As I approach the final curtain....

Hello from Italy everybody, for perhaps the last time. I'm still undecided about what my next move should be.

I hope you've been well. I'm either deeply ill, or my suntan is starting to take hold. I'm back tomorrow, so prepare to bask in my golden glow/give sympathy for my tropical disease.

Not alot to say today, as most of my really big revelations about Italy are for me, and not for you.

I did go to a wild boar festival on Friday night, which was quintessentially Italian. Except that it was well organised. But apart from that, very Italian. I had wild boar tagliatelle, followed by wild boar steaks. Followed by beer and wine. Was good, and nice and cheap. They had a band who just went crazy through their selection of 'oom-pah' songs. If the crowd still had working knees, I'm sure they would have stood up and clapped. It was in a wee town out in the hills called Ovada, and these wee towns regularly have random festivals to celebrate the local produce. In a couple of weeks time there's a garlic festival, and a few weeks ago Stevie went to an anchovy festival. They're nice because you get out of the city, so people are only 3/4 as rude as they normally are. It's a refreshing change, I have to say!

A couple of you have asked me about the girls of Italy. I'm only really able to say the look nice, as I've not really spoken to any at length in a social sense. Some have said that although you can't speak the native language it should be no barrier, as there's always the international language of love. This is a fine concept, but falls down in practice when you sit in silence repeating the few stock phrases you have. Also, my urbane humour and lightning-fast wit are lost in translation, even more so than in Scotland. But they are lovely looking.

Well, I think that's all folks.

So, break out the fine cutlery, chill the Guinness and wrap a yellow ribbon round the old oak tree, cos I'll be home tomorrow!

Ciao the now.

I was really high yesterday!

But only because I'd climbed up 463 (count them!) steps to the top of the Duomo (big dome in a church) in Florence. Apart from that, I was sober.

Hello everybody.

So, yeah, went to Florence yesterday. It took 3.5 hours to get there, so it was quite a long day, but on the way I was sitting next to an American guy, who was quite cool. The city is very picturesque, with lots of historic streets and churches, including the main one, the San Maria del Fiore. Here's a picture of Florence, taken from the roof of the Duomo:

Also, in case you've forgotten what my rugged good looks look like, here's a shot of me on the roof too:

The Duomo has been painted on the inside with lots of angels and demons and is very interesting. However, it's very high up, and the walkway is very narrow, so if you're like me and endure a troubled relationship with heights, then you wouldn't have appreciated the leaden-footed tourists in front of me, who prolonged my discomfort so they could get photos taken of them doing very crass, touristy things. Bloody tourists. Sadly my camera is not that great when it comes to taking photos of things inside or in the dark, so my pictures aren't quite up to the high standard that you'd normally expect from the internet.

If you're a fan of art, then Florence is the place for you. I'm not really, but when I was told that at one point, all four of the Ninja Turtles lived there, I was raring to go. Apparently they were also decent at art, so there were just lots of pictures by them, and not a peep about Shredder or Krang, not even Bee-Bop or Rock Steady. This, as you can imagine friends, was disappointing. I'd at least have expected a Via Splinter, or a pet shop called 'Heroes in a Half Shell', but nope, nothing. Philistines.

It was a very nice wee day trip though, and a pleasant break from my hectic, work-a-holic lifestyle here in Genova. But this is now drawing to an end, and in 5 days time I'll be back and able to share the winter weather with you. My tan will look even better by contrast.

Bear with me, while I get all deep. Last year when I went to America, I positively revelled in being by myself for 4 weeks and doing all types of exciting and stupid things. Here, is different, and I've come to realise that although I've done some stupid things here too, they exist solely in my memory. Although I can tell you about them, only I will be able to reminisce about them. In a way this is nice, and it means that they're mine, but at the same time, they have no relevance to you guys at all, so they won't have the same meaning to you. The night Stevie and I were out and I saw a rat, after just commenting that I wanted to take a photo of one, is only a memory for us, and probably seems fairly unremarkable. However, this can be said of pretty much everything I've done here, which is a little disspiriting. In years to come, something might happen, and I might turn and say, "oh, do you remember when that happened in Italy?", and then I'll remember that you won't. As I've had lots of Michael-time lately, my thoughts have moved on from all the pretty girls, and are now more analytical about life and junk. Overall, this has left me a little bit sad.

