Heat waves

If there is one thing I dislike it's heat. I have lived all my life in a hot country where the temperature can go up to 42 degrees c and will only drop to aroun 28 c at the best of times. The few times I get a chance to go on holiday I choose cool or cold countries in a bid to escape the relentless heat. Unfortunately even though he cold countries get into heat wave mode when I get there. Our fist holiday in Europe was so hot that I had to fill bath tubs with cold water to sit in. Paris,Berlin and Amsterdam were all at 35 degrees. Our next holiday in England. A land which is always suffering from rain but the moment I landed there was a heatwave. Last holiday in Austria and Germany and Budapest and Prague were everything I hoped for. Cold,cool but never hot. I enjoyed every minute of it so here I am back in Europe in autumn or so I imagined and the heat is killing me. Italy has been in the late twenties and the heat unrelenting. Germany was lovely but not cold but I hope by the time I get back it becomes freezing.

The problem with the heat is that it tires me out. In my hometown I don't have to go out and see places. I stay at home with the fans on or in extreme hear I have the option of air conditioning but when one is visiting new countries there is som much to see that one is forced to move out. Today in Rome I had decided to stay in the hotel but guilt propelled me outside. How could I spend an entire afternoon in the hotel room after spending so much to travel to this place. So I stepped out and stayed out. Soon I was drenched in sweat,add to that the amount one has to walk in the heat,and then to get on a crowded bus packed like sardines. In my hometown I don't need to get into crowded buses here one simply has to. By the end of the evening I am in a foul mood. I think a cold shower should help but it only makes me feel hotter. The air conditioning remains at 25 degrees and it's not helping. I am taking out my frustration on the husband and he is stressing and getting me stressed also. It doesn't make for a happy situation. The times when I travelled in June I was told that it was summer in Europe from June to August. September I was told was was a good time to travel . In Rome and in Florence we were told that this heat is unusual. So am I a global warming machine on my own. Honestly my next holiday will not be in Europe . Next time I am spending my holidays with the polar bears and that's a promise.

Pisa and Luca

It's our last day of touring and we are off to Pisa and Luca but as the Italians would say,we are off to peesa and looka. Our friendly tour company is used to us by now having taken a few tours with them. This time our guide is Sara a diminutive thing but with a voice that s strong enough to get everyone going. She starts our tour introducing herself first in English and then in Spanish. The husband for the life of him can't figure out when the English stops and the Spanish begins. To be fair to him it's a pretty task,I have to leesen very carefully to understand what she says. Of course I am getting the hang of it.

It takes us an hour and a half to reach peesa (in keeping with the Italian way of speaking English some words will have to be read the way they are written....I know my spellings aren't good but this is deliberate). It's a small town with a few houses dominated by the leaning tower,the Pisa cathedral and the baptistery.

The Italians like I mentioned earlier are quiet unlike the Germans,time keeping isn't their finest virtue so the guide ees late. Sara is on her phone for a while and we are handed over to our new guide ( a doctor Spock lookalike). He arrives in blue jeans,tight t shirt,muscles bulging ,flat stomach and all . Rather a fit man one would imagine and then he tells us his name is Roberto (big emphasis on the r). He is obviously a veteran tour guide,quickly sizes up the group,talks in Japanese ,German,French and English with a bit of double Dutch thrown in. When it's our turn he tells us of all the places he's visited in the south of India ( did he read it off a brochure we will never know ) and we are suitably impressed. Roberto is hilarious he keeps us in splits and also has enough knowledge to explain it all. Most cathedrals in Italy have three elements,the cathedral,the bell tower and the baptistery. I didn't bother seeing previous guides what the baptistery was for but Roberts tells us that in the olden days,people who were not baptised and hence considered non Christian couldn't enter the church. So during the festivals they would have group baptisms in a large font kept in the baptistery after which they were free to walk into church. Roberto has a word with all the security personal,hugs all the women on duty and is generally in the know. Even the security guards with guns have to break into smiles when he is around....his favourite phrase is ....'I beg of you". By far the best guide we have had. We move on to the leaning tower of Pisa which I must admit is a wonderful sight. To think that an architectural mistake can bring people all over the world to see it is truly amazing.the tower itself is worth a climb. 296 steps to climb and I am determined to huff and puff my way to the top and we do it. A good photo at the top and we get a 360 degree view of the city.  We are told that the tower was a watchtower in the old days as all the provinces in Italy were at war with each other and they had to see the enemy coming. We have climbed many such monuments but this ones marble steps are worn out with the millions walking on it. Half way down we can feel the tilt of the tower and are wondering why we are tilting but realise soon enough the lay of the land. Back on the ground and we are off  to Luca.

