A Happy Birthday, sticky balaklavas and the sea

Dear god I should really be more regular with this stuff, I'm missing out on details by leaving such large gaps between blogging. Lets see how I go with that resolution shall we? Now, where have I been of late? Well lots of places actually, but lots of little places, much exploring of little bits of London. Its an activity I could well spend forever doing and still not see everything. I finally made it to the British Library last week for one thing. I have to find out how I can get a job there so I can be there every day. Right smack in the centre of the building itself is a four story glass cube which contains 'The King's Collection', which is basically the collected library of King George the third. He donated it to the British library on the stipulation that his books be kept separate from all the other books, which takes elitism to new heights one might conclude. Endless shelves of books suspended behind glass, tantalisingly, its almost voyeuristic in some strange way but maybe that's just me. Books are meant to be read I think, so just displaying them like that is like seeing them crucified. They want you to read them, crack their spines just a little and give them the perusing they so guiltily desire. Ok, clearly that's just a me thing. Do go though if you can, they have a copy of the original Alice in Wonderland, Alice's Adventures Underground, that was handwritten by Lewis Carroll and given to Alice herself as a present. Clearly she fell on hard times as an adult after the death of her husband and had to sell her copy which ended up being displayed at Columbia University in the US before it was purchased by a group of American business men and then given back to the British Public “in recognition of the publics bravery in facing Hitler before the Americans joined the war”. Aww, generous and a teeny bit patronising.
We were down that way originally to check out an open day at The School of Life which is an enterprise started by Alain De Botton which aims to offer pragmatic and considered solutions to leading a more fulfilled, spiritual, physical, political and social life. They have all kinds of books and classes which you can buy or sign up for, some struck me as interesting and others less so. I think that's possibly a good test of what it is you might be lacking in your life, like cravings indicate difficencies. I was drawn more to the political stuff and the things about how to have a satisfying work life, the purposes and benefits of work beyond a pay check. The School of life is located in Marchmont st and there happened to be a street festival there that weekend, it was just a little local community thing but there were a bunch of little book stalls and Russ bought me a beautiful copy of Jane Eyre from one of them. We found a little collection of food stalls in a court just off Marchmont street where we bought Baklava to feed Rusty's new found addiction (I got him hooked in Brighton but he can never remember what its called) and I got some beautiful aged balsamic and lemon infused olive oil which sounds incredibly yuppyish I realise, but I like balsamic vinegar damnit.

My biggest trip lately though has been to Brighton. It was Rusty's birthday this month so as a little present I organised us a trip to Brighton. I was dying to go myself and he hadn't been in years.
I found this hotel called the Artists Residence which is an art gallery and hotel where the artists decorate the rooms in their own styles. It makes for somewhere totally unique, interesting and colourful to stay and we loved it. The room we stayed in had a balcony so at the end of the day of wandering and in the morning as we made our plans for the day, we could sit on the balcony listening to the seagulls and watching the sea gnaw on the bones of the old west pier.
Our goals when we got there were simple, have fish and chips on the beach, count waves, find a cache, see the pavilion and the lanes and go visit the Cowley club. The Cowley club is a libertarian / anarchist bookshop which was named after a man called Harry Cowley who was a grass roots activist in Brighton, campaigning for things such as cheap food and practical aid for the poor and aged. The waves we counted on our first day, crashing round the ankles of the west pier, now all but claimed by the sea. We also ticked off the fish and chips on our first day as well, though found much better ones on the second day. Rusty found a cache in a big piece of public sculpture on the seafront that was crawling with muggle children, he was really stealthy about it, I was very proud.

We wandered down the seafront on our first say, past endless rows of market stalls selling all kinds of pretty at all kinds of prices down to the kitschy glory of Brighton Pier, if you dont go for the chance to hurk your fish and chips on an unsuspecting spectators while strapped to a stupidly scary ride 100 foot in the air, go for the people watching. I have no idea why but I have never seen so many women in stilettoes in my life, promenading up and down the pier, orange, sausage legs crammed into a podiatrists nightmare, tottering up and down the pier dodging fallen battered sausages and molten fairy floss. We fled and watched the sunset from the beach with our fish and chips.

Day two we walked back along the now deserted beach, the bank holiday was over for most and we felt like the only ones left after the party. We made it to the Royal Pavilion, the former seaside resort of King George the fourth when he was just the Prince Regent and had more time on his hands. Its a pity they didn't let you take photos inside, the music room was amazing, I didn't want to leave it. You'll have to go looking on the net for pictures, for me to try and describe it would not do justice to either it or my memories. Such a lot of walking though, wandering all over the pavilion and the gallery next door and then around the lanes finding somewhere for lunch. Neil, my GPS, seemed to crack the sads with us on the second day as well and so was prone to lead us off on tangents because we weren't paying him enough attention. Some people might put that down to poor satellite reception due to building obstruction but where's the fun in that.

I wondered how much it would be like St Kilda and it has to be said that there are similarities, its akin to visiting your great grandmother and observing how much your sister looks like her.
I have missed the sea though, we'll be going back there in a few weeks for a day trip to check out more of the lanes and spend a little more time in the Cowley Club.