That said, I've had a really good time with Stevie et al, and so these memories will have meaning to us, which is quite cool.

Right, back to the banal nonsense.

There are lots of accordian players here, busking. There are far more than you would reasonably expect, in fact. I've not seen any accordian shops, but they must do a roaring trade. They're generally played by gypsies, or Romany types, as I believe they prefer to be called. There are also lots of travelling bands of minstrels who try to serenade you while you sit outside having a beer. They are invariably followed by guys trying to sell you tat. My favourite item of tat that I've seen is a lighter that also shoots out a light that when shone on a flat object is a picture of a naked lady. Utter crap, but mildly amusing for about 5 seconds. I've proposed that Stevie and I find out where they live, and then when they're sharing a bottle of cooking wine one evening, we should go round and try to sell them tins of shortbread, toy highland cows, and play bagpipes at them, badly. See how they like them apples.

The other night when we were in La Lepre, the bar started to close, so we moved inside. An old, homeless smelling guy came in too, and the staff seem to know him, so I didn't squirm too uncomfortably when he sat next to me. However, he was very hard to understand, and he said something to me that sounded as if it was either "chivalrous", or "syphelis". Cue squirming, and covering my glass so he couldn't spit his chivalry anywhere near me. I apologised and explained that either he was drunk, I was drunk, or we were both very drunk, and so couldn't understand each other. I really hope he didn't say syphelis! Euuuuurgh!

I can't think of much else just now folks, so I think I'll go. I reckon I'll squeeze one more post in before I leave, so look forward to that I'm sure you will.

Until then, think kindly of me and prepare to buy me a beer.

Cheers,

Arrivederci

They now know my name!

Ciao ragazzi e ragazze

Saturday saw a momentous breakthrough when the staff at Lepre learned my name! It is now even better, as they say "ciao Michael" while pouring my gin. I feel so included, or as an Italian might say: "è un simpatico belissimo!"

Thursday was the staff night out, which was fun. We went for some pizza, and then as predicted Stevie, Simone and I went to La Lepre. The other teachers are nice, but you rarely see them, as most classes are outside school, so we're all buzzing about Genova. I say 'we' like I'm working alot. This could not be further from the truth. Following last weeks gruelling 6.5 hours, I get a rest this week with a far more sedate 3.5 hours.

In lieu of my light workload, I'm going to ditch my 'travel to Milan plan' and replace it with the less-catchily titled 'travel to Florence plan'. I've asked around, and Milan is apparently fairly unspectacular, while Florence is compact and beautiful, which sounds much better. It's an extra hour on the train, but it's not like I'm rushing home to watch Neighbours in the evening. Expect some thrilling pictures of Florence next time, architecture fans!

In the meantime, here are some pictures of Genoa, Aranzano, a snake, and brilliantly, a shoeshop called 'Spam':

On Tuesday night Stevie and I went for an apperitivo (a drink), which rather inevitably ended up as apperitivi (drinks, plural). I had a lesson Wednesday morning, so getting up wasn't particularly pleasant, and to compound it I caught 'myself' in the zip of my trousers. I did it with such reckless force that I managed to draw blood. Needless to say, not my finest moment, so thinking about it, I'm not sure why I would document it on t'internet.......but your sympathy is appreciated. So, the moral is: drink and wake up with a hangover, but be careful with your fly. Step aside Plato.