Luca is a walled city and is called the city of a hundred churches but actually has only some seventy odd churches. It's a quaint place but by the time we reach the husband is tired and refuses to walk. He is done with walking and here I am all ready to go all over the place. My map reader then issues an ultimatum. He is planning to sit it out and I can be off with a map and do whatever it is that I have to do. Good plan indeed except that if you leave me with a map and all the time in the world then it's no problem I will find my way but expecting me to come back in an hour is all too much. Quick action is required and after years of practise I know the ropes. A quick salty bite from a nice little cafe where the English speaking Italian who quickly figures my dilemma ,and a gelato kind of puts some energy into the husband. There is one pLce he wants to visit so we walk at a real slow pace to reach it. An espresso and objective achieved. We reach the walls of Luca and the sight is so beautiful,the husband forgets his fatigue. Thank god for patience ( was in danger of loosing my cool). We take the mandatory pictures find a nice park bench for the husband and I am on my way walking on the walls. The sight is serenity itself . Large expanses of green lawns below the walls. Trees that stand like sentries on the horizon and ancient walls that protect a city within. Who ever thought up all this. And how well they preserve it. I am sure we have beautiful places like this in our country but we don't even have clean public toilets so when will we learn? Our trip is over and we are back in Florence . Our Tuscany adventure is all but over and the decision to visit this beautiful part of Italy was well worth it.

People watching

It's almost ten days since we arrived  in Italy and am beginning to speak English like them. It's amazing how a little drag on the words can make a difference or a strong emphasis on the R s. It's all about a big smile,greeting everyone with a Bon journo in the morning till noon,a bona Serra in the evening.  We have learnt to compliment chefs on the quality of their food with a fantastico and everyone is happy. 

 We meet so many people along the way and everyone is a story waiting to be told. We loose track of so many of these memories as each day is filled with new ones. So let's start at the very beginning.

Our hotel in Rome ,the two girls at the reception.one a twenty something fresh to work with all the exuberance of youth. Gets a joke when cracked,gives good advice on places to eat on shoe strings and always has a smile. The older girl probably in her early thirties is all busy and efficient. She won't get too friendly but will keep professional distance. She is always in a rush,smartly dressed,does about two jobs in a day and is responsible for all that happens in the hotel. 

Our tour guide in Rome on our first tour. She looke like an ageing Sofia Loren all nutty brown tan ,skinny but with the confidence of one who has been a tour guide in ages. Ofcourse her strong Italian accent made the English next to impossible to understand and at the end of the day all that concentration to understand what she was saying took its toll. If the pope had any intentions of making saints of anyone that day I would have stood a very good chance.

The nuns and fathers in Rome. Coming from a country where we expect priests to be  godly( not all but we like to delude ourselves that they don't drink or smoke and that makes them good) and nuns to sty in the cloisters it's may come as a shock to us to see Nuns wander the streets of Rome taking in the sights,checking the directions on iPhones ( what ever happened to vows of poverty),priests who can drink many of us under the table. One in particular started with beer,went on to wine and sampled quiet a few. Members of his parish seemed more than happy to stand him a few drinks and everyone was all jolly and happy at the end of it all. Some of the priests are so good looking it might be a sin to just look at them. I saw many a nun and priest stroll down the streets in animated conversations and if a picture of them were sent to my mother she may have plenty to say on the subject of church and morality. In the interest of peace I refrained from using my camera.

Tuscany has a lot more atmosphere than Rome. There is a certain vibrancy in the air and people look a lot more relaxed. 

We are creatures of habit and will find a place like it and stick to it so tarratoria corneliius was home for the next few days for food. The place is manned by a surly twenty something with an attitude to match. He flicks his gelled hair at regular intervals speaks or rather mutters under his breadth and will shrug nonchalantly if he doesn't want to answer. Like twenty something's all over the world he is true to character but not rude and very decent,does a good job too. Once in a while he will pull our legs with some joke said with such seriousness that the husband took him seriously and we ended up laughing . But not our boy,a gleam in his eye was the only indication of any emotion. Our others well built tattooed waiter is the very opposite of our twenty something. He is all charm and passion. Practises his English on all the guests and is ready with a smile a greeting and something to chat about.  An overweight American arrived and ordered a pepperoni pizza and our boy just couldn't help himself,he laughed charmingly and told the shocked American that in Italy pepperoni meant green peppers and not salami but all done with such charm that one couldn't fault him on anything. Of course after some six or seven meals in the same place he was our friend. Told me the panzanella was not his favourite food in face he disliked it and wanted to make sure I knew what I was ordering. Was terribly amused when I asked for a recipe and since thee chef couldn't speak English he got the Indian pizza maker to give me thee recipe (not that the boys English was any better) but the recipe is with me now though I was warned that the taste was all down to good Italian tomatoes and cheese.