So from here my next big trip is Melbourne, back for a month in December I am. Will be interesting visit Melbourne knowing that I'm only there for a short time. I'm hoping that it gives me a new perspective on it, I have taken for granted what I know of Melbourne. I'll have to grab the kids and go exploring again.
Ah blogging I've missed you, I wont leave it so long next time. xxx

This green and pleasant land

Ah gentle readers, it has been some time since I updated here. Since I got back from Italy the hum drum of London has sucked me back in but I am nothing if not easily distracted.
I settled back into work, taunting my work mates with little anecdotes that begin “When I went to Italy....” which have replaced the ones that used to start with “ When I go to Italy.....”
And now its a steady flow of days from here until my trip to Melbourne in December. I'll be flying in to Tullamarine at about 7:15 pm on the 29th of November and I'll be around the old town til boxing day before I head back over here and back to work. This marathon stretch of no travelling will be broken only by a trip to Brighton at the end of August which I cant wait for, the sun (maybe) the sea (definitely) the sand (not so much) but I will be sure to take plenty of photos.
So what's been happening since I spoke to you last? I'm glad you asked. We had a tube strike, That was a bit exciting. I have had soft spots for unions before but it has to be said that in this instance the RMT who were responsible for this strike didn't really do a great job of getting their point across as to exactly why we should be sympathetic towards them calling this 48 hour massively annoying stop work action. From what I understand they were asking for a 5% wage increase as well as a guarantee of no redundancies which in this economic climate is probably a bit much to ask. The 5% wage increase is also double that of police and emergency service workers so again, possibly a bit much. I cant help but think that it would have served them better in the court of public opinion to simply throw open the gates to the tube stations and turn of the ticket machines and let everyone ride for free as a means of getting their point across. They have been threatening to throw another strike and last I heard their demands still hadn't been agreed to. Most people that I saw out on the 2 days seemed to be coping pretty well though, those who didn't give up completely and stay home enjoyed a crowded 2 or 3 hour bus journey to make a trip that would normally take you about 15 minutes on the tube. My workmate Vanessa and I resorted to playing I spy, ( I won) and guess that song with Vanessa's ipod (I'd forgotten what Richard Marx sounded like). Two days it lasted, a two hour journey in the morning and a three hour one at night.
The Kings Road was a little quieter than usual but at least it never rained.
Its summer here now, gentle, shoe tying breezes, green grass and drinking Pimm's by a body of water weather. For me its the Thames, I'm spending lots of time in Richmond in this glorious english summer weather, walking up and down the river, exploring little areas like Twickenham, Teddington and Eel Pie Island. Eel Pie Island is mostly a collection of artists studios and boat building sheds. An island in the middle of the Thames, there is only one foot bridge on to it and no cars at all, I think one of the residents has a tank of some sort but definitely no cars. Teddington is the home to Teddington Studios and to Teddington Lock where Monty Pythons fish slapping sketch was filmed, I stood in the place where it was filmed, they were brave men to dive into that water. The other day I had a bacon sandwich at Diners Delight, also known as the cafe where Tim and Daisy met in spaced. Richmond is also famous for its residents, Mick Jagger mostly, he lives up on the hill when he's in town apparently. Somewhat less famous is the site of Fantasy Bazzar, the comic shop run by Bill Bailey also in Spaced. It used to be the real life home of They Walk Among Us but they've moved around the corner now, vacating the immortalised shopfront to some internet hosting company. In the glorious sunshine there is nothing more I want to do than wander around London's vast open spaces, and I've been to a few now. Climbed Parliament Hill in Hampstead Heath and saw the brilliant views. Listened to the crazies at Speakers Corner in Hyde park and walked around the Serpentine. Fed the squirrels in Kensington Gardens much to the distain of Prince Charles. Wandered through Regents Park and along the canals in Camden. Climbed Richmond Hill to more expansive views and was a little disturbed by the warnings about rutting deer, but the best park so far would have to be Bushy Park in Teddington. I went the other day and saw a little baby deer and a swan and couts that follow you as you walk along the little river, waiting for you to feed them bread. I saw the surface of said river broken by a what appeared to be some kind of dorsel fin, unexpected and puzzling, only to find on closer inspection that it belonged to a giant carp. Its the perfect combination of open grassy nothings and little woody nooks along with the occasional manicured chocolate box water feature. Its a holiday at home, little sojourns into the country even though its only about half an hour from where I live. And all free, when so much else in London isn't. All winter and most of spring I have been disturbed at intervals by the blood curdling screams of the foxes making foxy love on the green outside my window. Their passion sounds not unlike a young girl being brutally murdered, I do not wish to come back in my next life as a fox. The result of all of this disconcerting ardour is new baby foxes which seem to be increasingly venturing out during the day, sunbathing on the tops of peoples garden sheds and drinking from the watering can we keep filled in the garden for them. Overnight they get into the garbage and spread debris along the lane creating little crime scenes where some plastic bag has had its insides ripped out. In the mornings I'm being woken by a squirrel, which is cute but slightly less endearing when its timescale differs wildly from mine. When I am feeding them barbeque shapes in Kensington gardens on a lazy afternoon then they are supremely cute, when they are dancing on my skylight at 5 am they are less so. We're starting to get thunderstorms as well, I'd missed thunderstorms. The summer ones in melbourne used to be spectacular but had been increasingly replaced by wind storms before I left. We had a huge downpour that apparently soaked those poor Harry Potter kids at their opening, Aw bless. Big booms of thunder like mountains falling into the sea and then the sky fell. As I write this another thunder storm is winding down. Nice little bit of thunder and lighting and now that fresh post rain smell drifting in through the french doors. Days pass decorated by these little experiences, foxes, squirrels, parks and the occasional bit of rain. I take my happiness where I can get it and store it up for the winter. Take care xxx

