Bronzino

Hey all,

Went to the Bronzino exhibition yesterday, which was well worth it – lots of portraits of the Medicis, beautiful if all very solemn, even the children. Except for this fat and happy little chap who looks very pleased with himself and proud of his pet bird. Also one of the really famous versions of Dante, and a rendition of Saint Sebastion as an extremely pretty young man who looked like he was enjoying the fact that an arrow was thrust into his body. The little museum plate underneath it noted a touch dryly that the painting appeared to depict an “erotic fixation” more than an interceding saint...

Had coffee this morning with the minister at the Wesleyan church here – I went to their English service on Tuesday night – and am meeting her and her husband for morning tea tomorrow which should be good. She told me about this monastic vespers that happens in a church here at 6PM every night. There is a monastery here, in the middle of the historical centre of Florence, that I hadn't heard of and frankly am not sure how many people have – anyway, she showed me the fairly unimpressive entrance to the church and I went back at 6PM to take part.

Was amazing – you can't see the church: I walked around the whole block looking for it. It would be like a small door opening off Burke street mall, then a corridor, through a small courtyard, and suddenly you are inside an enormous church right in the middle of the block itself, which is hidden by all the office blocks and shops built around the edge. Amazing inside, an intricately carved wooden roof, arches, frescos, that awe-inspiring use of space. And then about 20 monks, of both genders, singing in response to plain chant prompts. Was just beautiful – very moving although I had no idea what they were saying and felt like a bit of an intruder because in addition to the monks there were about twice that many people in the pews with me who appeared to all be Italian and know what they were about.

In other news – off to Scotland on Monday – I have always had a burning desire to go there – that is, it was the cheapest flight I could get to the UK – and hopefully I will be able to rustle up some kind of job for a few weeks – don't actually need to make that much money, just don't want to go backwards for a month or so.

Photos. 1. One half of a line of parked scooters. 2. A cool street – stood there for a while thinking how fantastic it would be to live up there above that arch.
Cheers, B.

A Walk with a View

Hey all,

went for my big walk in the country today. Was fun – from 11:30 in the morning till we caught the bus back to Florence at about 6:30 – all organised by this woman from the rowing club, one of those tiny feisty women who bustles about with this apparently inexhaustable supply of energy – they bustle here, they bustle there – like a normal human on fast forward.  I met her at the rowing club, which I entered through the discreet little door – a woman in the front office said “Bongiorno!!” in a tone of voice that changed “good day” into something like “F*** off immediately you dodgy looking tourist scum before I have you killed” but then I said I was there to meet the energizer bunny and she became all smiles. 

Anyway, waited around while TFW (Tiny Feisty Woman) changed, then the two of us walked from Florence to the town where we were meeting the rest of the group – who all took the bus there, having been horrified on previous occasions by the pace that TFW sets. Took a couple of hours and I managed to keep up with her - she used to be a marathon runner (and winner) and even won a few 100 k runs: completely unstoppable.  Once we met them we all wandered off to some huge cemetery – different to cemeteries in Australia as most of the people are buried in stacked shelves in walls, that is, it was mostly buildings. They read a few poems to each other from a translation of the Spoon River Anthology – one of them had a bilingual edition and kept passing it to me so I at least had some clue.

Then a long walk up into the hills and forests above Florence – was really lovely – five women in their 60's, one man the same, and me. TFW has some English, as did the man, so got a bit of an update from time to time as to what they were talking about, but it hardly mattered – they were all lovely and very interesting to wander about with – a couple of the women, once in the forest, started picking mushrooms, ignoring some and picking others with an expert air about them. They looked delighted with their haul, insisted I smelt them. Also collected some kind of nut off the ground and the odd herb. Another kept climbing up things and walking along the tops of walls six feet high.

The end point of the walk was this abandoned church – it had signs up which I assume were saying no entry, but they were not cowed and we wandered around the grounds looking for a way in – when it looked like I had found one and opened a door the chief mushroom collector said “Bravo!” and came over to break in with me, but it turned out to be a dead end store room thing. Really nice way to spend a day.

Back in Florence now at the communist cafe. They have good broadband and a couch, but I have been here a few times and I am getting sick of them – the waitresses, apparently in a rage over the fact that their careers as actresses or singers aren't working out quite as planned, are rude, sullen, unpleasant – almost as rude and sullen as waitresses in Brunswick St, or even Corsica. Don't need it. I think in future I will get take-away from somewhere else and sit on the footpath using their broadband instead. I am sitting on the couch now in the stage area, despite the fact that it is really upsetting the DJ (and his hangers on) who is trying to set up – they keep looking at me, but I am ignoring them and they aren't game to be as rude as the waitresses. I am hoping I put them off so that the performance is a disaster and no one ever comes here again. If I sound bitter, here is my most recent exchange with the help:

Me: “Ciocolato?” (the spelling might be wrong, but this is Italian for hot chocolate, or is at least me trying to ask for a hot chocolate in Italian)

Skank: “You have to choose which one you want.” (Note: she says this in English)

Me: “Ok. Can I sit down?”

