang myself. Still, it would be a really beautiful place to see some live music.

Bought about three days worth of food – pack is still too heavy – if you were walking in Australia you wouldn't have things like a laptop I suppose – but doable, if not wildly comfortable – I hope. Still have to try to sort out internet access when I get there – this laptop lasts 8-12 hours depending on what I am doing, so with the cell network I should be able to keep in touch for at least a few days, provided I can find somewhere to buy a usb key that works.

Unexplained photo is a fence around a statue on the Ponte Vecchio – Opera singer told me that the last time he was here you couldn't actually see the fence for all the padlocks that encrusted it. They cut them all off, made it illegal.

Cheers, B.

Parks

Hey all,

Said goodbye to the opera singer this morning, then packed up and headed off to the new hostel. Will miss opera singer – he was a good flatmate to have for a month. The new hostel is a cracker – Dany House – more of an apartment where they rent rooms than a hostel – run by some bloke and his girlfriend who were given the place by his mother so I suppose he thought if he rented the rooms out he wouldn't have to work – only problem is that I have done something I don't understand to my laptop and it is not working for the wireless here. So don't know when I will actually get to post this. Walked to the hostel from the apartment this morning mainly to check the luggage weight over a bit of distance – my pack is borderline doable for a long hike but I think once I put three kilos of water and a bit of food into it it might become a problem – so got to figure out somewhere to stash some more stuff in the next two days. Anyway – told the guy when I got here that I had been in Florence for a month, but he either didn't understand or was upset by that so still insisted on getting out a map and showing me all the places I have been to already, but he and his girlfriend seem really nice – lay out food and wine for free at 9:00 and when they discovered I didn't drink promptly bought out some apple juice – I have a two bed room that I am sharing with some Chinese woman who has been studying phys ed in Rome (?) for a couple of years and seems sweet – has good Italian and English. Only other person in the whole place tonight apart from the owners is some chick from Sydney who seems nice except she has been using the only computer they have for about 12 hours straight now, which normally wouldn't bother me, but is today because I have somehow killed this laptop's connection to this wireless network. So at the moment am thinking that all those things you hear about people from Sydney are probably true. Update – she just hopped off so I can use email: she thought I was online as I typed this – maybe people from Sydney are not as bad as they say...

Wandered around today to look at this big fort that I have seen on the maps but it has all these “this is not a tourist area” signs around it – still not sure what it is used for exactly. Then found this museum, which was overpriced for what was in it but did have this one cool room that had this curved fresco roof – and they had some weird installation in that room where the floor had been turned into a curved (fake) fresco so you stood in this weird and beautiful room that was paintings the whole way around. Also a number of scale models of Medici theatres which I took photos of for K – the little descriptors said that for the Medicis theatre was not just entertainment but an instrument of political power and a way to impress all with their technical abilities and artistry, spread their culture etc. etc. I guess they will say the same about Hollywood in a few centuries. Found a nice park near this hostel, and don't have much planned for tomorrow – maybe sit in the park and read for a few hours. Also bought another small Italian/English dictionary that I can take with me in the pack and a book aimed at 6 year olds which is lighter than Winnie – which I might hopefully be able to puzzle out a bit.

Next day: just back from the park where I have been reading this book called Gomorrah about the mafia all day. Good book, but pretty horrific. By a guy called Roberto Saviano, who'd you'd have to reckon might die young, considering all the people he names in his book. Was made into a film as well, which I have but have not yet watched. Was in the park for about 6 hours and basically did not move except to follow the shade – the sun had this irritating habit of moving all the time. Nice way to spend a day, though felt obscurely guilty about not doing anything... There is a huge butterfly house there – costs to get in but they let me in for free so I could get a coffee – took a couple of shots of the butterflies.

Photos – a park where I had lunch (yesterday) – then this weird bit of street art/graffiti near there and the fort thing – was obviously a place where homeless people sleep against the outside of the wall amongst the trees – so someone had done a chalk outline of a wino. Not entirely sure exactly how to interpret it but the chalk-outline/victim/scene-of-the-crime thing was smart. Then a room in the museum, a shot of one of the models of Medici theatres they had, a butterfly, and finally the park where I spent the entire day so far today.