I finally saw a ticket inspector on the bus t'other day. As of the past few weeks, I've not paid once, so they would have been able to write me a fine, but thankfully I got on at the same stop as them. I was so smug that I'd kind of beaten the system. I think I'm an honourary Italian for that now. No doubt I'll get caught in the next week, and my smugness will disappear like Liverpool's title chances (i.e. quickly).

I think that's all folks, so until next time, take care of yourself, and each other.

Michael

Progress report

Ciao amici

I hope and trust you're all well, and missing me a great deal. But turn that frown upside down, as I'll soon be back amongst your midsts.

This week I've worked a mammoth 6.5 hours. Read it and weep you 9 to 5-ers. I generally have an ambivalent attidtude towards work, so this would normally make me happier than a pig rolling in its own filth* but as mentioned in my previous post, I've been a bit down. Since the weekend I've felt lower than a bow-legged centipede (loving the animal analogies). However, I know why this is, and so to counter this, I've been out a couple of times. I only have next week left, so hopefully I get some more hours, although I'm not going to hold my breath.

*Co-incidentally, did you know pigs don't have sweat glands? That's why they wallow in mud. But it does cast doubt as to the origins of the phrase "sweating like a pig". That factoid is free, because I like you.

Tonight is a staff night out, which presumably will end with the terrific trio of Stevie, Simone (honourary, if not actually staff) and I trying to drink our way through the spirits shelf at La Lepre. I'm really going to miss that place. I've been here for 7 weeks, and now when we walk in the staff look at us and start pouring our drinks. Minimum speaking, maximum drinking. It's like Cheers, except they don't know my name and there's less capering. So.... not like Cheers.

During my wanderings, I've noticed loads of signs up for a missing old man. It's like the signs people put up at home when their cat/dog disappears. It's a shame, as he's obviously missed, but it's strange, because I've seen signs in Aranzano (30 mins away on the train) and at Forte Speroni (castle at top of a hill quite far away from where he was seen last). Fair enough, they're leaving no stone unturned, but they put their posters up in the strangest of places. Forte Speroni is at the top of a ridiculously steep hill, so I don't see him getting all the way up there.

An interesting fact. (Yes! Another one!) When you turn 80 here, you legally can't go to jail. I've not seen a rash of crime committed by octogenarians, but it'd be quite fun to see a gang of oldies robbing a bank before making their veeeeeeery slow getaway on their mobility scooters. Kind of like that Irn-Bru advert. If I'm still around in 55 years I might come here just to make use of that loop-hole. However, as previously noted, all the police (and even the security guard at my local Co-Op) 'pack heat', so it might be a bit risky. Even the bang of the gun would probably be too much for some of their dicky-hearts, never mind if the policeman was actually competent enough to hit them.

That's enough of me I think, so speak to y'all sometime.

Stay safe.

Stuff

Ciao everybody

I hope you're all well. I'm generally well, but have been suffering from a couple of maladies over the last couple of days. I seem to have pulled a muscle in my shoulder, which has somewhat curtailed my intensive push-up regime. It's starting to feel better now though, so I'll get back on it. When I come home you may mistake me for a white Bruce Lee. But obviously, I'm alive, he's not.
I've also felt a bit down, which is disappointing, as I'm generally quite enjoying life here. One of the drawbacks of not really knowing many people here is that I spend alot of time by myself, and I'm prone to thinking alot. This is the root of my malaise I think.
I also have a bit of sunburn on my back which a mosquito then thoughtfully bit, so it's double as itchy and uncomfortable but only a tenth the fun.

But enough of my grumbles. Since my last post, I found out that the Carabinieri are multi purpose. They can stop you and give you traffic tickets, but then if you turn nasty they can also become a crack team of commandoes, similar to the A-Team. I don't think any of them are afraid of flying though.