Skank: “This is Italy! You should at least try to speak Italian!”

Seriously.  What a horrid person.  She should go to Corsica and work for the idiot who pretended to not know what I was asking for when I pointed at the vanilla ice-cream. Anyway, apart from that, a lovely day.

Photos. 1. Inside Rowing Club. It is a shame that cigars are not allowed. 2. The cemetary – TFW is, it goes without saying, the one in the bright orange. 3. Just in case you forget where you are. 4. The pointy tree, dead centre – if you zoom in you can see the Duomo right on top of it – was quite a walk. 5. Abandoned church from a distance. 6. This weird monument thing that none of us could quite figure out – wasn't a tomb, wasn't a memorial – had quotes in both English and Italian. 7. Abandoned church, up close.

Cheers, B.

PS - the DJ at the communist cafe?  ALL his songs were in English.  I felt like complaining to the waitress about it: "This is Italy - you could at least try to play some Italian music!"

Fragola

Hey all,

New hostel, which is nice in that there are only three beds per room. I had last night to myself completely but wasted the sleeping opportunity by watching TV on the laptop till nearly 2 AM, then reading till past 3. The universe is punishing me now because I no longer have the room to myself. Fortunately it is only one person, so if he starts snoring there will be no potential witnesses when I kill him in his sleep. Live Update: he has just returned, this potential snorer – who is not long for this world if his potential is realised...

Still unsure exactly what to do with myself – time to get to England and find a job before K gets here is getting a bit tight and a bit too much of a gamble – so if something does not pan out here work wise in the next week or so then will probably go somewhere cheaper than Italy for a month or so. But a fairly lazy day tomorrow anyway, then the walk in the countryside on Wednesday, assuming it doesn't rain too much.

Went to an English speaking church yesterday, which was interesting – Anglican, but Anglican like it might have been about 5 minutes after they split from the Roman Catholic church – extremely formal and ritualistic – was nice to watch in a way, but intimidating to be a part of because I had no idea what was going on.  Also went to a cafe/bookshop I had noticed - model agent told me it was a notorious communist haunt chock full of anarchists and radicals (or at least students) and that they would throw her out if she tried to enter due to the fact that she dresses like a grown up, but that I would fit right in.  And it was true - for the first time in months I did not feel horribly under-dressed.

The other exciting thing I did was lash out and try a different flavour of ice-cream – strawberry.  A big mistake: it was disgustingly wholesome. I suspect they made it with real fruit, God between us and evil.

Photos. Two of the second biggest candles for L and T back home. I was going to get the biggest ones but then thought I would get the second biggest so that if things don't look up for them both soon I will still have some extra fire-power to use by buying the biggest in a few days. Then the candles in context, on the right, although it looks like only one because they are behind each other.

Cheers, B.

Chosen One

Hey all,

Last night at this hostel – changing to somewhere more central, a couple of Euro cheaper and also with less people in the rooms, so hopefully snoring will not be so much of a problem. The people in my current room are lovely – four Korean women, one Spanish girl and an English bloke, but the Spanish girl and one of the Koreans are shocking snorers – last night I took the precaution of going to sleep listening to an O'Brian audiobook on my mp3 player – at 5 AM I was woken, over the top of the audiobook, by one of the snoring culprits. And as nice as they all are when this happens I really do think quite seriously about whether or not I could toss them out the window in the middle of the night and make it look like suicide... So making a move tomorrow.

Went to the rowing club today with model agent – this patch of grass underneath the Ponte Vecchio – there is a secret little door on the street near the Uffizi which takes you down, underneath the Uffizi itself where they keep all the boats, through the super exclusive club where a select few people read papers and drink coffee in peace and quite, then out on to the lawn, where the crowds on the Ponte Vecchio get to look at you and two or three others sitting there on the grass – it was cold, but the view was beautiful, as was the peace and quiet, as was the knowledge that there is little point in getting in somewhere this exclusive unless you give others a chance to notice and envy you for having done so. You have to be rich, or famous (or both) to get in here – or a thuggish looking skinhead who bumps into the right people...

Model agent introduced me to one of the grand dames of Firenze in the club – a board member – who is taking me on some walk in the country on Wednesday with some equally exclusive walking club where they wander around for a few hours stopping every hour or so to read poetry. Am also helping model agent cart 100 square meters or so of flooring up to the new apartment on Monday – so have some interesting things to do while waiting to see if there is any response at all to the 30 or so CVs that I will email out today so I can hopefully make some money while waiting for K to arrive (joy).

Photos. 1. The restaurant I was raving about in the last post. 2. The rowing club, from the Ponte Vecchio. 3. Underneath the Uffizi. 4. And here I am, one of the chosen ones, or at least one of the ones who knows one of the chosen ones.

Cheers, B.

The Horror Movie Mystery

Hey all,

A day late in posting this, but anyway...

