Monthly Archives: January 2012

The Secret Under the Slate

31 Tuesday Jan 2012

Posted by in General, Structure

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When we first bought Godzillavilla it was actually a little more habitable than it became once reconstruction started. It had running water (cold only), rudimentary electricity, and actual opening and closing windows instead of just holes. It also had a functioning toilet.

This was the hygienic part

Based on these luxuries we decided to camp out in the house for a couple of weeks in the first summer. We slept on cots on the middle floor and let the bats keep the top floor, while the squirrels held firm to the bottom level. The squirrels were, in fact, so angry about us being in their house that they used to come out at night and cling to the beams that held up the floor under our beds, chattering their displeasure at the top of their ferocious little lungs. Apparently squirrels are highly territorial.

Being no strangers to real, outdoor camping, we found this fun. So it was a most unfortunate day when we decided to make a garden table out of a slate slab that had been lying on the ground beside the wall of the house, in the area we were clearing for the garden. It was a lovely slab, thick and nicely rectangular; why would anyone have left such a nice thing on the ground? We prised it up carefully and discovered the answer: it was the cover to an otherwise open cesspool that by then contained two weeks of toilet dumpings. The toilet drained directly into it.

Gives new meaning to the term 'bog garden'

That’s when we decided to rent the little apartment up the road. It has a real toilet – and no squirrels. Add a septic system to the list of Godzilla’s needs!

Bella Figura and the Open Air Opera

24 Tuesday Jan 2012

Posted by in Culture

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Of all the social skills critical to living in Milan, the mother ship of them all is a concept known as bella figura. More or less translatable as cutting a fine figure, it embraces not just how one dresses, but also manners and comportment. Wearing track pants downtown would, for example, be the polar opposite of bella figura. Not even when popping out to the corner store for milk, please. Ditto using the familiar tu form prematurely. Or offering to help clear the table when you’re at someone’s house for dinner, even with a good friend.

Setting up; don't let the plastic chairs fool you

So what this got to do with opera? Well, I thought the concept was more of a Milanese thing until I went to the open air opera in Varese Ligure. It’s put on every summer in the centre of the medieval borgo. A stage is set up, plastic chairs are brought in, and for several weeks they pack the place. The first summer that my daughter and I decided to go, I had dressed in casual pants (not jeans!) and a light sweater. With plastic chairs, how dressy could it be? But when I happened to mention to my landlady that we were headed to the event she looked at me and, in a tone that sounded an awful lot like my mother, said “not dressed like that, surely?”

Quick as a wink I said no, of course not, and rushed upstairs to put on a dress.

Figaro understood bella figura

And I have to say, the performance totally warranted the extra measure of respect that dressing for the occasion implies. Rather than the amateurish local production I was expecting, it was one of the best operas I’ve ever attended, with stunning voice quality. The opera was The Barber of Seville; for the first time ever, I actually understood what Figaro was going on about in his famous ‘factotum’ aria. It was as easily entertaining as watching a modern musical.

If you’d like more information on the Varese summer opera, here’s the link: http://www.liricavareseligure.org/galleria_3.html  It’s an exceptional night out. But wear something nice!

The Resistance of Common Plants

20 Friday Jan 2012

Posted by in Garden, General

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When we moved from our home in Milan back to Canada, I wanted to save some the plants I’d put into our Milan garden. It wasn’t so much that they were botanically special – they were common as dirt, actually – but they held memories. So I bagged them up one day in June, a hot and therefore terrible time to transplant, stuck them in unimproved soil under the cherry tree on the south side of Godzillavilla and, after a scant 3 weeks of watering and caring for their transition, left them to deal with the rest of the summer, and all the other seasons for that matter, without an ounce of help.

Buried alive

When I came back in autumn they were under a deep stack of roof beams that had been demolished to make way for the new roof.

When we came back in spring we cleared away the beams. Miraculously, thin shoots that resembled white asparagus, photosynthetically deprived but growing, were stumbling their way up towards the light. I can’t tell you how excited this got me, to see the plants surviving. It was like some kind of reassurance that memories could be kept alive. OK so the euphorbia wulfenii bit the dust, but it wants to live on a warm, sunny coast rather than inland, and how could I blame it?

So here’s the list of dull but heroic plants that have now survived 6 years of neglect: spirea Anthony Waterer, cotoneaster dammeri, sedum spectabilis autumn joy, common iris and common house ivy. They may not be glam, but I’ll take them on my team anytime.

Hero first class

Italian Time

14 Saturday Jan 2012

Posted by in Culture

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This is my apocryphal story about learning to be content in Italy. I know some of you will gasp and wonder how one could not be content, but ask any expat and they’ll give you a long list, especially when it comes to the concept of time.

My life-changing event took place, rather mundanely, at my local dry cleaner when we were living in Milan. I had brought in my clothes; browns and blacks. The lovely lady who owns the place told me to come back for them on Thursday, which I did.

But when I returned, my clothes weren’t ready. I felt the quick spark of righteous indignation that flares in many Anglo Saxons when services don’t meet the agreed schedule. Decades of living in a society that worships efficiency does that to you. Predictably, my anger started to rise as I stood before the empty counter.

Then I realized – dare I use the word epiphany? – that I didn’t actually need those clothes that day. I had other things I could wear. The reason my clothes hadn’t been cleaned was because Italians don’t mix colours at the dry cleaner’s, they have too much respect for clothing. There hadn’t been enough dark things at the cleaner’s that week to warrant a load. It was a sensible, economical decision. My clothes would get cleaned (perfectly, lovingly, and thriftily) when it was practical.

Wow. I suddenly understood that all I had to do to be happy in Italy was remember that time is fluid, our needs are never absolute, and exigencies are a part of daily life.

And that I have other stuff to wear. How liberating.

Make like the patient land and chill out

The Local Party Machine

12 Thursday Jan 2012

Posted by in Community, General

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No I’m not talking politics, I’m talking party. Every other Saturday night in the summer, in the hills above Godzillavilla, there’s a community party that involves the best dinner deal in Italy, followed by dancing to a live band. It’s all put on by local volunteers who cook the meals, serve them, organize the music and clean up. Proceeds help fund worthwhile projects in the area.

Fuelling up for the dance marathon to come

Each night has a different gastronomic theme. My favorites are the strawberry extravaganza and testaroli night (a kind of savoury pancake). Everybody eats at communal tables and getting a seat can involve some waiting, these evenings are so popular.

Hooray for strawberry night

The thing I love most about them is the wide-spread, ageless participation. Everybody from little children to grandparents goes, including teenagers and twentysomethings, a group you’d never see boogying with Grannie in Canada. The bands are classic Italian countryside groups whose songbooks include covers of pop music as well as all the best Italian classics. Paolo Bertoli is one of the favorites and always draws a good crowd.

Boogey on down with Paolo

Dancing is an intimidating affair for us, since these people know what they’re doing. Tarantellas, foxtrots, polkas, waltzes – and a particular line-dancing number that I can almost follow after a lot of practice – are all effortless for the locals. Still, no-one laughs at our less skilled efforts. Everybody’s there to have a good time. The party rocks hard into the night and the music echoes out over the entire valley. No point in going to bed early with that volume, so you might as well dance the night away!