Cheers, B.

Last Day of School

Hey all,

Last day at the school. Went okay and wish I had have been in a more suitable class to start with – I left a heap of books at the school so I have less to carry on my planned walk in Corsica and/or Sardinia. Another three days in Florence while I get a bit organised and do a bit of research with where I should go, what I need to take etc. etc. Anyway – had dinner with opera singer and Norwegian psychologist/poker player – was a really nice meal at some restaurant that one of the teachers had told opera singer about – where the locals go when they want a treat – expensive, but good food. There were a lot of people there, but I think we were the only tourists – was in this piazza that was a bit strange in that it had a whole bunch of pricey restaurants around the edge, and then in the middle it seemed to be where all the homeless of the city congregate. Saw one guy diving into a dumpster and pulling out a cardboard box, carefully tearing it up to make a flat panel – tonight's bed I suppose. Also saw my favourite homeless guy – the one with the dog I took a photo of a week or two ago. The first time I saw him he was pushing the dog around in a pram. This time he had a shopping trolley. He wandered past with a serious expression on his face while the little dog reclined at its ease on a pile of cardboard and a couple of old cushions in the trolley. I don't think it walks much – gets pushed around everywhere and fed by its owner to the point where it is too pudgy to move anyway.

We were seated in one of those pavement areas which is fenced off – was crowded and tightly packed – after dinner felt like a cigar so got up and wandered out of the enclosure into the Piazza to smoke it. This created a bit of a scandal – as soon as the people at the table next to us realised what I was up to they started gesticulating, calling me back “This is Italy! You can smoke here – please – we don't mind. Come back.” Got to love a country where people will get upset with you when you don't smoke a cigar while they are eating – I can forgive the fact that they can't make pocket-knives that don't fall apart in your pocket for that alone. There was a statue in the Piazza – someone had climbed up and given the bearded individual red lipstick, which I thought was pretty funny but did not get a photo of.

Photos – an efficient German student catching up on homework. How much he will retain of it this way is another question. Somewhat worryingly, he is also a medical student. Walking to dinner down an alley. Then anti-pasta, followed by my main (rabbit) and the main that opera singer and Norwegian shrink shared. I can't remember what it was called but think it translated literally to something like “We cook an entire cow, cut it in half with a chainsaw, then give you one of the pieces.” To get an idea of how thick it is - have a look at the regular size lemon on the plate. Then Another of the Ponte Vecchio, and then the Piazza that has the statue of Dante in it – off to the left of the church.

Cheers, B.

More support

Hey all,

Got another email from home from another "friend" about the photos I took of myself. She suggested I should try smiling. She then quickly corrected that and said that me smiling would be even more creepy. Fortunately I have K, who comments "I see my lovely handsome boyfriend." Which is very sweet. Also: she may be delusional...

Austrians were back at school today, so not on the run after all. They were both still groaning about their weekend - on Wednesday morning. Anyway, skipped the afternoon class to get home early and start getting some plans of where I will go after here, figuring out what to leave and what to take - the secretaries at school said they would break all known rules and store some of my stuff at the school for a month or so - they have warmed to me a lot since finding out K also does student admin. Nice helpful people at the school, good teachers, a good curriculum - it is just a shame they don't put a bit more thought into how they mix up the people in the classes. Or maybe put the right kind of thought into how they mix their classes - they have a theory behind putting all the people who already have a romance language with a bunch of people who don't - and it sounds good on paper, but it is a dumb idea in practice. In the class I am now in, where no one has a romance language, I am now at the point that I should have been at two weeks ago. Which is annoying. The students basically fix the problem themselves - people like me move out of the classes which are overwhelmingly Spanish and French - in classes which are full of people like me the Spanish and French (etc) move out because it is to slow for them. Which means that a lot of people end up paying for a week or two of lessons which don't help them much because they are either too slow or too fast for them to learn much. Looking for other classes after a month or so off. Still not sure if/when/where to do any more Italian language, but it would probably be stupid not to follow up on a bit, because I will forget most of what I have learnt pretty quickly.