Venice

Every day I was in Rome I found myself coming back to my hotel room and pouring out the intricacies of the day. Where I went, who I talked to, it rolled out of me but it has to be said that it was mostly intellectual observation, details rather than emotions. Venice was different. It struck me dumb. In terms of stories, I'm coming away with a million of those but it hit me on a level that doesn't lend itself to blogging possibly, blogging being a speedy kind of sketching of events rather than the slow evolution of an idea. I shall do my best to explain myself. Being in Venice feels not unlike a waking dream. The colours are brighter, the sounds are so different like the slapping of the water against stone, the low vibration of the Vaporetto and other boats, church bells and then because I'm staying in more of a residential area, what sounds like an incredibly heated argument in Italian but which is often just a couple of friends enquiring after each others health.
When I first arrived here I was hot from walking from the station, when I got to Italy the temperature soared every day, in the high 30's in Rome and somewhere in that vicinity in Venice as well with the added bonus of humidity. So I showered and changed and headed out into the city to get myself acquainted and find something to eat. You can spend so much time just hanging out here, I decided to make it a rule that there would be no lining up for things on this trip, for one reason because I don't have enough time, the second reason is that not lining up for things means that I don't see all the big attractions, like inside the Colosseum and the Basilica di San Marco. I don't know why but it feels like committing to seeing that stuff now feels so final, like I'll never come back and I want to. I really, really want to. So instead I walked, I walked all over Venice on my first day and my second day and then the third day I caught a bunch of Vaporetto's (Venice's system of water buses)out to Burano, Murano and Torchello. So here we go. My first afternoon I walked down to the Ponte Rialto but decided to save crossing it until the next day when I would also go see Piazza Di San Marco. Instead I had dinner at its feet, in a restaurant that probably charged too much but that I knew would charge too much and didn't care. Sometimes in life you have to allow yourself to do that which is not sensible but is just for fun. I spent my time regarding the Ponte Rialto drinking red wine a lot faster than I normally would, it had never tasted that good before. After dinner, mercifully sober, I wandered back through the streets of Venice until dusk began to fall, catching snippets of conversation of people as they passed me being carried on in what seemed like every language on earth. I came upon a little gelateria that made its own ice cream and grabbed a scoop of tirimisu gelato and a scoop of nutella gelato, then found myself a little spot on the shoulder of a bridge and watched the sun set on my first day in Venice. That became my little ritual, every day, 2 scoops, same bridge, sunset.
It cost me 2 euro for the gelato and I felt like I stole the sunset.
On the second day I woke up at dawn, I don't know why but I did. Watched the sun return over the houses around me and then headed out into the streets again. I naively decided that I would wander without a map, with only a plan to see the Piazza at some point, and see what else it got me. And I saw a hell of a lot of Venice, some markets, lots of gondolieri, millions of churches, crossed the Rialto bridge once purposefully and three times by accident. It really was like a dream, where you were trying to get somewhere but no matter what kept coming to yet another turning. But still in all that aimless wandering there were little moments, like finding a water fountain where I could fill my water bottle with icy cold fresh water, they were a welcome sight in Rome too, I wish we had them everywhere. Or finding little plaques and murals, sometimes of the Madonna or a saint, sometimes just a hand or a sun, I like those little details.
Eventually I just followed the hum of the crowd, the distant whispering of the ocean of people waiting to get into the basilica. That was what got me there. I sat in the square just watching them all, occasionally being bugged by a Romany Gypsy wanting euro or an African guy trying to sell me a fake Gucci bag, it kills the romance of the moment sure but that's what happened. I mapped the outside of the basilica in photographs, glad that I was moving on and not waiting in the interminable heat. I walked past Florian's, again photographing it and deciding that I did not need to pay for the pleasure of going inside it. I spent a lot of time in the piazza, wandering and photographing things. Recording the sounds in my head and trying not to kick pigeons. The pigeons are maybe too tame there.
Maybe I was savouring the moment, maybe I was stalling for time because I could not remember how I got to the square or how to get myself back. In the end I opted to navigate back as best I could and ended up having lunch in a nice little restaurant halfway back. Bruschetta and campari soda. Red, soft, tang and sweetness of the tomatoes and cool, icy, bitterness of campari.
I found the spiral staircase of the Borolo Palace as I was trying to navigate my way back to Cannareggio, a surprisingly well hidden and deserted attraction. Foot sore I made it back over to my little district, where I know my way around, know who has the cheapest gelato and granita's and had my afternoon arranchia rossa granita on a little bench I found tucked away from the action but right near the water. When its that hot and humid being away from the water is almost unbearable, the air is still and wraps around you like steam trapped under cling film bearing down upon your skin. Watched the people go by cooled by a little breeze off the grand canal and then when I felt rested, browsed through all the shops I hadn't been in yet. Found a little escape from the heat for dinner in a restaurant with a garden where I had pizza and made sure I left enough room for my evening gelato. Then, when it was time I, went to what I've now decided is my gelato place, collected my 2 scoops and then went down to the bridge to watch the sun set. I had to scare away some tourists coz they took my spot but I did it and they ran and so I ate my gelato in peace.
I limped home, I had walked for nearly 13 hours on cobble stones. I came back and turned on the laptop intending to commit my thoughts to word and promptly fell into unconsciousness waking only at some point to turn off the light. Still in my clothes, on top of the bed, until morning woke me.
Sunday was Vaporetto day, you can get a 12 hour Vaporetto pass for 16 euro otherwise its 6.50 euro for a single journey. I caught one to Murano to see the glass blowers and check out all their wares, then another to Burano so I could connect with one to Torchello. Torchello hoped to be Venice before the plague redesigned its future, and now is a mostly quiet collection of houses, restaurants and churches. There is a faint eeriness to it that is interesting. I'd like to spend a night there one time I think. Burano is famous for its lace but what struck me most about it was the brightly coloured houses. Vibrant blues and greens and even pink enhanced the feeling of being in a dream. They had welcome stretches of cool green grass and shady trees near the docks as well so I spent some time laying around there watching the world go by. When I got back to Venice I could still feel the swaying of the sea and it swayed me right into another church when a gust of cool air seduced me through its doors. They smack you dumb these churches, which I guess is the point. Like God himself catching you on the back of the head as you walk in the door and asking through clenched teeth “Believe in me now?” You cant take photos of the inside of a lot of them though so their exact renderings will have to remain mostly inside my head unless you come here. This one was stunning both for its art and the marble decorations, like black and white lace rendered in marble covering every inch of the inside of the church. I wrote most of this on my last night here and was trying not to think too much about leaving. I headed out, grabbed some dinner and then toke my gelato to the bridge to say good bye to the sunset. I walked down to the bridge and though about how to end this, my gelato in hand I took my sunset spot and waited but the sunset never came, in Venice there are no good byes, there is only next time. We had a thunder storm that night, the heat broke and there was little rain but mostly thunder and lightning, the air felt cool and scented with the rain. Today I spent the whole day travelling to get back to London. First a train to Rome, then another to the airport then a plane to Heathrow and finally my old faithful Piccadilly line.
What a way to wake up. Venice feels like its been for me, though I'm sure everybody has that reaction. As I went for my last evening walk, taking more photos than I needed to in fear of forgetting something, I saw bunches of people doing the same thing, last gelatos, last kisses on bridges, last pizza by the canal. Sometimes when things hit you profoundly, you kid yourself into thinking that you're the only one its ever happened to, like falling in love. Go to Venice.