Slept in – got up – got stuck in the lift on the way down towards the coffee. Pressed the alarm button once – nothing happened. Waited for a bit, pressed it again. Nothing happened. Opened up the internal doors myself – the lift was close to ground level, but not quite there – and I couldn't open the external doors. Pressed the alarm button again, longer this time. Waited. Nothing happened. Was getting annoyed now – needing a coffee and wanting some attention. Pressed it again, for ages, started kicking the door. Finally one of the women that works here showed up. She was in a greater panic than I was: “Oh! I don't know what to do!!” but it was around then that I figured out how to open the external doors from the inside – so escaped to freedom and caffeine.

Then got on a bus to go to this place way up in the hills but still within the bus lines of Firenze to see about some work. Got on the right bus, but going in the wrong direction. Stayed on the bus until the end of the line and waited for it to turn around. K called. While talking to her I missed the address I was supposed to be looking for so, again, stayed on the bus until the other end of the line, waited, turned around. It was about now that I discovered that I had the right street but the wrong number anyway; finally got off more or less in the right place, having had a long and quite enjoyable bus drive through the hills that surround Florence. Spoke to the receptionist at the office who gave me an email address and a name to send a CV to – which I have done – I confidently await a quick response offering me limitless wealth.

Dinner tonight was fantastic (with model agent, jewellery designer, jewellery designer's friend, henceforth referred to as “the vegan”) – even better than the one I was shouted in Sardinia. I stood out a bit, my entire outfit costing less than a single sleeve of what everyone else in the room was wearing, but that didn't really bother me. The girls made an impression on entry: every bloke in the room stopped, watched them intently for a moment, realised they were in company and quickly pretended they hadn't paid any attention at all. Their women were not fooled – they realised they had lost the focus of their men for a brief second and quickly discovered the reasons, studying them even more intently and a lot less furtively. One blonde woman, just at the point where adulthood is slipping into middle age despite a desperate rear-guard action of lotions and surgery, stared at jewellery designer with such concentrated malice that I assumed they were sworn enemies for life. But no. They barely knew each other.

Astonishingly good food – this one thing that was basically butter, warm anchovies in olive oil and toast - was so delicious that I would have eaten it even if it had been made with baby seals or required the exploitation of entire third world countries.  Vegan had to content herself with salad, spinach, and cigarettes – have you ever known a health obsessed vegan who didn't smoke? They need some pleasure in life I suppose. Service was good too – at one point model agent complained that the lights were too bright – the entire restaurant was promptly dimmed.

I ate and listened to the running commentary on the rest of the diners. There were all given nick-names – eg. one truly evil looking bloke who was christened “Horror Movie.” Horror Movie was a famous playboy, always surrounded by women – my companions wondered how this could be, given that he really did look like he was about to drop fangs or at the very least kill someone just to see how it felt. A little later they decided he did have a very striking nose, at least in profile. By the time the first course was finished they conceded that he was really quite striking, if you liked that sort of thing. By desert they were wondering what he was like in bed. By the desert wine they had concluded he was certainly fantastic – a Cassanova, a marvel, a prodigy, a magician. They peered thoughtfully at him out of the corners of their eyes right up until the time we left. The mystery of Horror Movie's success: solved.

Photos: 1. It really is lovely. 2. Another stunning church that I had tried to get into the last time I was here, but couldn't. 3. The pile of spinach the vegan pretended to enjoy and I took a photo of because I thought it was so ridiculous to order this kind of thing at a restaurant that amazing – she must have picked up what I thought about eating this way based on subtle cues like the way I was laughing at her and pointing – she did not appreciate it and vandalised the photo as I was taking it.

Cheers, B.

Scandals, Drama.

Hey all,

Got woken up last night nearly choking to death. Someone had closed the window. The Chilean and Mexican combination had tried to earlier in the night – I had insisted it stay open a crack. There was a brief struggle of wills – I prevailed. I have ruled them out as suspects because I don't think they would defy me once I fell asleep – also, they were both snoring well before I was. The other male in the room I have also ruled out – based on the fact that he is male and likes to breath when he sleeps. I am currently firming on the the two English girls as the culprits. They are both quite sweet, but at the end of the day are still English, who are notorious for a number of reasons:

1. They drink tea.
2. They have bad teeth (as individuals these two have good teeth, but as members of a class their teeth are terrible).
3. They wash only once or twice a year.
4. They win at cricket because they cheat.
5. They win at rugby because of a slavish and pedantic attention to the rules.
6. They like stuffy rooms.

I plan to catch one of them in the act of closing the windows tonight.

Went to catch up with model agent this morning and get back the big warm jacket – there was a post-it note on the door directing me to a studio around the corner. So I moved on to there – a crazy little obsessed-with-death artist was there making gold skeleton necklaces, which he does to fund his real work, also skeletons and skulls, but primarily ceramic. There were animal bones and skulls everywhere and books of things like crime scene photos of dismembered murder victims and so on. I said to model agent that but for a twist of fate he would be a serial killer – which seemed to amuse him when she translated it. She was there using the studio as the setting for some French model/student to do a shoot with a very camp photographer who kept jumping in front of the camera and demonstrating campy poses. Based on the hour or so I was there I would not like to be a model – get arranged into some ridiculous off balance position then get told in increasingly irate tones to “Look natural.” Looked like much harder work than I would have thought.

