Wednesday 12 August 2015

An electric shock, an earthquake and bronchitis

The breeze across the lake has been beautiful this week. The breaking waves and dancing leaves during lunches and dinner, while everyone is chattering in Italian (which makes things sound far more funny than in your own language) and laughing over stories told with the odd word from another language thrown in. To fill yourself silly with lunch and then to potter 5 minutes up the road and awkwardly lay on the stoney beach is something every university should consider allowing their students to do. After the rocks have imprinted adequately on both sides of your body, you head back to the Palazzo, via the gelateria, of course. A cup with pistachio and niociola.
The days have been beautiful but of course, we have also been so lucky to have amazing lecturers and lessons. Not only are we pushed in the lessons (sometimes a little left behind) but the professors themselves are great company and friends. They truly make all of us feel comfortable to speak and be completely immersed in our language. I am blown away by their dedicated and patience with us and am extremely lucky to have been accepted on this course of Italian life experience, let alone for the formal learning.
Whilst living, eating, socialising and studying all with the same group of people you come to have many experiences where it's always wise to just laugh it off. There is a certain, Slovenia woman here who has come to be known throughout the whole course, including the lecturers, and not in a positive manner. However, I was beginning to worry where all the hormones were in a course full of 32 females. Even my sweet, little room mate is a tad "uncultured" in her understanding of space and time having done her clothes washing at 3am, forgotten to turn her alarm off (that's set to her home country time and subsequently goes off at 5am) and not told me that she wants to sleep while I'm casually chilling, all lights ablaze!
To add to the difficulties of living in the pocket of a complete stranger for 3 weeks, I was marched to the doctors for a slight bark that I'd had for a while and found out I'd been jumping round with bronchitis for 2 weeks. Subsequently, the antibiotics have been marvellous, adding to the sweltering heat and sleepless nights. Although, the afternoons at the beach and relaxing weekend definitely helped. In fact while the school were hiking in the mountains on a sweaty Sunday afternoon, I sat outside with 2 of the professors, eating a lovely salad and chatting about nothing (without thinking it was in Italian.) Adding to the unexpected events of the week, I was on FaceTime to Timothy, showing off the beautiful scenery, stretching my hand out of the window. All of a sudden I spun round, involuntarily screaming at the top of my voice after it felt like someone had put an axe in my lower back. No one was there and as I regained my breath two of the girls ran in. Apparently, there's a very strong electric cable running along the window sill to keep out the birds. On the same day, we were sitting in the kitchen after a filling spread of meats and cheeses and a few glasses of wine, when the building swayed. This was not a result of the Italian equivalent to Lambrini but in fact an earthquake. There were another two tremors during which we all just stared at each other. Another odd experience to tick off my list.
To continue my rave about this amazing experience, we were amazingly fortunate to have a trip to Verona Arena organised for us. The Verona Arena. Italian Opera in THE Italian city of romance, opera and beauty. As the sun set behind the remains of this beautiful piece of art, the conductor raised his baton and I was lost. There are seas of people but even with the stone ledge that you're perched on, it feels like it's just you. That Soprano is confessing her love to you. The orchestra is playing for you, especially that piccolo solo dancing with the melody of the chorus on stage. The set was breathtaking, with 20 foot hedges and 6 foot wide red roses. The incredible voices of these admirable people rung throughout the audience in the arena. A truly beautiful and indescribable experience. Although we saw Barber of Seville, a traditional comedic opera, it was very emotional for me. I am very lucky and am thankful for everyone who has helped me as it has been my dream to be in Italy, let alone watch an opera here. At the end the arena was illuminated with fireworks set along the steps behind the stage. A spectacular ending to a beautiful evening. We all clambered into the bus that swerved along the tiny streets along Lago Garda, that would make the most experienced traveller ill.
And there started the final week. Not only the last week in this beautiful location with some truly wonderful friends, but my last week in this amazing country that I'm incredibly lucky to have called my home for this summer. I'm looking forward to a few more nights out with the girls and then to leave this beautiful and ancient building where the question of the course has been "Oggi, c'è wi-fi?" (In English, is the fucking wifi working yet!!)

Tuesday 4 August 2015

The beautiful lake side town of Gargnano

I've spent just a week now in the beautiful lake-side town of Gargnano. To be studying in Italy in general is an amazing experience but to be studying in a beautiful palazzo that backs onto the lake, to have lectures on the floor below where you sleep and to eat communal meals on the back patio makes it more than incredible. We are living like a boarding school on the top floor, sharing rooms. This, in itself, is a new experience for me. I have never shared a room like this, especially with someone from a completely different culture. My room mate is especially different. She's very sweet but from a very different background, a tiny part of life's rich tapestry. 

The first few days were very intense with a variety of tests and information overload. Everyone was pretty tired, most of them having arrived a few days before the course but all made an effort to chat. We were spilt into classes for the first half of the day and then all meet for lunch. The quantity of food is something that I've experienced a lot in Italy but this is something else. It's really difficult not to eat all 3 types of carbs during the meal, even if you're stuffed from the first bowl of pasta. But it's wonderful to sit in the shade of the fur trees, with the sound of the waves and beautiful surrounding landscape, chatting with people from all over the world in your second language. It's very interesting that our common language is our second language, a demanding concept having to speak a second language all the time but such an eye opening experience. Also, interestingly enough, groups have gravitated together and mostly with common cultures or first languages. This has resulted in me having a wonderful group of girl friends all from Canada, America and Australia. 