Rome...if you want to

Day 2, I felt a little more familiar with Rome. That kinda heightened state of awareness I tend to feel when I first arrive at a place subsided so that I can cross the road without feeling besieged and happily lose myself in streets knowing that I will be able to navigate myself out somehow. It has to be said though, crossing the street is a test of wills here, they don't stop for you, even when you have a green light and they have a red one the cars keep coming at you. Day 1 my plan of action was to cross with locals or other tourists, using them as human shields. Day 2 I just found breaks in traffic and strode confidently across the street with enough bravado to suggest to drivers that this girls not kidding, that street will be crossed and it will damn well like it.
So the day went like this. I got up, showered and dressed and threw all my things in my trusty green Eumundi Market bag and went for breakfast. Coffee and a cornetti again cept this time I had cappucino instead of espresso, also fantastic, oh such good coffee, why cant they make it in London? Got some Strawberries from the little market because I planned to eat them on the Spanish steps and headed off to Termini to buy my tickets for Venice before hopping on the jump on jump off bus. My destination was the Colosseum and the Roman Forum for a bit of a wander around. Climbed some hills, saw some ruins and a very pretty little church, I visited a lot of them if for no other reason than they were cooler than being outside. I found some graffiti carved into one of the walls near the forum that said Amore Vici Omni and in spite of myself I found it really beautiful. I may be getting less cynical in my old age. Love conquers all, aw.
One of the things I was most grateful for today though was the man selling bottles of frozen water at the base of the Palpatine hill, I certainly felt deep Amore for him right then, the water had been melting in the scorching Roman sun and was just icy cool with flecks of ice in it. Oh my god it was bliss. There was this woman selling little prints just near by and I thought excellent I'll get Dad a little something. She gave me the whole patter, said she painted them herself and I thought oh cool, they're only a couple of euros why not. Got him a nice little print of gondolas near the Rialto Bridge, thought he'd like that before I headed back down to the bus stop just as the next bus was pulling in.