Then there was a phone call to model agent from a friend of hers, a jewellery designer, who was in the middle of an acrimonious break up with her business partner – and I was offered 50 EU to help her move her stuff out of her studio before it all got pinched by the partner and sold. I of course said yes, so wandered off to some piazza somewhere to meet jewellery designer and a friend of hers who was also going to help.

If I'd known how much fun it was going to be I would have paid to do it. First there was a stand off in the street between jewellery designer and her ex-partner that went something like this:

“You betray everyone!”

“I'm just getting my shit, ok!”

“Oh – you're just getting your shit are you?”

“Yes. I'm just getting my shit. That's all I'm doing.”

“Oh – that's all you're doing is it?”

“Yes. That's all I'm doing. I'm just getting my shit.”

“Oh – you're just getting you're shit are you?”

And so on. Jewellery designer and ex-partner continued on in this vein for a while, shaking with rage. Jewellery designer's friend looked on, alarmed. I looked on, delighted. I was hoping it was going to degenerate into hair pulling and scratching but it never quite got there.

Now, jewellery designer was a part-time model and the ex-girlfriend of some famous soccer player – stunning, basically, and her friend, while not the ex-girlfriend of a famous soccer player looked like she could be – stunning, basically – and the three of us were soon trailed around town by a horde of Italian men who, while not offering to help me lug a bookcase half-way across town, literally dropped their bikes on the side of the road to help the two girls with whatever gossamer thin coffee table they were struggling along with between them. So I got paid for doing something they could have probably  got done for free, just by standing there on the side of the road for 30 seconds or so looking pathetic. At one point on one of the trips across town they left the contents of some drawers at a pizzeria. When they went back to pick it up the pizza guys were so grateful for being used as a storage facility that they made them a pizza in the shape of a love heart. I took a photo as proof.

Finally dinner with the two of them and model agent at a restaurant – ex-partner showed up at the same restaurant – there were a few deathly glares, but, alas, it still failed to degenerate into the full-scale hair-pulling drama that I was really hoping for.  Anyway.  A fun day.  Foot did not cope well and is pretty sore, but needed the money and it was all far too amusing to resign.

Cheers, B.

Stuff

Hey all,

Back to the good old days of wandering along, becoming briefly distracted, taking one wrong turn and ending up in maze of alleys as pictured, no idea of which way I am facing or where I am going and really just trusting the flash of blue above to reassure me which way is up. At least I don't have to worry about dying of thirst when lost. Which is a plus.

Picked up the first bit of luggage that I left here today – one of those smug environmentally friendly shopping bags that enviro-Nazis take to the supermarket with them and whip out slowly at the checkout with absurd Mr Bean expressions of pride on their face. Mine is chock full of books and a few other bits and pieces which I didn't want to cart all over Corsica. Funny thing: I have not missed any of it at all – not once. Now that I have it all back, despite the horrible weight, I can't cope with the idea of ditching any of it. Odd how addicted to stuff you get, even when you know for a fact you won't miss it. Anyway, seeing model agent tomorrow and getting the big jacket back, which I am looking forward to because the nights are getting cold. Will see if there is any chance of a job here – if not then I think I will post a couple of the books home and basically ditch the rest despite my qualms.

Ended up being a full room last night – me, the English student, and five girls – two of whom are also English – I don't know about the other three (Brazil, Mexico, Chile, as it later turns out). Like most women they seemed to like the idea of sleeping with every door and window shut tight – the less air the better they think – nice and cozy – makes it easier to sleep if you are dizzy and half dead from a lack of oxygen – neurotic prejudices against the slightest draft and the smallest most harmless cloud of mosquitoes. At about 1 AM I rebelled and opened the window a crack. Will do so again tonight if I have to – to hell with the consequences.

Cheers, B.

Get me to a nunnery

Hey all,

Back in Florence. Another hostel – this one is huge – 200 odd beds. Used to be a convent – the church is still in use as a church – have just left it, but the nunnery has been sold off. A kind of odd part of Florence that I hadn't been to before – the church and nunnery are quite old – many of the surrounding buildings are newish – I guess this must have been out in the sticks a couple of hundred years ago or whatever, and the town has grown up slowly around what would have been a fairly out of the way church. In a seven bed dorm, but at this stage there is only one person in the room (me).  It might stay that way if I am lucky, at least until it gets closer to the weekend (update - I now have an English student (architecture) here - he has done nothing outrageous, yet).  Nice old building – huge, long halls. Only sour note was that at dinner (you can buy it here) there were a horde of German children from a family of about sixty I think, who were running around like loons – which was bad enough – but then they started marching in time to a song on the radio. I thought this was in extremely poor taste.  However, their parents seemed to think it cute and the Italians were too nervous to ask them to stop, so they just kept marching, the villains, saying things like "Nein! Nein!" in their sinister little children-of-the-corn voices.