Opera singer at huge epic party tonight at the Exuberant Spanish Pianist's house. Was going to go, but am completely knackered today, and it was going to take about an hour to walk there, so would have been another really late night, after I left early, like I did a birthday party the other night on Monday evening - and promptly got horribly lost. And that was in a part of town I know well (in my terms).

Photo: a lovely sight. Impending Cigar Shortage Crisis resolved. The little ones, Cubans, and not half bad, were less than 2.50$ AU each! What I lost on the first two weeks of wasting my time at the course will be more than made up for by the savings on cigars - not to mention the numerous health benefits. Also, another street that I thought looked cool.

Cheers, B.

PS - does anyone know anyone who has been walking on Sardinia and/or Corsica? Could do with some pointers on where would be a good place to start.

On the Run

Hey all,

enjoyed this morning's classes – am actually understanding what I am being taught now, even if it is baby level language. Were only five of us today, me, two Germans, one Brit, one Greek – not a single Romance language. Makes life so much easier when everyone is thinking “what does that verb mean again.” The two Austrian girls have not shown up since finding out that our teacher is also a cop. It is possible they are on the run somewhere in Romania, with dyed hair, dark sunglasses, nervous pale faces. Oh well.

Opera singer took a heap of photos on his uber-camera of me in front of the statue of Dante, reading, or attempting to read, Winnie the Pooh. I tried to ruin a few of his shots by reading from the book aloud, mangling all the words, and making him and a few passers by laugh at me. But it didn't work – they came out really well, Dante glaring over my shoulder in outrage at what I am reading. I think opera singer plans to take the photos home and show them to his friends, have a bit of a laugh... which is not really fair – it is not like I make fun of him. I took some photos of myself the other day – emailed them home – here is what one of my more supportive friends said about them: “Day release from Victoria's prisons has certainly gone big budget. It used to be ten pin bowling, now it's Florence.” Here is what my Dad said: “No wonder total strangers are trying to do deals with you.”

Speaking of opera singer – his bike got stolen. He left it locked up at the train station for the weekend. When he returned he found the bike was still there, but the lock had been tampered with and broken, and he could not unlock the cable or retrieve his bike. He then realised that his long coiled cable-lock was not actually locked through any part of the bike, but rather just looped around the outside of the whole bike. So he managed to retrieve his bike simply by pulling it out of what was merely a big loop of cable – the thief was as incompetent at getting around security as opera singer was in setting it up. Anyway, the next day opera singer made the fundamental error of leaving it outside the school without a lock. It was gone by lunchtime.

Work out now, then homework, then, if any of the day is left before I talk to K, I will have a look at my luggage and make some decisions about what to ditch.

Photos – the little corner store near my apartment. They have these kind of cross-over things between bar, cafe, tobacconist – every night there are probably about 20 or so people there – no one ever seems to get tanked – I have seen exactly one person drunk in public in the five weeks I have been in Italy. Another random street shot and another view through a window at school – there is a person up there if you look closely.

Cheers, B.

