Thursday morning
I’m home alone. The boys are away. I am, at the same time, missing them, feeling a little alone and revelling in the peace and the solitude.
This morning, my two beautiful fellas took the train to Passau in Germany for a self-guided cycle along the Danube to Viena, Austria. They’ll be gone for a week. They’re travelling with two amigos of John’s from his uni days. It will be spectacularly beautiful and… not for me. Too many boys and way too much nerdy testosterone.
The timing is good. We all needed some time apart. If I’m honest, I couldn’t wait for them to leave. Jack needs some time away from I.T. John needs some time with friends. I need some time alone to commune with Verona.
Having said all that, as soon as they left, I missed them.
The really noticeable missing of them usually persists for a day or two. This seems to be my standard period of adjustment to a new state of being over here.
The apartment is silent except for the whirring of the fridge and the odd muffled sound from the street. It’s pleasantly cool inside and all closed up because, outside, summer has arrived.
It’s quiet… so quiet without them.
But it’s OK because, today, I will meet friends to practise chatting in Italian. The group is meeting at 12 noon so there’ll be drinkies and laughter and plans will be made for social connection.
It’s a few hours later and I’ve been to Le Ciacole - my Italian chat group. There’s a plan in place for Saturday night and other things in the pipeline. Feeling fab.
There are also jobs to do: a trip to the hardware store to get a few things fixed and packing to do for another trip away. I need to rest my increasingly dodgy back. My bod and my brain will thank me for this down time before lifting off again at the end of next week for a tour of the Scottish Highlands with my dear Italian friend, Eleonora.
This week, I’ll take long evening walks along the Adige and through the centre of town. I so love this place. I’ll finish re-watching Inspector Morse (more about that later) before re-watching Endeavour with new eyes and ears. There are so many connections between the two series and even an episode filmed in Verona!!! Can’t believe it. I also want to settle into some daily Italian study and I need to prep the house for our next guests in late July.
In short, there’s never nothing to do… just a balance to be struck between productivity and rest.
It’s good for me to stop and be in the nothingness for a while… to sit in a space… to be without the, even minor, chaos that comes with a small family like mine. To feel the peace while being aware of the world continuing to move around me. It makes me appreciate my beautiful little family and being in Italy. Cally, from Macchione, might describe it as “holding space” for something. I like that turn of phrase. Surely, it cannot be abrasive to anyone.
Thursday evening
It’s 11:00pm and I’ve just stepped out of the apartment for a walk before bed. We’re operating on Italian time here folks.
It’s pleasantly warm and there are plenty of people about. There’s a summer buzz in the air. No crowds. No tourists. Just a peaceful togetherness.
The place of pace is just 3 minutes walk away in Piazza Bra where the Roman arena is hosting an opera. People travel from all over the world to witness these events. As I walk, I can hear the intermission announcements and see that some patrons are taking the opportunity to escape. The operas finish very late and not everyone can make the distance.
On the other side of the Piazza, in Palazzo della Gran Guardia, another opera singer is going her hardest for a formal event with begowned guests spilling out onto the steps. It’s probably warm inside and the smokers have to go somewhere. In the Piazza, the gelato is still flowing. (Shame on the Swiss vendors closing so early.)
The restaurant patrons are content, with full tummies and a few drinks under their belts. There’s a consistent murmur and regular bursts of laughter. No evidence of the drunk and disorderly.
After a wander along the beautiful marble-paved Via Giuseppe Mazzini and a gaze in the shop windows, I arrive in the other place of pace - Piazza Erbe. The restaurants which line one side of the Piazza are now populated by a young crowd of drinkers. As I move about, I see that the young have claimed the city at this late hour. The tourists are either scurrying home from the opera or already asleep.
Gosh, I’m going to miss this once we’re home. I suspect Melbourne might be the only place where I can hope to find this atmosphere this late at night and without the drunken disorderliness referred to earlier. I never feel safer out at night than when I’m here in Italy. In Australia, as a woman, alone, my radar must always be firmly switched-on.
Saturday morning
This morning, I braved the buses and took a trip to San Giovanni Lupatoto - 30 minutes out of Verona. (Only true followers of this blog know what that really means.)
What’s there? “Decathlon”. Think “Rebel Sports” in Aus. The only difference between the two is the standard of service. Decathlon is a large, warehouse-style establishment just like Rebel (a sales model which I detest) but, in this case, you can actually track down a person to help you without too much difficulty, they do know about the stock they’re selling and they’re always happy to help.
To get there, I used an App called Verona Bus which is very useful for finding out how to get somewhere by bus… the route number, the location of the bus stop, etc. But… there’s always a ‘but’ with bus travel… the App purports to track the bus as it stops along the way but it doesn’t line up with reality so one needs to, simultaneously, keep an eye on Google Maps to work out where one is and where one should actually get off.
This morning, it was only by chance that I saw the Decathlon store out the window of the bus and was able to jump off in the right place. Had I relied totally on the App, I would still be on that bloody bus. Switzerland wins this one hands down. It couldn’t be easier to use bus transport than it is in Switzerland. It is truly a perfect system.