Today was a transport day mainly – apart from that pretty laid back – more walking than I have done since I got to Pisa and the foot is hurting a bit but seems to have held up this far. Here to pick up some books and my big jacket – is getting cold now so looking forward to seeing the jacket again. Immediate problem is figuring out some way to make a bit of money over the next month and a half or so – will see if anything is going here, then might have to head for England or Ireland. Not sure yet. Or I might nut out completely, go to somewhere like Romania where it won't cost me so much to live.

FYI – last night's room mates in Pisa: a recently graduated electrical engineer from Perth doing the round the world before after university thing. A Chinese guy hailing from Germany, who used to be an electrical engineer, but now just travels around on the cheap – also described himself as a professional roulette player – has a sure fire system – can't lose. Went out for dinner with these two. I briefly queried the concept of playing roulette at a professional level but was in danger of having the system explained to me, so quickly agreed that it was possible, even sensible, and changed the subject. Also a Scottish bloke who was really chirpy – as chirpy as a regular non-Scot human being – although we didn't get to talk to him until this morning.

Photo – the view from the convent window to where I assume the good nuns use to grow their food.

Cheers, B.

Determined and Persistent

Hey all,

Still in Pisa – booked until Monday – foot getting better and walking close to normal, at least when wearing boots – still a bit tender on bare feet. But staying around to Monday to at least partially follow the doctor's advice – he said 10 days – modified it down to 8 when I looked distraught – and Monday would be 7, or at least 6. But am about to go nuts if I stay still much longer. A bit flat too - I think at least partially because I am back in civilisation. Photo 1 is the kind of place I had a coffee and cigar at in Corsica. Photo 2 the same in Sardinia. Photo 3 is where I had a coffee and cigar today, talking to K. It is a big adjustment.

Finished Blood's a Rover – very good, but kind of glad to be done with it – he is relentlessly bleak. On to Three Men in a Boat – which has made me laugh out loud several times today, causing people to stare.

My room was nearly full last night – a nice young Polish couple who were here for the night – came back at about midnight – the male half of the couple was so pissed I was amazed he could stand – I was laughing at him – he said “I. Like. Vodka,” a phrase which took him at least 30 seconds to get out. While not exactly drunk the female half of the couple was definitely frisky – she dragged her near comatose man off to the bathroom with a distracted air about her. Polish women are determined: despite his state she persisted – they were in the shower for an hour. A pool of water spread from under the bathroom door into the room itself. It took them nearly five minutes to figure out the lock on the way back out. She put him into the lower bunk where he finally passed out, his task complete, then climbed up on to the top her self and promptly went to sleep, no longer distracted.

Then some spooky looking guy in a suit with no luggage in the bunk above me – he came in, peered around in a sinister kind of way, hung his jacket on the bunk, climbed up, went to sleep. Almost certainly an apprentice hit-man, working his way up. Also, the Dutch dude in the bunk across from me had found himself a perky little companion by the time I woke up – somehow they managed to occupy the same cot sized lower bunk. True love.

All gone today. Now I have five Americans (one is Canadian, but it is only the Canadians who think there is a whole lot of difference), four of whom are studying in Holland, the other is on holiday from the states and is either the brother, or the boyfriend, or the friend, of one of the girls. I am unclear. They all seem nice but may be a little intimidated by the skinhead Australian in the room with them.

Would be interesting to stay somewhere like this, in the one room, for a couple of months and just document all the different people who cycle through the place. Still, glad I am about to move on.

Cheers, B.

Leaning Tower

Hey all,

Bit tired and cranky today – partly because I had really come to enjoy just wandering around – which is pretty much all I have done for weeks – and not being able to do so is frustrating. Also, the three young Swedish boys got on the turps last night – in that excitable 19 year old way a couple of them took off to the leaning tower at about 1AM – the other was already too pissed to do so, but went out later in the night with a South African anyway. Two of them came back at about 3ish and really did try to be quiet, but were too drunk to pull it off, so I got woken up repeatedly as they were getting into bed. Then again at about 4 AM by the other, who was, in the pitch dark, shuffling backwards and forwards across the floor of the room, a vague smile on his face in the light from the window. Which must be a Swedish thing. So not much sleep.

Apart from that, another day where I got to bathe in the beauty of the renaissance, or at as much of it as is within a 250 metre radius of the hostel, such as, for example, the famous Leaning Locker of Hostel Pisa. It threatened to fall over completely at one point, but I restored it to its original lean in order to retain its charm and the tourist dollar. I now have a line of hostel residents queuing up outside my room to see it – I charge them 0.10EU to enter the room and take photos. The braver residents clamber up and balance on top while I take a photo of them doing so – these I charge a full 1.00EU.

Cheers, B.