Location

Hey all,

trying to figure out what to do at the end of this week. Don't want to waste all my money trying to learn Italian for months and see nowhere else, on the other hand, if I give it away at the end of this month then I will forget it all immediately and pretty much have wasted my money anyway. Heading towards the idea of spending a couple of weeks (2-4) walking in Sardinia - Corsica is supposed to be even prettier, but Sardinia is part of Italy so I will hopefully pick up a bit more language there. Maybe even both - they are close enough. Then I might do Italian again for another two weeks or month somewhere else that is a bit cheaper to live than Firenze. Anyway, kind of like the idea of going for a walk for two or three weeks - I don't think it is like going for a walk for two or three weeks in Australia, where you take that much food with you (and/or bury some part way), then hope like hell that there is water where there is supposed to be; and where if you get lost then maybe they'll find a fragment of your jawbone in a decade or two. From what I have read so far it seems that walking here you can take a day or two's worth of food, buy it at the places you stay for the night - as far as I can tell even camping during the night is more-or-less optional. I think. I have seen "Man vs Wild" though, so even if I do get lost I know that all I have to do is find a deadly snake, kill it with a rock, peel off the skin, eat the carcass raw, fill the skin up with my own urine and tie it around my neck, then later on drink it, make a surprised face and say something you really wouldn't see coming, like (from memory) "Ugh! Tastes like piss and snake guts!" Anyway, still looking into it and what the situation with internet is like and whether I could get one of those wireless dongles that work through cell networks. Got to lighten my gear considerably though.

Photo. I spent two weeks wondering where the Medici Chapel was. On the left is the wall I have lunch against most days. You'd never guess what the little dome at the end of the wall is. So - me walking in the wilds for a couple of weeks... what's the worst that could happen, really?

Cheers, B.

David

Hey all,

I have never been that interested in sculpture – have seen countless photos of David and pretty much just thought “Yep – it's a statue” - I wanted to go to the Medici Chapel more for the building than the sculptures in it, but like I mentioned before, they were amazing. Same thing happened today with David, but more so – you can appreciate the genius of his painting to a degree in a book or on a screen, but sculpture loses a whole dimension when reproduced in 2D – this is an obvious point and I am a bit embarrassed to admit that it never occurred to me before – but then you see David and, again, it really is just that good. Had more life than the actual human beings you see dressed up as statues on the street – it felt like he was right on the edge of moving – it would not have shocked me overly much if he did. A colleague from work back home emailed me and said the same thing – that she had always been a bit whatever about it, until she saw it. Someone else emailed and told me how affected she had been by all the unfinished slaves – they are wonderful, unfinished, I suppose, but in the sense that one of the sculptures in the Medici Chapel is “unfinished” – they are the better for it I think – if you are going to sculpt slaves it kind of makes sense to have them caught forever struggling to get out of the rock that they are trapped in.

Anyway, after the Galeria Accademia I tried to walk to this big copper dome thing I have seen before and wanted to get to – it was right at the end of this street I came across and I thought I would make it but the street kind of dog-legged a bit and then I was trapped in alleys three floors high on either side and had no idea where the dome was any more, so never got there – but did find another little church – a lovely place, that was obviously still used more as a church than a photo-op, even though all the frescos and paintings would be in museums back home – it had this shaft of light coming through a window and landing right at the foot of the cross behind the altar, which was a nice moment.

Finally got home – Skype to K, homework, work-out (no monstrous bambini this time), then went for what turned out to be about a 5-6 hour walk – along the river for a while and then up to this church which is above the Piazza with the replica David, where I went to a couple of weeks ago and took some photos. Another 15 minutes or so up the hill there is a beautiful church, though really dark inside – finally found some actual candles to light rather than plug in – and a lovely place in front to sit for an hour or so and just admire the view – not quite as spectacular as the Piazza around the corner beneath it (you don't get any nice shots of the river) – but less people and just a lovely city to look at as the sun goes down.