On Wednesday I had the day off so went to Aranzano to go to the beach. There are beaches in Genova, but they're all of the big-stones variety, and I was in the mood for some sun, sand and scratching mosquito bites. So, off I popped to Aranzano. It's about half an hour away on the train, so a good hour after boarding, the train pulled in to the station. The beach was not sand, but a heady mix of stones and gravel. It would have made a better driving surface than most roads back home. Although it was called a beach, it was really the 3 or 4 metres between the sea and the road that they couldn't build a bar on. To compound this, I think I was the only single person there, so for two hours I sat while loving couples kissed and canoodled (an underused word) all around me. Oh, the joys. Needless to say, all of these factors did not make it my favourite excursion I've had, but it was nice to not be working.

On Saturday night Stevie, Simone and I went to Forte Speroni, a castle on a hill in Genova to a concert by one of their friends' flamenco duo. However, their friend wasn't playing, and was being substituted with another guy. We tried to explain to Simone that calling them a duo is technically inaccurate, but he wasn't having any of it. They also have a fourth member.
It was quite surreal. The castle is waaaaay up a hill, and it was all cloudy at the top, so when we looked out of windows you could just see clouds. Also, there were a number of rooms with different acts, and you were led around by a guide when each was finished. Some of them had amateur dramatics, which were amateur and dramatically bad. But there was a room with good looking girls who danced like they were in a harem of a Persian prince (or at least I imagine that was the effect they were going for). That was easy on the eye, and then after that the flamenco duo/trio/quartet played. The guy was freakishly good, and Stevie and I both turned a vibrant colour of green. He was really excellent.

Last night there seemed to be a lightning storm over the hills to the west, which was very impressive to see. For about 45 minutes I sat on my balcony in the darkness, watching the sky light up. It was pretty cool, and (less-cool if I actually believed it) how I imagine the rapture might look from a distance. It must have been a distance away, as there was no thunder to be heard.

I've just booked my flight home, so as of the 29th July I shall be back in the mean streets of Porty. It will be nice to see you all, if only so I can dazzle you with my tan.

Ciao the now

Buono Lunedì

Alllllright?

Happy Monday everyone. I have a day off, so it is for me. Hopefully it is for you too.

Just a quick post today to fill you in on a few happenings here.

Last weekend I went out for a couple of drinks with Stevie and Simone, and we went to an anarchists bookshop where they had beer and food. They all seemed nice (I don't know, I didn't speak to them, but they didn't pull any scary faces at us). It was a bit strange though because they were playing pretty loud music. That's not strange perhaps, but it was all Abba and assorted disco hits. This is not the music I associate with anarchy, but they seemed to love it. Roll back the 70's!

Genova is a pretty safe place - apart from my near brush with crime last week, I've never seen or heard anything nefarious. This is depsite (or maybe because) Italy has five different types of police, who all attract varying degrees of scorn from the natives. They are:

Polizia Municipale - small petty crime
Carabinieri - pretty much the same as far as I can tell
Polizia di State - more serious crimes
Polizia Finanza - money police
Corpe Forestale - forest police ("Put the tree down, son, I don't want to have to shoot!")

Disclaimer: As I'm not sure about the Carabinieri, I may be mistaken about what they actually do. Apologies if you're one of their stormtroopers and are offended while reading this.

I think the Corpe Forestale are the strangest. What crime is committed in a forest that wouldn't fall under the concerns of the regular police? Leaf rustling? I'm sure there's a better joke in there, but I can't think of what it might be.......
My students have helped me distinguish who is what when they're not cruising about in their cars. It's really very simple. The most common ones you see are the Caribinieri and the Polizia Municipale. The Carabinieri are the ones reading magazines while the Polizia Municipale are the ones drinking coffee. However, all 5 of them carry guns, so I would never cast allusions towards their laziness or incompetence.

In culinary news, I had more pig shins the other day. It might not be interesting news, but it's certainly delicious news! Also, I've seen a Japanese restaurant near my flat, so will treat myself to some Japanese food this weekend I think. As 'they' say, when in Rome!

I think that's all folks, so til next time, look after yourselves and each other.

Do you know what really grinds my gears?

Train drivers, that's what.

Hello friends, family and countrymen. As always, I hope you're well.