500 Metres

Hey all,

played this board game for a couple of hours last night with the Swedes and one of the girls who works here – you take it in turns to roll dice and move tanks around, try to take over the world. “What happens when Germans play?” I asked. “They always lose,” said one Swede. “They can't help themselves – they invade Russia: it's all over,” said the other. I thought it was a stupid infantile game (ie, I lost) and when I had no pieces left, had a bullshit and a cigar outside with a group of people who were sitting around smoking, drinking, and talking at a moderate level until someone four floors up shouted down for them to shut up, at which point they all kicked up the volume a few notches.

Have just got back from my big 500 metre outing of the day – which included a hot chocolate which, for once, I could drink instead of eating with a spoon – I was enjoying the novelty of this until the waitress ran out, mortified – she had seen the remains of the hot chocolate she had made in the jug, realised how shockingly liquid it was, removed it, brought out another with a smile – back to the teaspoon.  Not that I'm complaining about that.

Apart from that, catching up on emails, reading – not a terrible way to spend a few days I suppose – except for the insurance forms I need to deal with – I got to the point of printing them out today. The foot is, I think, slowly getting better.

Photos. 1. The sights of Pisa that I get to see: still riveting. 2. Swedish backpackers: good at taking over the world. Still animals.

Cheers, B.

Invalid

Hey all,

Spent most of the morning talking to a South African bloke who is staying here and one of the guys that works here, an Irish/English/Italian/Whatever young dude who is a busker and who is working here for a year or so, sidetracked whilst on his way to an Irish music festival in Finland (!).

Then skype to K for a while. Then, my big outing of the day consisted of walking to the shop where my foot insert things were to be picked up. Was a bit sceptical, but they make a surprising amount of difference in my boots – my limp is distinctly less. I guess they would want to be effective, given that I could afford to stay in this hostel for three and a half weeks on what they cost me to buy. That and dinner took up my 500 metres allowed for the day, so now back at the hostel. 

Finished The Left Hand of God this morning, which was a fun novel that I bought yesterday – a dark parallel history/fantasy novel which also manages to be several hundred pages of anti-catholic rant, but was a good read despite that. Bought Ellroy's Blood's a Rover today and am into it now. Is good and his short sentences are not as over the top annoying as they were in the previous one, where his style had turned into an annoying caricature. Of. Itself. Which was a shame. After American Tabloid.  Which was fantastic.  Will give me something to do tomorrow - is back to his best so far.

Photos. 1. The bunk above me. 2. Swedish backpackers: animals. 3. The stylish mobili (furniture) of my room makes the forced confinement much easier to take. 4. The heartbreaking beauty of the view from the window.

Cheers, B.

Feet

Hey all,

No photos for the last couple of days because there really would not be much to take photos of apart from me looking glum.  Been hobbling around town in my stupid blue shoes getting disapproving looks from immaculately dressed Italians - which I find it difficult to be amused by at the moment because I can't do much about the limp or the stupid shoes at the moment.

Went to the doctor today - they guy who owns this hostel (as well as (it turns out) four hotels) had a scooter accident a while back and is still getting treatment for his wrist, so he took me to see his doctor who is an orthopedic guy.  Turns out it is not a broken bone in the foot but a damaged tendon from when I stepped on the rock - the hostel guy translated - it seems that it is a pretty important tendon joining the leg muscles to the foot - although I suppose they all are.  Also, the doctor was just as concerned about both my feet - I am not supposed to walk for 10 days - or at least not more than about 500 metres a day - so no sightseeing for a while. 

He insisted that I get some custom shoe insert things made - the hostel guy, after fronting me the doctor's bill when they would not accept credit card, took me to the place where they make the mold - there is usually a six week wait after they make the mold to actually pick them up, but mine will be ready tomorrow - then waited for me and did translation there as well.  Then drove me home again, ordered me a pizza.  Hostel Pisa if you are ever here, and it would make a good base for a lot of places - would be cheaper to stay here and take the train to Florence than actually stay in Florence - 11EU a night, clean, good location, and really you could not get more helpful staff than this.

Still, have been through the budget for the next two weeks in a few hours this afternoon.  Hopefully the travel insurance people will cover it.  So: imagine a photo of a glum person.

Cheers (!), B.

Grass

Hey all,

missed the bus to Cala Golone in the morning from Dorgali (I was early, but they had already gone) so missed out on the boat trip to the famous cave. Bugger. Got the knife maker in Dorgali to sharpen the blades – use a pocket knife a lot when travelling, which is why it was resembling a metal rod more than a knife – in the friendly Italian way he refused payment. Also refused to sell me a damascus steel blank I wanted to post to dad to make a pocket knife out of – he had two there – I finally understood why he wouldn't sell them to me – they both had flaws in the steel which I wouldn't have picked myself – so thanks to anonymous Dorgali knife maker for his help and honesty.

Went back to the hostel, used Google translate to tell the lady who runs the Sa Corte Antica B &B that I had a lovely stay there and to thank her for their hospitality – it seemed to please her. Then another bus to Nuoro, another bus to Olbia, where the ferry left from.