Photos – the shaft of light on the cross – pretty happy with myself that I caught it – only took four goes balancing the camera on a pew so the flash didn't ruin the effect. Worth clicking on that one to see at full size. Then a bit of grass by the river – about 800 metres or so to the right is the Ponte Vecchio – loaded up with jewellery stores stacked up on either side and God knows how much money. Across the river is some exclusive something or other. If you look at the base of the tree in the foreground you can see a cardboard box someone has been sleeping on – there were quite a few of them here in this kind of off limits bit of grass. Another shot just outside the old city wall – again, if you look at the base of the tree to the right of the shot you can see where someone has stashed all their sleeping boxes. They don't have the dole here. Another just outside the wall – ancient wall, push-bikes padlocked to the fence in front of it, cars. Then two of a room in the church – I had this entire room to myself. If you click on the second of those two you can see this creepy black devil thing having some kind of interaction with one of the good-guys in white. No idea of the significance of this. The view from in front of the church, and the church itself – not a great shot of the church but interesting. You can see how the central bit is basically held up by the two sections on either side that are stepped down from it – this was before they had figured out the flying buttress but they are on the way – it was just a matter of someone going: “Hey – those side sections – they don't really need a roof, or walls for that matter – all they really need is the structural columns and then the struts to attach those columns to the wall.” Then they could build huge churches with huge windows and thin walls that no longer fell over, and flood them with light. You can see on the upper right wall of the old church the reason it is so dark inside – this is about as big a window as they were game to build.

All for today – Cheers, B.

Bambini

Hey all,

Picture 1 – the set of swings I started doing pull-ups on yesterday.

Picture 2 – the set of swings I moved to after two little kids, a brother and sister of about six and seven, started playing on the first set of swings while I tried to do pull-ups on them.

Picture 3 – the first set of swings again, after they followed me on to the second set as soon as I moved there.

Picture 4 – the second set of swings, again, after they followed me to the first set as soon as I moved back to them again.

Picture 5 – the first set of swings, again, after I moved, again, for the same reason. Again.

Picture 6 – their mother eventually noticed that her two little bambini were chasing an increasingly discombobulated skinhead all over the park and did yell at them to stay at the one set of swings, but it soon became apparent that they were not going to listen to her (or even acknowledge her presence, for that matter), so this is a photo of the scaffolding at a building site where I eventually managed to escape from the children (although it was a near run thing) and managed, finally, to do some pull-ups...

Cheers, B.

Robot checkout

Hey all,

Opera singer and I bonded last night over a love of Allegri's Miserere Mei – possibly the most beautiful and moving single piece of music ever created – certainly that I have heard – how I would imagine angels must sound when mourning. Psalm 51 if you ever hear it and want to know what the Latin says. Really interesting to talk to him about music as he actually knows what he is talking about – I don't – I enjoy one thing, or the other, but basically don't have a clue apart from that. Must be just amazing to live in that world full time and make a living doing so. He gave me a lovely version of it – what he said was the best – which is fantastic, because I have been looking for the perfect version of it for a while. Some of the music he has is just stunning. Speaking of which, there is another opera singer at the school – was singing something along with the grand piano just before lunch. Three floors down I could still hear him clearly through the window over the buzz of crowds and tourists.

Went out tonight for dinner with a German girl from school – one of those jolly types – and a thin and serious Australian girl who used to be a sub-editor for a newspaper up north somewhere back home. We discussed how difficult it is to learn a language – the thin and serious subbie turned to me and said, quite seriously, “I think that you would probably learn more easily on 'The Street.'” I am not entirely sure what they think I am doing learning Italian here – working for the mob, expanding into the white slave trade, maybe just keepin' it real and takin' it to the Man. But they both went out of their way not to ask me what I do for a living so I guess they thought it was something pretty awful. In their defence I did get my head shaved today, my beard trimmed a bit, so was looking more than usually evil, but still. The hair cut was an experience in itself – the only hair salon I could find was an up-market place and they seemed to think it pretty funny when I explained in sign language that I wanted a number zero buzz-cut. Shampoo first? they wanted to know – no, just cut it off I explained. They thought that was funny too. But when the hair-dresser had finished shaving off my hair she looked at me thoughtfully and insisted – firmly – that she wash what was left of it....

On the way home from dinner I wandered into the baptistery near the huge church that dominates the skyline – no queue at all – it is a huge building itself but overwhelmed by the church and dome next to it. Inside, however, it is just stunning – can't possibly get it in a photo, but I did my best – a beautiful place to be inside, unlike “il Duomo” that towers over it and has internal walls so bare it may as well be Protestant. Then bumped into a Greek girl from my new class and some Russian chick who were meeting up with the Texan designer and two Austrian girls, also from the new class – went to some club somewhere with them before wandering home – there is only so much of “OMG! How hot is that bar-tender!!!” that I can take at my age.