The heat was increasing along with the tourists so when the bus pulled up to where the Bocca Del Veritas is I got off just to get out of the heat for a bit and away from them. Yes I realise that the Bocca Del Veritas is a touristy thing but I don't care. I wanted to get a picture of it and I did, not with my hand in its mouth, I wasn't interested in that, I just wanted a picture of it. I like it, the shape of it and where you can see its been worn away over the years, it reminds me of a lion with leprosy. The church next to it is beautiful inside. Gorgeous mosaic tiles on the floors and little frescos and marble sculpture. I even found some graffiti carved into a column that said Fra Bozio 1742, he is gonna be in sooo much trouble.
Then it was back on to the next bus to pootle off to Piazza Di Popolo. Its a vast, open space which backs on to the Villa Borghese and there are three streets that run off it like a trident. I walked down Via Babuino so I could see the statue that the street is named after. Its considered so ugly it became known as the baboon and that's how the street got its name. People used to write little signs and hang it around the statues neck so it became a 'talking statue' it was a way of anonymously criticising the government back in times where it was not so wise to do so. This eventually lead me down to Piazza di Spanga and the Spanish steps. There is a beautiful fountain in the centre where people were dipping their feet to cool off. Rose sellers, that wander around the piazza trying to cash in on the romance of the moment, sell the most beautiful red roses I've ever seen. The dip them in the fountains to preserve them in the heat and I got a picture to remember it. People clung to every inch of shade like sparrows in summer and I tip toed around them to find my own shady spot on the steps so I could eat my strawberries and survey the scene. Every so often a carabinieri would walk past and blow their whistle and shout something at someone that was unintelligible and constantly changing with all the menace of a quacking duck. At one point I think they said “No eating on the steps!!” but everyone ignored them and they went away. The clearly found better things to do, busting the guys selling fake Dolce and Gabbana belts and bags up the top of the steps, because those guys came running down clutching their wares and casting frantic looks over their shoulders about 10 mins later.
As I ate my strawberries and watched the square I couldn't help over hearing some Irish promotions guys trying to convince some girls to go on their pub crawl. I'm so glad I'm not that age anymore. After my little break in the shade I climbed the rest of the way to the top and surveyed the views of Rome. There are churches everywhere here and there is another at the top of the Spanish Steps which I went into and escaped the heat. You know what else there was up the top of the Spanish Steps, lots of people selling prints of Rome exactly like the one that I bought at the forum. I fell for her tourist patter but like I say only a couple of Euros, no harm done. There are American websites that warn you about all this actually, I made the mistake of reading one before I got here and ended up feeling like all of Italy was just waiting for me to arrive so it could rip me off, but like most things in the hands of Americans it was blown somewhat out of proportion.
After my resigned awakening to the pitfalls of being a tourist, it was down the steps and off to find the Trevi Fountain and some lunch. Lunch first. I grabbed some pasta in a little cafe in one of the side streets off the piazza. They had the most elaborate gelatteria set up and I watched scores of tourists wander in and order “speciale” cones only to come out with the most embarrassing looking icecreams known to man and beast. Huge things, all different colours and flavours in elaborate cones with handfuls of wafers and cream on top and little Italian flags and strawberries and tinsle covered skewers sticking out of them. The conversations usually went:
“Oh my god”
“You carry it”
“No, I'm not carrying that thing”
“I have to take a picture of this”
This was not the place I wanted to get gelato. After a little help from Neil my trust GPS and a little intuition I found my way through the warren of back streets to the Trevi Fountain. The heat drew flocks of people and they came and went in waves though the square the fountain sits in was never clear. It hovered between happily busy and mad crush. Everywhere you go there are people selling little umbrellas and hats for shade to tourists and there were bunches of those guys here, one of them copped a feel as I was wandering past but its Rome right, I would have been offended if I'd come here and someone hadn't tried to feel me up. I found a little corner near the side of the fountain in the shade and decided that NOW was the time for gelato. Helpfully there was a shop nearby, and I got some tirimisu and cafe gelato. I love coffee flavoured icecream. It was a quiet little moment of happy sitting in the cool shade on a hot day near the Trevi Fountain eating gelato. There are a couple of seagulls that hang around the fountain and man they have attitude, they're not scared of anything. They sit there defiantly, so much so that I thought they were sculpted in place until one of them moved. There were these two boys being obnoxious and trying to throw things at one of them but it just looked at them, sqwalked like it was going to come town there and beat the christ out of them and then went back to sunning itself, they, quite understandably decided to leave the bird alone.
I wandered through more back streets eventually making my way back to the Piazza Barberini to jump on another bus thinking I might check out the Villa Borghese. That's when I saw the temperature on one of those flashing signs that tell you the time. 36 degrees! Only made it as far as the Santa Maria Maggiori on that bus because the commentary woman made it sound so interesting I had to have a look. And it was. It illicited a wow from me it did. I took lots of pictures, the ceiling is covered in the first gold that was brought back from the Americas, they said that on the commentary and it caught my attention. When I headed back outside to ask the ticket guy when the next bus was coming he told me I was very lucky. I said Really? he said yes and when I asked why he told me cryptically that there was something on me which slightly freaked me out but I put down to a language barrier, I asked “Is it this?” touching my necklace and he said “No don't touch” and then started randomly chatting to me about where I was from. Most normal people would probably have been freaked out by this but personally my attitude is unless I think someone is going to kill me, they're probably worth chatting to if I have nothing better to do. After asking me one or two questions about myself, ticket guy pointed to my shoulder and said “Now look” and there was a giant fluttering butterfly there before it took off into the sky. Apparently butterflies landing on you makes you lucky. I don't remember his name unfortunately, after he weirded me out a little I didn't pay him full attention. We did chat for a bit and he asked me out which I politely declined, I'll chat to anyone at a bus stop but I draw the line at dating them. Besides which I found out he was married with a wife and 2 kids in India. We talked a bit about life and how it is to be enjoyed before the bus came and happily spirited me away. I thought maybe this time I would make it to the Villa Borghese but by the time we got to that stop I was exhausted and desperately in need of a shower.
Dinner that evening was pizza with potatoe and rosemary. Awesome, I will try making that back in London.

Friends, Romans, country men......