Not a big fan of Olbia – a bit of a fake city that exists for the sole reason of funnelling Europe's rich and infamous by plane and boat into Sardinia to the Costa Esmeralda (Emerald Coast) – the place with all the resorts (where you can, apparently, pay upwards of 14$AU for a coke, just because you can). That is Olbia's sole purpose, apart from extracting as much juice as possible from the cash cows on their way through. So, apart from the off chance of bumping into Paris Hilton there is not much point going there. Took me over two hours of walking to find and get to the port from where the bus dropped me – put my big pack in luggage storage. Was no bus back to town for an hour and no cabs (they assume people will be driving their Audis) – so walked all the way back – found a novel in English, bought a pizza, then walked all the way back to the port. Foot is still a problem.

Slept surprisingly well on the massive ferry, on the floor up against a wall. Now in Livorno – coffee, cigar – feeling more nearly human...

Thinking I will dump the bag somewhere, get a bus back to the port when the New American Market opens and buy some more cheap clothes, then station again, Pisa.

Later: Didn't buy anything at the market – did not need pants, and even if I did, the ex-army cargoes, while definitely casual, are not very chic. What I really wanted was a long sleeve shirt, which are very useful things to travel with. But there were none there. Wandered around Livorno for a while which I did not do the last time – quite pretty. Now in Pisa.

The chick behind the desk here has convinced me to go see a doctor about the foot – did not seem like it would be too much drama when I called the travel insurance people – and there is a guy on staff here who will take me on Monday because he is going to see the doctor himself about a cast. So hopefully will get it sorted out. Is okay if I remember to put it flat on the ground, and don't step on any rocks on the outside part of the arch.

Wandered around Pisa with a distinct limp – is a really beautiful city. Went to the leaning tower, just because I am here – have never really been that interested in it. But so glad I went there – it is just one building in this enormous complex – a huge church, a huge dome and another huge marble building the length of them all. The leaning tower is the famous one, but frankly if it was not for dodgy engineering I don't know if anyone would know about it at all – apart from the lean there is not that much too it. The church is magnificent both outside and in, the dome/baptistery only really beautiful on the outside. But the whole complex is stunning – had a magical quality to it that I couldn't put my finger on at first – then it hit me – grass. All these buildings are built on big field of lush green turf. The effect is quite beautiful in and of itself – but the fact that I hadn't seen any big green spaces for so long made it more so.

Not sure what I will do tomorrow. Might stay in bed and read all day. Foot has not make me wince for a day or so – not sure if it is getting better or if it is just because of the flat ground I am now walking on.

Kind of annoying. Spend weeks clambering over mountains in Corsica, Sardinia without any injury to speak of – step off a rock on a beach and hurt my foot.

Photos. 1. On the left – a huge cartoon character on a hang-glider. On the right – a Harley Davidson on a platform. Because when you wake up with a start on the crowded floor of the bistro of an enormous ferry, gratuitously surreal weirdness is just what you really need. 2. A church in Livorno. Getting closer to the full flying buttress. 3. Livorno. 4. Pretty sure this does not mean what you think. 5. Had to do it. 6. Inside the big church that is so much more interesting than the mistake near it. 7. Inside the church again. 8. There was at least as much grass behind and to the right of the shot up to the remnants of the old city wall.  A lovely effect that you really can't get on camera.

Cheers, B.

Casual and Chic

Hey all,

Slept in – had a success last night in making myself understood to the landlady at the B and B that the bread she makes is fantastic and I would like two loaves of it (this warm doughy pita-bread kind of stuff) and she could keep the toast in a packet stuff they serve as well. So loads of melted butter and Nutella this morning. Then another success with a cheap pair of pants – noticed that there was some one day only stock-take sale thing at a shop yesterday, so showed up and got a pair of pants for about 35 Australian – which I needed – I can finally wash my other remaining pair. Not too upset about throwing the others away in Corsica – they were getting pretty ripped and tatty and I needed to save weight and by now those ones would have fallen off me anyway. Lucky I got to the sale just after they opened at 10 – by the time I walked past again there was a queue on the street and a bouncer looking bloke in a suit making sure no one tried to sneak in before their turn – all the locals stocking up on cheap clothes.

Booked a ferry back to Livorno on the mainland – overnight trip – wanted a cabin, but that was going to be hundreds of dollars, so just booked a deck berth instead – so will be a grotty and sleepless night, but at least a cheap one. During the booking a man ran in with a coffee for the travel agent: "Just a moment. I drink a coffee!" she said with an expression of such urgency on her face that I started laughing. When I asked where the bus to Olbia went from she named a pub - "The post office?" I asked, which is where the stop is near the pub. "You are Irish, so I say a pub," she responded. "Australian. I have two passports," I said. "Ah," she said, then stopped, looked at me quizzically, like this should make any difference at all to using a pub to navigate by.