One funny thing did happen – between dinner and the baptistery I was looking at two cops, a man and a woman, standing on the street, looking imposing in their flamboyant Italian uniforms. A strange and unexpected moment of recognition. I wandered over and said hello. “Ciao, B,” said the female of the two – who is also my new teacher in the new class. The two Austrian girls from my class: they always arrive late because they are always out on the gas all night, and they gossip about things like trying to score weed and so on. I told them about bumping into our teacher (who is fluent in German) and discovering that she is also a cop. Pensive looks. Silence.

Photos – inside the baptistery, from the floor straight up, another shot, then Jesus Christ, then the devil. All taken without the flash while trying to keep the camera still on the floor or a shelf or whatever. Might have to get one of those little flexible tripod things. Finally a scan and pay for your own groceries self-service register machine at the supermarket – you can either queue up for ages for a human checkout, or do it yourself: scan, bag, pay, collect change and receipt. Have been trying to get a photo of one for three days but it was always crowded up till today and I felt like a bit of goose taking a photo in a supermarket of what is, after all, a cash register. The reason I wanted a photo is that Opera singer attempted to use one last week – on my recommendation: “Skip the queue!” I told him, “So quick! So easy!” Given his difficulties locating the buttons on a remote control this did not go at all well – quickly led to a minor Teutonic panic attack (never a good thing when a German wigs out): the computerised Italian voice speaking in stern tones about mistakes being made, the repeated warnings, the increasingly frantic German. Eventually the machine booted him off and locked the screen, insisting on the intervention of the staff. He was hurriedly moved on to the queue for a human teller by a terrified attendant. “In Germany we have: no such things!” he later explained. I said we have no such things in Australia either – that a mere two hundred years ago (in continental terms, “yesterday”) the British Empire turned the entire country into a big open-air jail for all their criminals and consequently the notion of getting Australians to add up and pay for their own groceries was unlikely to catch on any time soon. This cheered him up – which was a relief. I was worried he was going to ask me why I had recommended the self-service cash register to him in the first place – and the answer to that question doesn't do me much credit: “For the sheer joy of the inevitable.” He is sick again, after getting better, and I really did feel for him, lying in bed again most of the day. There is little worse that being sick and far from home. He seems to cope with it all in this kind of stoic German way – apart from the occasional mournful note hummed so deep I can feel it through the floor.

Cheers, B.

PS - fior di panna. That's the mother of all ice-cream flavours. According to Google Translate this is literally "flowers cream," which can't be quite right, but does capture something of the flavour in a weird cryptic way. Sometimes just panna. Whatever it's called it is fantastic.

Emotional Growth

Hey all,

Much happier than yesterday – last night on the way home from school I sat down on the gutter somewhere on the way home, stared moodily off into the distance and smoked a cigar – a veritable picture of despondency. I am aware that those of you reading this in the office in the middle of winter may lack the appropriate degree of sympathy, might even think something along the lines of: “A picture of despondency... on holiday, in Florence, in summer, smoking a Cuban cigar. For the love of God.” I will simply note that it is possible to feel sorry for yourself anywhere if I you try hard enough... Anyway, the new class is much better: no more despondency – I still can't find words when trying to talk but at least I could more or less follow what was going on and do the exercises without copying them off the person sitting next to me. Fey Texan dress designer looked at me at one point and said “I am so glad you spoke up,” and when I replied “should have done it on Monday,” he said “we should have done it two weeks ago, got our money's worth.” There is only one Spaniard in the class, the rest are German, Greek, Austrian, so I can keep up a bit here (the old teacher offered repeatedly to go slower – but she couldn't really, without wasting the time of the other ten people in that class – not her fault we were put together). The English medical investigator and another girl from the old class, a Mexican American (who has Spanish already) claim to miss us both terribly and want us to come back, but I think that is just because they are now the dunces since I and the designer have left. In hindsight I guess it is not a bad thing to feel that stupid from time to time. But then I am really not that interested in growing emotionally – it is never any fun to do so.