Angelina our in house nona (she owns the hotel) is a class act. This hotel is run by a fairly typical Italian family. The parents do the afternoon shifts which means the father stays in his room watching tv,the mother talks to gues and boy can she talk. Of course half the time she forgets what she was about to do but a few exchange of recipes and she's won over. She thinks I need to stay back and make a curry and tandoori chicken as her beefy,English speaking son wants to eat it. He obviously is the apple of her eye. She tells me every day to look after the husband. According to her I know what I have,may it know what you willl get so look after him. She can talk endlessly about the TV serials and shopping and prices. Honestly how can I miss my mother when I have found a very similar one in Florence. She is very disappointing we are leaving because after a week she s now involved in our lives and waits to hear about our day when we get back in the evenings. Her husband is a smart Italian hotelier who looks like he is not all there but that's just a farce. He knows exactly what's going on. The son is a nice friendly chap ready to give advice on all things to look out for in Italy and his English is so good one could imagine he was English. The daughter in law like most of them world over is long suffering,does the breakfast in the morning,doesn't speak a word of English and is a bit of a mouse. The husband thinks she can get a bit mad if pushed but she seems to be in the shadows all the time.

Our little Cupid was the cutest of the lot. Lesson learnt in Italy. If one is standing in never ending lines to get into places,the most amusing way to pass time is to watch babies and play with dogs. The baby in question was a smart cookie. All of some one and a half years he had chubby cheeks and could understand every thing that was said to him. He could pull a happy face by shutting his eyes and grinning from ear to ear,then pull his mouth down to tell us he is sad. Adept at using the iPhone he would watch videos of him self and gurgle with glee. He watch the husband doing his stretches ( the husband was hungry and tired and had nothing better to do) and promptly started imitating him. He did this for quiet a while enough to keep us busy. Then the mother started her song...." The wheels of the bus go round and round".... The song stuck in our heads for the rest of the day as did the image of rosy cheeks,dimpled chin and all.

Self absorption

Our last but one evening in Florence and we decide to walk around the city seeing its sights and watching the sights and sounds. After an afternoon spent resting we walk down the narrow streets to the duomo cathedral. Here we decide to take a break,sit on its marble steps and watch the world go by. After all the piazza is the place to do just that. The Bangladesh vendors are all out selling selfie sticks and paintings or even roses for the romantically inclined. We then spot two Indian groups and we sit up and take notice of our country men and women. This is a mixed bunch. One young man got down on his knees,kissed the ground and crossed himself.....Goan catholic we decide. His wife is I address so suspicion confirmed. The others are probably from Bombay. The young women are fashionably dressed by indian standards but the men are all talking Hindi and without exception,have pot bellies. This is the one distinguishing feature of most Indian men. Shirts tucked into jeans,they pose with arms around their significant other,the photos ,proof of having visited a foreign country. One young woman with a child in a stroller is determined to take selfies. I watch fascinated as she spends time tossing her hair this way and that,posing to the right angle,her selfie stick is working overtime and in a space of a few seconds she has taken atleast ten selfies. Never mind that not a single one of her photos are of the duomo cathedral. I am enthralled by such self absorption,not having seen it thus far though a few Japanese woman can put the Indian ones to shame on the selfie scale. Finished with her selfies she starts to work on her young daughter who must be a little over two perhaps three or even less. She is obviously well trained and poses dutifully to all instructions from the mother. The group in the meanwhile has moved on but nothing can come in the way of a selfie and time and tide can wait for all she cares. We marvel at the fact that we care so little for time and discipline. The tours we go on are all about being on time ,staying with the group etc and when will we indians ever learn such simp,e etiquette?. The tour guide looks at the end of her patience but a job has to be done. Now our attention moves to the other Indian group. This time a group of young men mainly from the north with a few women thrown in. The husband eavesdrop s on their conversation which is all in Hindi. Again the self absorption is evident. It's alla out the photos. There are two guides,one Indian and one Italian. The young men pay no attention to either and carry on with their own agenda. Soon the group is fragmented but we are indian and chaos is all part of our DNA .the husband and I have spent a delightful evening watching the people and understanding differences between cultures . A lesson learnt in a very interesting manner.