I drink a coffee! myself, speak to K, whose travel plans for December are getting pretty real and definite now – then, feeling sharp and spiffy in my new pants (as well I might – they are both casual and chic: the shop-girl informed of this fact with a very serious expression) I jumped on a bus to Cala Golone (again) hoping to get a boat ride to the cave that I couldn't get into on the walk – but was no go. There is one tomorrow at 11AM, so might give that a shot – should be able to get back to Dorgali, get another bus to Olbia and then get the ferry all in time. I hope.

Have had a pleasant enough day doing basically nothing by the sea here in a 3g hotspot – emails and so on. Got an issue with hard drive space because of all the photographs – the solid state drive I put in before I left is very fast, robust and draws little power, but it is also small.  Not quite sure how to solve that problem just yet.

Back to Dorgali shortly – hoping for the scowling young bloke with the loud music. Will see if I can get the dude who makes knives in Dorgali to sharpen mine if he is still open – 6 weeks of cutting salami onto rocks and being washed with sand takes its toll – the only way I could shave a patch on my arm with them at the moment would be to laboriously hack it off at the elbow – then dinner, pack (no food, no water, clean clothes: joy), bed.

Photo. Getting dusky now in the very difficult to live with hotspot.

Cheers, B.

PS - back at B and B - where I only get a slow and flaky connection if I stand near the window and tilt my head at a certain angle - so emailing this in, with only one photo.

Sardinia hike 2, day 5. To Baunei.

Hey all,

Definitely something pretty NQR with the foot – if I step on it wrong it hurts badly – once this morning so much that I stood there and swore for a good minute or so, which made the nice neat German day-trippers with their kiddies and their brand new special hiking pants stop and stare as they rounded a corner. There are lots of Germans tourists in Sardinia – they almost outnumber the wild pigs – though credit where credit is due: they are slightly more friendly.

Nice morning apart from the foot issue – made myself breakfast and admired the view which I had completely to myself, with the exception of a bunch of wasps who smelt the food – another climber perched against the sea on the edge of the spire, on the way up. Once out of the gully it was a pretty tedious walk back to Baunei along the road, but the views on the way down were nice, and the bus drive back to Dorgali was extraordinary – forbidding alien mountain landscape. They could surely have at least one walk here as long and famous as the GR20 if they thought about it a bit – I don't know why they haven't. 15 refuges, say an average of 60 hikers a night for 5 months of the year, each spending an average of 25 EU a day. 15x60x25x150 = about three and a half million EU a year, for the price of a few log huts and overpriced pasta. You would make your money back on set up costs in the first year – then it would be gravy from that point on. 10 years of that, not to mention the drag-on tourism that it would bring here, much like the big hikes in Corsica bring in tourists who never do them or have any intention of doing them.

Back in Dorgali – here tonight and tomorrow night – will organise a ferry back to the mainland tomorrow, try to get online somewhere (no 3G here, so useless to try to post the blogs), sleep in, let my foot not have to deal with a pack for at least one full day, enjoy another shower, enjoy wearing clothes that don't have salt stains all through them from sweat, enjoy not having to worry about packs of wild pigs, availability of water, food supplies etc. etc. Only downside is that I ran out of anything to read a couple of weeks ago apart from the NT and some Patrick O'Brian audiobooks. Neither are terrible options, but it would be nice to spend a day reading a good novel I have not read before. 

Solzhenitsyn's In the First Circle, was, by the way, fantastic. This is the first time the uncensored version has been translated into English. Like a lot of Big Serious Russian Writers (BSRWs, as they are known in literary circles) Solzhenitsyn has a bit of an intimidating reputation, but this was an easy read – and often very funny – not a bad effort considering it is set in a Stalinist prison. With One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich and The Gulag Archipelago Solzhenitsyn probably did more than any other individual to destroy the notion of Soviet Russia as some kind of Utopia – he is so closely bound up with Soviet Russia and Stalin that, now that both are dust, Solzhenitsyn himself has fallen out of the limelight. 

But he will come back – is a great writer – and there is something about a prison, like a boat, that lends itself to acute observation – a small enclosed world with no way out. And listen to this: “At school, literature had meant nothing but intensive study of 'the message,' the ideological standpoint adopted, the social class served by all these writers” (p. 292).  He is talking about literature as it was taught under Stalin – but frankly it would apply to most of what is taught in high-school and university in the West today. A wonderful novel – and as intense as it was, readable enough to enjoy when utterly exhausted in the middle of the night in Corsica getting blown around in a gale.

Photos. 1. If you have a Hennessy Hammock, you can sleep here in comfort. 2. Which means you can wake up to this. 3. And this. 4. And this, all without having to deal with camp grounds, or other people – or wild pigs, for that matter, who would see this slope, grunt in outrage, trot away and console themselves by having a poo and finding some mud to slop about it. 5. Walking down towards Baunei. 6. Lots of motorbikes around today – you can see why – I am taking this shot from the same road pictured. 7. Coffee, while waiting for the bus. 8. Hot chocolate somewhere else, doing the same.

Cheers, B.