Anyway, I spent ~1.5 hours inside that cavernous store choosing new hiking boots for the Scotland thing and a few other bits and pieces. I tried to buy a cap but the adult one-size-fits-all is an absolute lie and the kids’ caps were too small. Who the hell is designing active wear anyway? It’s disgustingly ugly in most cases and I’m glad I didn’t need to buy any of it. And this is Italy? If it was going to be beautiful anywhere in the world, it would here!
I last bought hiking boots in Pisa, Italy in the year 1990. No, that’s not a typo. I was on my first ever trip overseas, with a boyfriend. I still remember the little shop and how sweet and interested in us the shop owners were. Tourism was not what it is today and we were quite the curiosity… two sweet, green young things… in Pisa… all the way from Australia and buying hiking boots. That pair of boots is still with me only these days, they’re my gardening boots. They’ve been re-soled several times. Pleading was involved… men have wanted me to toss them out. Living on a hillside in Roseville as we do, gardening is a serious business and requires serious equipment. I wonder if my gardening days are over? (Thinking about my dodgy back.)
New boots in hand, I need to try to reverse the success of this morning and find a bus home. I’m alone on the bus stop - which never instills confidence that one is on the right track. It’s stinking hot and there’s no shade. Thank goodness I wore my hat today. I’m joined by others, thankfully. A man about my height needs me to move aside so he can scrutinise the bus timetable attached to the signpost. Only one bus route. Bus 22… and the Castelvecchio appears on the list of stops… all very comforting.
The man tells me that his bike has just been stolen from outside the shopping centre. He says he was only inside for five minutes. They cut the chain and took it. Poor guy. I sympathise and we get talking. He’s from Colombia, he lives here now and loves it. He works as a mechanic. He’s very widely travelled although he has no time for travel these days. He too busy working in order to support himself.
As we chat, we’re standing facing each other. Obviously, he’s facing one direction and I’m facing the opposite way. I wonder to myself that he is trusting me to see and flag-down the bus as it approaches. But, when it arrives, it turns out he is facing the correct direction to spot the bus. Not me. Oh dear followers… no surprises there.
God bless the air conditioning on that bus. I offer him the seat beside me and we chat almost all the way back home. He’s very patient of my faulty Italian. I love these exchanges. As we part, I tell him what a pleasure it was speaking with him before wishing him a good day and good luck in Italian. He flashes his Colombian smile and alights.
Inspector Morse
Now… back to the important matter of Inspector Morse.
I know it’s dated and a bit naff now but… oh my goodness… the string of actors who appeared in that show is staggering. Almost everyone who is anyone has been in it. These are just some of the really big names… Simon Callow, Geoffrey Palmer, Tom Wilkinson, Jason Isaacs, Anna Chancellor, Ian McNeice, Jim Broadbent, Diana Quick, Martin Clunes, Rupert Graves (favourite actor ever), Michael Kitchen (another favourite), Rachel Weisz (OMG), John Gielgud, Robert Hardy, Richard Griffiths, Harriet Walter (love her), Brian Cox (wonderful but scary as all hell) and Richard Briers. Of course, many of these people are Sirs and Dames now and not all are still living.
Some characters cross over multiple series, appearing in the prequel “Endeavour” and again in “Inspector Morse” and even in the follow-on “Inspector Lewis”. Caroline O’Neill appears in Lewis as a minor character before playing the steadfast Mrs Win Thursday in Endeavour - the woman behind Fred Thursday. Roger Allam (who plays the great Fred Thursday himself) appears in Lewis as an amorous young academic on the rise before his world is torn apart by a vicious college Master played by Richard Briers. Priceless!
As I recently re-watched Inspector Morse, I was stunned and delighted to see that one episode is set in Italy!! Better yet, the storyline begins in Vicenza (just an hour east of where I’m sitting) and features an opera singer who obviously must perform at the Roman Arena di Verona… arguably the opera capital of Europe. Bloody fantastic!
At the climax of this story, Lewis is seen charging off down Piazza Bra to catch a ‘bad guy’ and the episode ends with both Morse and Lewis sitting under the stars, transfixed by the opera singer who is giving a “sublime” performance in the Arena. Perfection itself and not at all naff.
Inspector Lewis
I’ve never had any interest in watching Inspector Lewis before - perhaps for good reason. I mean, how could it possibly measure up? But… I’m giving it a go. I must have too much time on my hands. Nobody say that in the comments please.
It is interesting to see the historical development of policing and forensics between the mid 1960s and 2015. In my opinion, there are definite weaknesses in the Lewis series. For example, there’s no way Lewis would actually listen to Wagner when at home and off duty. It’s certainly nice to think that Morse rubbed off on him and successfully converted Lewis to Wagner but I’m not buying it. There’re also far too many scenes with Lewis and Hathaway (Lewis’ sidekick) striding purposefully along the police station corridors discussing the latest developments of a case. Now that I think about it, in the Morse series, most of these scenes took place in a variety of genuinely beautiful British pubs. Morse did all his best thinking with a drink in his hand.