Day trippers

After a long trip out of Florence yesterday we are tired enough to take it easy today but food beckons. The local market is a stones throw away and a must visit. All around the coved market are shops selling belts,jackets handbags and all manner of leather goods. Some of the handbags are well both a buy but the husband has me on a tight budget and considering I don't use handbags all that much I do not protest too much but as ogling is free I indulge happily. The market inside opens at eight thirty in the morning and we have our shopping lists at the ready. The first thing we do is to take a quick walk around the place,the husband makes a quick calculation of the prices ,converts it into Indian currency and decided if it's a good buy or not. I simply indulge my sense of taste and visual appeal. I drool over the fish. The anchovies and sardines and shinning their eyes bright,I want to pick them up and cook them but move on. There are many cheese shops but our hotel owne ( a nice Italian nona) has told us that the age of the cheese will be displayed and we must ask for a taste. There is one shop which does exactly this. It's surprising how I can understand perfectly well what the man is telling me in rapid fire Italian when the subject is food. Is it greed or some inner communication between lovers of food. I trust my instincts on this. He cuts thin slices for me to taste and I eat and enjoy. The husband meanwhile is busy doing the maths in his head. Ready to move on to the next store he cannot understand my need to chat with the Italian shopkeepers in sign language. Mercifully for him the owners son arrives and actually speaks English. All the cheese bought,we move over to the mushroom shop. Recommended by the cheese seller this shop is full of porcini mushrooms fresh and dried,the prices come in ranges but is decided on the bases of stems,caps or mixed. The husband would like to understand the science and economics behind such classifications but for me porcini mushrooms have stolen my taste buds,I want them caps or stems or roots. How does it matter when I can't get them in India. It's a taste for which I will happily travel the world so after much talking we get ourselves a mix just to be on the safe side. Next stop for spices. Spices in Italy when we come from the land of spices you may well ask but these are interesting. Mixed spices for pasta. Now that's something I can see much use for considering our love of all things Italian. Picante is an useful word I have learnt so when the word combined with my brown skin gets the message across perfectly. The shopkeeper happy at the business I give him offers truffle in oil on a cracker. I eat happily,the husband refuses politely. He offers us amaretto biscuits but that I refuse to eat. I simply can't stand it but with our bags now full we are ready to leave. The lovely tomato sauce called passata has to be left behind as the bottle is too heavy....well you win some you loose some. We head back to the hotel and I tell the husband that we simply have to see Michelangelo s David . What I don't tell him is that the lines can be punishing. Now unfortunately I have three things on my wish list and not enough time to do it. I want to clime the 400 steps to the dome of the duomo cathedral,I also want to climb the bell tower and go the the piazza Michelangelo but if I have to choose I need to see David. Our hotel manager tells us it's next to impossible to go there t such short notice but the husband loves a challenge and for that I am greatful . So we set off and find the lines snaking into the streets. The husband does a quick calculation ( it's all about numbers with him) and decided that based on the movement of the lines,it should take us an hour to get a ticket.he then suggests we have lunch. Determined not to miss out on David ( the husband can imagine what the fuss is all about,left to himself he would rather see the only David in our family expected later in the month at our home...a grand nephew) . I use all the charm at my disposal and some logic to let him know that the lines can only get longer so better sense prevails and we wait. The wait goes on for two hours in the noon sun. It's hot it's humid but we wait,and finally we are in. David stand right at the end of a corridor a majestic figure in marble. His hands are those of a young man though he is a boy in the bible. I am near certain he was clothed in the bible after all shepherd boys don't roam around the countryside naked do they ?. But this is a masterpiece,this is Michelangelo s interpretation of David so I put aside all those thought of mine and concentrate instead of the piece itself. How he sculpted the veins and the nails and every muscle of the body from a piece of marble is what makes so many. Ill ion people gape in wonder. To think that such creativity existed in times when one had to crave every little bit with ones hands. I have a good look and move on to all the other paintings in the gallery. It was well worth the wait for me and we exit quickly for lunch and after a good meal we get back to the hotel so my excellent map reader can get a good rest,ready to face the evening ahead. I am still working on ways to get him to agree on the other two things on my list....time will tell

Cinque terre

Our third tour in Florence will take us out of town to cinque terre this is and unesco world heritage site. The tour tells us clearly that the trek is not for the faint hearted so we choose a less strenuous one . The drive out of Florence takes two hours and along the way we pass beautiful countryside with miles and miles of garden shops growing all manner of Christmas trees ready for the season. Tomatoes and other vegetables are also grown but all this on a massive scale.

Our guide like mentioned earlier is a girl and a very professional one at that. Her English and Spanish is flawless and she points us towards the ugliest building in Florence and I must admit it's an eyesore among all the beauty.

As we climb the hills to cinque terre the landscape changes. Breathtaking mountains descend into the Mediterranean. The air is fresh with the aromas of fresh pine. The cactus has flowers on it and the sea shimmers in the mid afternoon sun. It's picture postcard perfect.