My first day in Rome and I was exhausted. Got there on the Tuesday night at about 11:30pm and after picking up my bag and clearing customs I was chauffeured into the city by the lovely Alberto. He drove well and at the end said “ok bye bye!” which was very sweet coming from an old Italian guy with a Cheshire grin all over his face. I'm staying at a bed and breakfast in the centre of Rome which is essentially a converted apartment. We're on the fifth floor and the other apartment's are occupied by either residents or shops. I think one might be a hair dresser because on the first day, when I walked downstairs to go to breakfast, I saw they had this beautiful etched art deco sign of a Victorian looking lady with an elaborate hairstyle in profile. Unless of course its some kind of time travelling prostitution service I can see no other context for it.
So yes, where was I, ah arriving at the Bed and Breakfast I buzz up and the guy says to me “The lift is broken, you will have to climb up the stairs”. He says it quickly in the way that people do when they imagine saying things fast enough mitigates argument. Five flights of stairs with my suitcase. Climbing five flights of stairs with a suitcase in and of itself is probably not a great feat but try doing it while trying to be quiet so you don't wake everyone else in the building. As I climbed up the last stair with my case, like it was Everest, the reception guy said “Oh sorry, I didn't know that you were on your own or I would have offered to help”. Really? The fact that I booked a single room didn't clue you in? I had that happen a lot too, people being puzzled about me travelling alone and with the benefits of the post editing process I can tell you that in the time that I stayed there the lift worked only once, when I was leaving to go to Venice, poetic no? Though I suppose I cant expect a great deal from something that cost me under 200 euro for 3 nights. I even had my own bathroom, and it was clean. No matter, I was there, and it all felt happily surreal. Its hard to place Rome in one category because there is so much going on there and such a convergence of everything, time, places, people. This must be what they mean when they say all roads lead to Rome. Have you ever had a dream where you were in a place that was at once familiar but indefinably so. One of those rambling dreams that start with you saying “Well, I thought I was in my old house but then I was in a market and you were there but you weren't you you were someone else....” That's what Rome feels like in real life. Parts of it feel like Abu Dhabi, parts of it feel like Melbourne, parts of it feel like London, one part reminded me of what Beirut must feel like though I have never been and it has to be said the reference only sprang to mind because I had the distinct feeling I might be shot. Then in the middle of it, like some strange episode of Doctor Who where the Tardis has a period and the wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff goes haywire, there's a giant ancient ruin or some big fuck off marble building that screams “I AM A BUILDING AND I AM AWESOME!!!” For 34 centuries people have lived in Rome, and all of them leave something behind that gets absorbed into the identity of Rome, squished in with the renaissance and fascism and gladiators. A giant wad of civilisation. It would be an interesting experience living here and if I was ever given the opportunity to I would if for no other reason than to try and get a handle on what beats at the heart of Rome. I'm glad I've had the experience of living in London for a while before coming here, because what I found there could probably be applied here too, your experience of London and your perspective on London is very much centred around where you live in it. After coming to Rome I'm beginning to develop a theory that all iconic cities have that going on with them. I'm willing to bet that if you were living around the 'La Dolce Vita' bit, that your perspective on the place would be rather set a certain way, that Rome might seem much simpler. I went around Rome on one of those hop on hop off sight seeing tour buses, this is generally not me but damnit Rome is a tourist machine and this is not a place I could just do my normal wandering around thing in. I'd get lost and sold to gypsies I know it, they're out there, they accost me if I stop moving for too long and ask me for euro like cats weaving round my ankles hoping to be fed. So, nice open topped tourist bus. I got on at Termini and it took me around the city, down streets that looked familiar and then dear god the colosseum. There is so much to see here that I went round on the bus once, so smacked in the face by all the things I was seeing that I forgot to take photos so I had to go around again. Lucky I got a pass that lets me go around and around as many times as I want for 2 whole days, 18 euro, bargain. So the bus came back to the starting point, I jumped off and grabbed some pizza (the only way I can describe it to you involves an awful lot of swearing, its good, and I have a feeling its one of those things that can only be made well there, sorry) and went round a second time. I noticed more detail the second time around. The theatre of the gypsy beggar woman near the Roman Forum in her yellow socks and sandles, bent over on a walking stick doing a kind of pained and exaggerated bhuto walk, shaking a tin with some coins in it and a picture of the Virgin Mary on it, crossing herself at intervals and kissing imaginary rosary beads before asking passers by for money.
Hard to know whether its real or entirely theatre which probably means that its both. All her props seem calculated, and she had a brand new brightly coloured back pack which made me think she cant have been doing too badly for herself all things considered if she can buy herself a spiffing new backpack.
In Melbourne I have a favourite statue I used to pass everyday on my way to work. Its the statue of Justice George Higginbotham, third chief justice of Victoria, I used to smile each day as I passed that statue because there was some thing in his eye, something in the way that he lifted his judicial robes revealing just a little ankle that was frankly, quite saucy. Predictably there are statues in Rome and I think I have found my saucy equivalent. Given that the Italians are a passionate people its not just some scanty ankle on show in this statue , its of one man standing with his shirt open revealing a rippling chest while another slightly smaller man appears to be dry humping his leg.
This might just be me, I was sitting in an open topped bus for a lot of that day and did get rather sunburned but I took a picture so you be the judge.
Then there was the crazy old man shouting something that sounded both joyful and obscene in Italian at the tourists while they passive fluttered around him taking photos of the fountain at the centre of the Piazza Barberini, when they didn't respond he decided to balance on the edge of the fountain pretending to fly and singing.
There is a Rome for tourists and a Rome for locals and this can best be illustrated in the economy of sunglasses. The ones that sell to locals you buy in the little markets that crop up in side streets the same way the have for centuries, they cost about 1 euro, I still have mine, my 1 euro specials, they work perfectly well and make me look all sophisticated. The ones that go to tourists have little signs saying latest Italian styles and cost 30 euro. I have also declared it a rule not to go into any restaurant claiming to sell real Italian pizza. If I'm eating pizza in Rome I only want the fake Italian pizza, the stuff they import from Bulgaria.
You know I thought this trip was going to be mostly gastronomic, I mean its Rome after all, but I just haven't had the head space for food. I had some brilliant coffee and a cornetti for breakfast, I had a slice of pizza with tomato, mozzarella and basil on a nice thin base for lunch, a blood orange granita while I wandered around the Campo dei Fiori and a tirimisu gelato while I wandered around looking for a bank that would accept my non Italian bank cards so by the time I got to dinner all I wanted was the strawberries I bought from the market next to where I'm staying.
Another brilliant thing about Rome is the drinking fountains, grazie Roma for the drinking fountains. The pipe beautifully cold spring water down from the mountains and they are everywhere, you just fill up your bottle and go better than paying 1.50 euro for a little bottle in a shop.
So at the end of my first day I know where things are roughly, and had begun to cross the road without believing I'd be killed. What delights await me on day 2? Tune in next time.......