One thing I think the series did exceptionally well was the segue between the Morse and the Lewis series. We see the tenderness with which Lewis remembers Morse and all that he learnt from the master detective. We occasionally hear Lewis repeating snippets of Morse’s street wisdom to Hathaway… passing the baton. Morse sometimes pops up in one of Lewis’ cases. There’ll be a letter on file, written by Morse to a character who is now much older and remembers Morse fondly. We’ll ignore Series 2, Episode 3 which is absolute crap. That’s where I’m up to and I’m hoping it doesn’t get any worse.
The longevity of the franchise born of Colin Dexter’s wonderful writing is kept alive by the formulaic dynamic between the two lead characters. In the case of Inspector Lewis, Hathaway has the requisite eye for detail, the intellectual rigour, the historical and literary knowledge befitting an Oxford scholar which is insufficient without the nouse and the depth of experience which Lewis brings. There’s nothing at all mysterious about Lewis’s character whereas Hathaway is an enigma. Facets of his character are hinted at but we never fully know and understand him. The same dynamic existed between Morse and Lewis but in reverse. In the Endeavour prequel, it lives between Thursday (a street-wise family man) and Endeavour (a cultured Oxford scholar and a details man who cannot rest where ever lies an unresolved puzzle). A winning formula.
Endeavour
Endeavour is simply exquisite. Beautifully cast, written, costumed and shot. There is so much to be learned from simply observing Endeavour’s wardrobe and his digs over the course of the nine series.
Ya gotta be a devotee to make the distance.
Why I love them
The beauty of Oxford has a lot to do with it. I can see these shows are not exactly cool but neither am I… so they’re a good fit.
In another life, I would have worked in British TV as a Continuity person. You know, the person whose job it is to make sure each shot in a scene is consistent with the previous and the next so that, when the editors chop it all together, everyone’s hair looks the same, they’re wearing the right clothes the right way and the extras are all in the right place and doing the right thing. The joggers and the guy riding past on the bicycle need to be in the right place as the scene cuts from one camera shot to another. As a details person, I think I would have been good at that job.
I’m the nerd who’s been known to pause the show I’m streaming in order to check these details. What an admission! I’ll also pause a scene to take-in the detail of a room, particularly when we get to see inside a main character’s home. Someone has spent time collecting objects and placing them just so in order to build a picture of our hero… to help us understand who they are and why they behave the way they do… what has brought them to this time and place… their beliefs, flaws and idiosyncrasies.
Gardens… I also study the gardens in these shows. I mean… wow! The lush beauty of an English garden is a thing to behold. My kingdom for a flat patch of ground with rich soil and perfect growing conditions.
Enough.
Saturday night
I got myself a life and went out to a summer music festival tonight. Only 20 minutes walk from home. I went with Kseniia - a beautiful mum from the Ukraine who lives in Verona now with her husband and two young daughters. Not the first Ukrainian family I’ve met which has needed to resettle in Italy due to the war.
Kseniia is driving from outer Verona to join me tonight and she’s going to park in our very own car space behind our apartment at my invitation. But, first, I need to create a little scene in the Chinese takeaway joint downstairs because the owner has parked in our spot. He’s a repeat offender. I must say, I quite enjoyed walking in there and speaking Italian much like an Italian would when there’s a wrong to be righted. I was not rude of course - but definitely forthright and unapologetic.
Our walk to the festival is pleasant but it’s a hot sticky evening and rain is threatening. The main act tonight is a band called “Funky Town”. We’re going mostly because the guitarist - Gianni - is a mutual friend. I’ve seen the band a couple of times now. They’re a tight unit but I’m not a fan of the repertoire which is mostly dated 80s and 90s disco hits - great for a dance if you’ve had a drink or two but - not something to sit and listen to. Kseniia came off her bike yesterday so her knee is strapped and I’m nursing my back to be fit for the Highlands next week. No dancing for us.
While we sit there, swapping travel stories, a familiar face appears from the crowd. It’s Cristina (Italian friend). She’s with another woman who says we’ve met before but I don’t remember… oops. Here it is again… the obvious advantage to living in a place the size of Verona. I think I bump into more people I know here than I do at home in Roseville. I love it.
A few sprinkles of rain arrive, relieving the intense heat but the damage is done and I’m keen to get home and freshen up with a shower. It is midnight after all.
As I arrive home, I spot Paolo (our fruit and vege guy) riding home on his pushbike. We exchange a smile and a “Buonasera”.
On days like this, I really feel part of this community.
You're obviously a perfectionist Rachel and creative and notice every little detail. Do it once and do it right, is your motto?
Enjoy your time while your boys are enjoying their cycle.
Your italian must be really coming along. I'm jealous!
Much love
Carol
Hello, I loved reading this and catching up xx