As we get off at our parking lot,we are told that there are only three thousand people on that island. Cinque terre as the name suggests is a collection of five fishing villages along the Mediterranean coast of Italy. Life here isn't easy,floods have destroyed this area in the past,there are no medical facilities and the local people have had to toil on the harsh and dangerous terrain to farm the land. In winter it can become intolerable to live but as in all things beautiful it has its downside too. We climb down narrow steps and reach the first island of riomaggiore a small fishing village. We walk many steps down to the sea where fishing boats of all sizes are either bobbing on the water or drawn ashore. There is nothing much to see besides the Mediterranean but that is enough. In the sunshine the sea is in three shades of blue,pounding relentlessly on the rocks in a cascade of foam. The water is cool,the way to go down to the water is steal,the rocks slippery but the beauty is well worth it. I have seen the Mediterranean from many sides but it never fails to amaze me and hold me in its spell. Our next stop is to the next island and unfortunately because of rough seas we have to take a train instead of a boat. I am deeply disappointed. A sea ride was something I was looking forward to but it is not to be. The trains are packed with tourists and we are told to be very careful with our belongings as pick pockets abound. Used as we are to all the rouges in india it's not a big deal with us but the unsuspecting American is in danger. The rail tracks run along the sea and as we cross each tunnel the sea comes into view again. We are skipping one island as it involves climbing some tree hundred odd steps and our group doesn't look like they can handle it I am disappointed again as I was a.l ready to push myself.

Lunch is in a costal place with fish and pasta and it's homemade so great. Along the way we meet two women one judge and one attorney from the states. They are full of fun and have a great sense of humour but like most Americans they are not used to rough and tumble and are pretty shocked when our guide takes us off the railway platform into the tunnel to board the train. Of course in this small island it is actually the platform that goes into the tunnel but they take all the jokes on them like good sports and they are so much fun I am willing to change my view on the well travelled American a little bit.

At the end of a long day our feet are killing us with all the climbing but the sea is so calming and beautiful that I can gaze and gaze and like the poem,say I gaze and gaze and little thought what wealth the shore to me had brought. I am a great lover of the sea and can stay for hours near the water and not get tired of it. It was a great trip despite the train running late by twenty minutes,the boat ride not happening,the guid getting us into the wrong train and all but the guides are such nice girls we can stay mad at them for two long. A day well spent.

Strolling around Florence

Our day begins with a walking tour of Florence. Asked to be there fifteen minutes in advance the husband decided it had to be half an hour in advance so we hang around waiting while I fume and the husband is calm and collected. The guide is late so we start the tour late. This is Italy I am getting used to their ways. A few minutes into the walk and I am convinced the guide hasn't a clue what he is talking about. Thankfully I speed read Rick steins book on Florence so was up to scratch on its famous landmarks. If all this wasn't enough it started to pour. Suddenly the streets are filled with umbrellas and milling crowds. The duomo is packed,and with pickpockets in anudance I have to be on high alert and clutching my handbag while dodging the umbrellas not the finest way to see the city. In the meanwhile the guide drones on and on. A tedious two hours later we are rid of him but are waiting for our next tour which is the uffizi gallery.

The sky is grey and heavy with clouds so we start our walk away from the crowds towards the piazza Michelangelo. It's a stunning walk towards this square but our tour begins at three in the afternoon and the husband is a,ready anxious that we will miss it never mind that we have at least half an hour to go. We head back to wait for our guide at the gallery and the rain pours. My spirits are dipping at all the time we waste waiting for people because we are over anxious but one must weigh the highs and lows and decided what outweighs what. Unfortunately the guide on this tour is no better than the one of the morning. He spends a full fifteen minutes giving us an art lesson on three paintings ,and none of it interesting. I am beginning to think he is some failed artist and soon many others are getting restless too. We decide to leave the man to his lecture and get ahead And see all the Italian masterpieces T our own pace. The only reason we took the tour was that the crowds at the entry was frightening. All in all the men guides are a big disappointment and have no sense of humour either. Too caught up in their own history they forget to see the lighter side of life. Though I must admit the same can't be said of the other women guides on the tours out of Florence. The girls Re fluent in at least five languages,have very pleasant attitude and know what they are talking about,besides which they are efficient.

We end the day with a meal in our favourite place and chat up two women one from Cape Town and the other from Perth and end the night with plenty of laughter. The highlight was an earthquake at three the previous night which the husband work up to but I told him to stop being paranoid and slept through it. Since earthquakes seem common in Florence no one was making a fuss and for that I am glad.