Italy, rare jewels and the green, green grass of London

So in less than a week I shall be in Italy! I'm trying not to lose my mind with excitement and so far self control has won out but I keep going over in my head how I can ditch clothes and make more suitcase space for olive oil, pasta, tomatoes and wine that I plan to smuggle back in my suitcase.
I don't care if I could get them here, they're the only souvenirs I want. As soon as I get back someone is getting a feast. It will erupt spontaneously at the first opportunity.
I've always wanted to go to Italy, ever since I started learning Italian in prep. Dario e sempre in ritardo. And I can still remember enough of the parrot song to sing it to babies for their amusement.

Ma che bello pappagallo
Tutto verde l’occhio giallo
Cosa fai che cosa vuoi
Parli parli parli parli
Parlo parlo parlo parlo
Ma che bello pappagallo
Tutto verde l’occhio giallo
Ma che bello pappagallo
Parlo parlo parlo sì
Tutto verde l’occhio giallo
Ma che è bello pappagallo

Though that probably wont get me very far in Rome or Venice. If I get arrested because they thought I was a lunatic in Rome check my luggage, there will be olive oil for you.
Its going to be a nicely challenging trip though, because I'll be all on my own in a non English speaking country where the streets are all twisty and disorienting and occasionally people throw babies at you to try and steal your wallet. I plan to drop kick any babies thrown my way, that'll learn em. Also beyond the basics I'm not going nuts planing this trip. I have a few things that I want to do like see the Trevi fountain and throw a coin in, see Bocca della Verità, try tiramisu in Rome and gelato in Venice. Try to find some awesome pizza so I can steal the recipe. The reason for choosing Venice apart from it being pretty was that Ms Hayes, who took me for Renaissance History in year 11 imbued me with a love of both it and Florence that has never left me. I had to choose between Florence and Venice on this trip and I decided Venice because it would be so different from Rome, where some of the marvels of Florence are its galleries and inside spaces, all of Venice is a spectacle. It was still a hard choice, but I do want to see the Piazza di San marco and drink a Bellini in Harry's bar. So Rome and Venice. Prepare to be blogged at.

In the mean time though I've been exploring London. Since last we spoke I went to the natural history museum and saw precious gems, one of which was Alexandrite, which I've fallen a bit in love with and want to find one of my own. It was first discovered in 1834 in Russia and named after Alexander the Second. The reason that its so beguiling is that it changes colour in different light sources from a bluey green to a purply red, just beautiful. I also went to the British museum, where I saw the Rosetta Stone and a bunch of mummies and then wandered through Bloomsbury. I went to Camden, which was fantastic once you got away from the crowds of people and made it to the canals, walking along them it was hard to imagine you were in London.
Since the weather has been so agreeable I've been spending a lot of time wandering around the parks in London too. Walked through Regents Park which was quite pretty. Went and saw the crazies at speakers corner in Hyde park on a Sunday where I was told I was a sinner for putting out, a sinner for not putting out enough and both the cause of damnation for the human race and of entirely no consequence to it. What was even more fun was watching the allegedly sane people try and argue with them. Don't goad the crazies, it is a fool who takes up a fools argument. Saw the Albert Hall that day as well, I still don't know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall though, even google cant tell me.
Went to Hampstead Heath last weekend and climbed Parliament Hill lay in the long grass and took in the views of London. This weekend its off to Highgate Cemetery to find the graves of Karl Marx and Douglas Adams. Ah London, I love you, we always have such fun.

Next stop Italy!!!!!