Today I'm mostly going to rant, and also tell you about the mundanities of life that I would normally regale you with if I was in Edinburgh. As I'm not, you'll not be able to drift off and think about something else when I'm talking. For this, I apologise. Don't worry though, I'll end it with a tale of genuine (almost-)danger and (almost-)criminality. Please don't skip to the end straight away.

But first, that rant......

Going to Cortemaggiore means I have to commute two and a half hours each way. As you can imagine, this is about as funny as jamming glass into your eye. So on Monday, after waking up at 5.30 am I had to get my train. The day was fine, and I'd given myself loads of time to catch the return; a whole hour in fact. So, I pottered about the train station with the rest of the misfits and then went to have a look at the Departures board. To my surprise and constipation I couldn't see my train. I then saw a sign that said that in Italian something along the lines of "your train has been cancelled, you sucker. Piacenza is a hole, but you'll only be able to escape when we send a bus to replace the train and that'll take you to your destination in less comfort but with an assortment of stenches, none pleasant". Naturally, I was a little surprised by its tone, but accepted this. So, I stood like a lemon outside waiting for my bus. 6.30pm, the specified time came and went. "That's ok," I thought, "nothing in this country runs on time." By the time that 7.15pm had come and gone like the wind, I was sweating alot and starting to think that maybe the bus wasn't coming. After sweating a bit more, I spoke to the information/ticket goon, who told me that it was a shame my bus didn't show, but don't fret, there's a train at 8.37pm. I resisted the urge to punch him through the glass, and instead bought my ticket. By the time the train came (late, of course) I was in a bad mood and had cursed the air blue in three languages (mum, dad, you'd be so proud that I can speak three languages). I eventually got back to my flat at about 11. I'm not sure exactly when, as my brain had misted over in a haze of rage. I almost went David Banner on their asses; it wouldn't have been pretty.

I feel angry just writing that. I'll calm myself with a picture.

Here:

This is the fountain in Piazza De Ferrari. It's one of the main squares in town, and looks quite nice. It's strange though. See that building in the background? It looks quite nice from a distance, but get close to it and you'll see that all the impressive columns and statues aren't real, they've actually been painted on. It's like that on a lot of buildings here. All quite odd.

Here's a video of my flat. Apologies for my sweaty demeanour, but it's (quite literally) part of the fabric of life here:

Although Cortemaggiore is quite tiring, they do redeem themselves by giving you a free 3-course lunch. The food's good, without being spectacular, but the fact that it's free makes up for this. Yesterday I had pigs shins, which although doesn't sound good was a taste revelation.

I'm still mostly communicating by pointing at things and shouting "very slowly in English". However, I did manage to get my hair cut a couple of weeks ago, and he didn't maul my hair. Quite pleasing!

In other good news, my flatnemesis, Roberto, has left the building. However, in a final act of defiant irritation he left his keys in the flat on Saturday night so rang the buzzer at 5.30 in the morning. Lucky for him this was one of the few Saturday's I'd returned sober, so I woke up and let him in. Figlio di puttana!

Which brings me neatly to my tale of almost-crime and almost-robbery. You may be surprised to hear that these 'almosts-' happened when alcohol had been involved.

Stevie and I went out to La Lepre on Friday night for a couple of drinks. Needless to say we stayed until the wee hours, by which time he'd fallen asleep in a drunken haze. I was a bit drunk myself, but was relatively lucid. I went into the bar to get a glass of water for Stevie, and the bar manager told me that a barmaid had over heard people saying that they were going to rob us. We both agreed that this would be a Bad Thing, so we got a taxi and fled. That's it I'm afraid, but at the time this seemed like a relatively exciting story, and one I'll relish recanting to grandchildren. Sorry of you expected a bank heist or a car chase in Mini Coopers though. Not all Italian stereotypes actually happen, you know. Although when I was watching the football last week the commentator did exclaim "Mama mia". Brilliant.

Ciao