I even did some homework for this class, with success – I tried some for the other class on the weekend and it took me two hours to get through a paragraph, and that was with my dictionary, three notebooks, the entire internet, and eventually (in desperation) one German opera singer (who in comparison to me is some kind of linguistic genius). At one point today we had to listen to a story about “Robert e Monica”, then remember what happened to them and rephrase it – I was so busy trying to figure out what happened that I couldn't remember any of it, but when it was my turn I could at least say, “I remember Robert and Monica. Full stop,” in Italian, so while I couldn't do the exercise I could at least be a smart ass about it in the right language, which made me very happy and the teacher very proud.

Speaking of the Texan designer – he told an interesting story in between class today – someone kept hassling him in a club last night, and wouldn't stop no matter how many times he said “Mi dispiace” (I'm sorry) and tried to back off. “Just looking for a fight,” I said, and he replied “Oh yeah and I was like 'Me? You throw down with me? You picked the wrooong sissy, boy. I dust yo ass!'” Now Texan designer, in addition to being wonderfully camp, is also a very big and imposing lad, of African decent – tells stories of how the family back home ducks under the table as a matter of course whenever a drive-by occurs in the near vicinity so they don't catch any stray bullets – a routine enough pause in conversation – and about how his cousins (female (!)) walk around with razor blades in their hair (!!) so that when (note: “when” (!!!)) they are attacked on the street the attackers cut their hands – in short, I would be reluctant to mess with him myself, despite his floating wrists, his mincing gait – bear in mind that total strangers try to buy drugs off me on the street just because I apparently look like I should be selling them. Anywho – I am not entirely sure what “dust yo ass” means, exactly, but the way in which the sing-song lilt disappeared from his voice when he said it was both funny and a little bit chilling – I was left with no doubt that he could indeed have dusted some ass.

On the way home tonight I went to some school organised tour group thing – the first one I have been to since I get annoyed walking around in a big group – it was to some house that Michelangelo had lived in for a time (as far as I could tell) and where he had left quite a bit of art in gratitude. I know some artists. “Gratitude” here probably means he was sick of it and couldn't be bothered going to the trouble of moving it. Nevertheless, it was very interesting, despite the guide, a loud and leathery bottle blonde who spoke exclusively in Italian and who didn't seem to mind that no one really understood her and consequently couldn't interrupt and stop her talking. It was fascinating – even his unfinished experiments grab you – also, there was no one there but the group from the school, so I got to do some tourist stuff without other tourists. And, generally speaking, touristy stuff is touristy for good reasons.

Pictures – a view from the new class window. Not quite as spectacular as the old one, but then up until a year ago you actually had to wear a dunce cap to get into this particular room. They have since given up on that. Another angle from the same window when I am not going out of my way to make it look terrible. Then, up from the inside of the courtyard in the aforementioned house. Finally a picture I took of one of the half-done sculptures that was there before I was told not to take photos (or at least rapidly approached by some angry looking official waving his arms and shouting at me about something - "me no understandy signo mate" got me out of that one). What is it? An orgy? A fight? Or merely boisterous Mediterraneans having a vigorous conversation while naked? The guide talked about it for ages, so I guess it must be important, but basically I don't know. I asked around later – it turns out that even the experts are not entirely sure what it is supposed to depict – but it did have real power.

Cheers, B.

PS – found out today that I have at least one reader that I do not personally know and did not personally tell about the blog! Joy – this pretty much made my day – welcome.

PPS – also found out that K thanked me for my support *in the program for the play* which I thought was lovely of her. Also very generous, given that my “support,” as far as I can see, involves her consoling me on Skype in the one hour a day she gets free while I whinge about, you know, being on holiday, smoking Cuban cigars, eating ice-cream, having absolutely no responsibilities at all etc. etc. etc.

Again, Cheers.