Easter in the north and the scent of gorse

Finally some time to catch up on the blog. How are we all then? Time to seems to eddy and pool in ways that I'm not used to lately and in looking back at the last time I posted more time has passed than I intended between blog posts. Since last I wrote I got back from Scotland, headed back to work for a bit and then off to Newcastle to see the family for Easter. I've been up to Newcastle a bunch of times so that's nothing new I'd always had this feeling of coming home in a strange way whenever I've seen the Angel of the North but this time it was slightly different. I'm feeling much more at home in London now and so for the first time when I saw that giant rusty angel I thought of London instead. I did have a great break up there though. A bit of shopping at the Royal Quays to get stupidly cheap name brand runners. I bought a pair there at Christmas but with all the walking I've been doing I wore them out. Did some caching down that way as well and found a geo coin and a travel bug that wanted to go back to West London.
One of the highlights of this particular trip was getting to meet up with my cousin Phil and his wife Gill for the first time. They live just outside of Newcastle in a place called Warkworth which is nice and green and away from the city in the Northumberland countryside. I shall take a moment here to extol the virtues of Northumberland water, when I went to the icehotel I raved about the water, I am a lover of water, I can taste the difference when I travel from place to place and I drink a lot of the stuff, its good for you, you should try it. So anyway, my last benchmark for fantastic water had to be the icehotel, it was the water by which all other waters are measured and to be honest with you I was dubious that I would ever find something that tasted as sweet until I drank Northumberland water. Dear god, tis a mighty drop. Clean and clear and genuinely refreshing, London, I love you but your water tastes like a mixture of shame, bile and decomposition.
So Phil and Gill came by my Aunty Mary's to pick me up and took me to their local which is an amazing little place called The Cook and Barker. I had the best starter I think I've ever had anywhere which was a Craster kipper with a horseradish cream on a bed of new potatoes with a little leafy salad. I cant remember the last time I ever had a kipper let alone some fresh horseradish. I was used to the stuff that's weak and comes in jars actually so when I had my firsts hit of horseradish I felt it explode through my head in a rush. Cleared my nose though, I've never breathed so freely. Kippers I had as a kid, my Dad would make them for his breakfast and then let me have some, they are smoky and salty and beautiful if they're properly smoked and not dyed. I tried to send some back to Australia but apparently the quarantine laws prevent it now, was going to surprise Dad with them. My main was a lamb shank and dessert was crème brulee, I love cracking through the tops of them and can never pass one over on a menu. We headed home after dinner and then up the next day early so that we could head out to Holy Island also known as Lindesfarne, its the site of an ancient monastery as well as a little village and a castle. To reach it you have to cross a causeway that floods twice a day, Sir Walter Scot had this to say about it:

For with the flow and ebb, its style
Varies from continent to isle;
Dry shood o'er sands, twice every day,
The pilgrims to the shrine find way;
Twice every day the waves efface
Of staves and sandelled feet the trace.

On Good Friday pilgrims walk the few miles of causeway over to Holy Island as a devotional thing and as you cross it you pass what looks like little sheds on stilts with steps up to them, those are the shelters that you have to run up if you get caught by the tide, it comes in pretty quick. They make mead there as well, you better believe I got me some of that. Well, technically I got it for Dad actually I should post it back to him before I drink it. We walked all over the ruins of the monastery and then a little way around the village before walking up to the castle. It was originally built in the 1500's but was bought in 1901 by the guy who owned Country Life magazine and renovated as his summer house. When you look around inside you can see photos of the well to do's hanging around the front of the castle in their cricket whites and such. All very Pimms and Cucumber sandwiches don't you know. After making good our escape from Holy Island before the sea reclaimed the causeway we headed down the coast towards Bamburgh, another lovely place with a castle. It was packed out because it was Holy Thursday and kids were off from school so we ended up stopping for a picnic in the sand dunes between Bamburgh and Seahouses which was beautiful. It was a really windy day but in the shelter of the long grass, nestled in the dunes we happily picnicked then wandered down on to the beach for a little after lunch walk. We were passed by people riding horses on the waters edge and I looked for seashells, which for some reason you never seem to find that many of now days, why is that? We headed back to the car and then on to Craster where my previous evenings kippers came from, its a pretty little harbour village which consists mostly of the smoke house, a pub and a handful of shops. You pass through it on your way to another castle called Dunstanburgh which is mostly a ruin, even in the 1600's it was a ruin, it was built in the 1300's after all. We walked about a mile to get to it over rolling Northumbrian coast line dotted with both gorse and sheep, I fell in love with gorse. Phil told me it smelled like coconut but I didn't believe him, why would something out there naturally smell like coconut. But I swear to god he was right, now when I own a house I want to plant some, every time the wind blew over it you got this amazing waft of coconut and its such a cheery yellow.
We were all wrecked after so much walking and so went home and had a quiet dinner before relaxing in front of the fire. The next day was Warkworth Castle which is actually mentioned in Shakespeare's Henry the 8th part 2

this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,
Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,
Lies crafty-sick.

More walking and taking photos, two of my favourite things. The weather held out for us all weekend and the second we got back from Warkworth it started to barrel down but by then we were in the car and heading back to Mary's in Percy Main.
I had a few days back there before heading home to London, we went to a brilliant fish and chips place called Christian's, its right on the fish quay. I wanted to get pictures but my camera had other ideas.
So now I'm back at work and busying myself with plans for the trip to Italy, the flights and accommodation are all booked and I've decided to spend 3 days in Rome and then 3 days in Venice. I might see less places but I'll see more of the places I do see, if that makes sense. I'm practising ordering gelato in Italian. Finally I shall get to see all the places that Ms Hayes talked about in Unit 3 and 4 Renaissance History. My trusty lap top Bruce will probably be coming with me on that trip so hopefully I can blog in bits rather than having one giant mega blog about it all.
At least this one has been educational I've quoted Sir Walter Scot and Shakespeare at you, highbrow indeed. Ciao a tutti.