The town that we're in is quaint and small enough to wander around in 10 minutes. The beach is a 5 minute walk from the university building, the gelateria is across the road and the local beach club is in the next town, a 15 minute stumble away. It's idyllic and means when walking round you'll always bump into another student or lecturer and in fact become a local in the super market and bars. 

By the Friday we were knackered and headed to the local bar, after sitting at the dinner table till 10.30 putting the world to rights. We had a few drinks by the light of the bonfire, with some hilarious Italian man singing along to the Police. It was so Italian. The next day the majority of people woke up at the crack of dawn (including my roommate who couldn't have made any more noise) and ventured to Milan for the EXPO whereas me and 4 other girlies woke up late and within 10 minutes were on the lake side with coffee and brioche for breakfast. It started to rain so we all had a bit of time chilling in our rooms and sorting and then all headed down into the television room. We looked like refugees all snuggled up with blankets and jumpers watching a film while the rain poured outside. It was so cosy and I was actually blessed to feel a bit cold after the weeks of 40 degree heat and screaming children. We scampered to the supermarket and bought an array of meats and cheeses for a buffet type dinner. We all squeezed into the little kitchen with music, wine and card games. It was a beautiful and hilarious evening. The following day we laid on the beach, playing games, chatting and eating left over watermelon. Slightly bronzed and sleepy, we curled up together, watched some awful Italian television and headed to bed. I would love to stop there and say that we all drifted off pleasantly, but this is Italy. Due to the rain on Saturday, the festival in the town had been postponed to the following night. It honestly sounded as if it was in the room next door. The awful 80's tunes rung throughout the town, louder than the endless church bells that hammered round our hangover heads that very morning. Oh Italy. 

Thursday 30 July 2015

From a tutor to a student

To feel at home at another families house, what a feeling. I had a few wonderful days with my host family in Cremona. Some amazing lay-ins without a grandma peeking round the corner, an afternoon at one of the biggest water parks I've seen and real conversations about meaningful things that we were all interested in, rather than small talk about the complexities of what my father does for a living. "He creates food for gli animali?!" Great food, laying in the sun in the garden (yet being plied with sun cream) and a lovely family.

Last Thursday I got on a train and headed to Verona. Checked in to a beautiful hotel, that was weirdly only 2 star, and was reminded how easy it is to waste time in a hotel. I pranced about, laid all my clothes pristinely in the wardrobe, read the little soap packages with excitement and stood at the window watching the Veronese world go by. This sounds ridiculous but it's a great feeling being completely alone and doing what you want. Feeling far too excited and a little bit sick, I headed out at 8 for a wander and potentially some kind of pizza or pasta, not a difficult request in Italy. After 10 minutes gawping at the beautiful architecture and window flower pots, dodging the mopeds and weaving through the bars that have spilled into the street, I turned the corner into what seemed like the centre. It was buzzing with people and a line of restaurants and bars created the background music of wine glasses and cutlery on plates. I had no idea that within 2 minutes I would be utterly breath taken by the Verona Arena. It is outstanding. In the middle of the city, an ancient building, towering over everything else. It's as if it's from another world. I had dinner and a glass of wine in ore at this magnificent piece of art. I struggled to sleep and woke early, heading to the airport.

The weekend with my best friend was perfect. I've used that word far too much but I cannot explain how amazing it was. Not a single thing I would've change. We laughed, pottered about, fantasised, drunk wine from plastic cups, laughed, chilled the wine in the bidet, had a picnic in our room, laughed sat on the balcony and put the world to rights. It completely flew. Cannot thank him enough, I loved it.

Monday morning we parted at Verona train station and I sat uncomfortably on a packed train back to where I started in Milan. I met a group of people awkwardly standing around a man in an orange polo shirt, the one in the picture in the email that I was sent a week ago. We clambered onto a bus and headed for Gargnano on Lake Garda. I chatted to a lovely girl on the coach and then nodded off. As I opened my eyes we were driving through a tunnel under some mountains and as we came through the other side we saw the beautiful spectacle that is Lago Garda. The rolling mountains created a picturesque backdrop for the shimmering water and collection of idyllic, Italian villas. It was another breath taking sight that I've been fortunate enough to have experience. Words cannot describe the beauty. We followed the lake round to the quaint town of Gargnano. We created a marvellous sight for any locals as we all dragged suitcases and bags through the cobbled streets to our palace of accommodation. Huge stone pillars tower the doorway, fantastic chandeliers hang in the halls and beautiful paintings are scattered throughout what will be our home for the next three weeks.  

Monday 20 July 2015

An evening in Venice

So our final final show was at 8pm on the friday night. It was immensly warm with all the children and parents packed into the hall of the school, with not only the 5 shows from each class but also 3 videos and 2 videos of pictures. By the end of it, the shower that I had taken after camp seemed pointless and I was reminded of why I don't wear makeup in Italy. After, we headed into the centre of Treviso, all packed into 3 cars and again, followed the Italian tradition of standing around for half an hour before heading off to a bar. It was a lovely evening in the warmth of Italy, with spritz and underaged helpers being unable to hold their drink.

I had a wonderful lay-in the following morning despite the 2 year old playing the recorder outside my window at 6am. My lay-in was so good in fact that my host grandma kept popping her head round my door to see if I was still breathing. I had my first proper lazy day in a while and then got ready to go to the Saint's festival in Venice. We headed off about 5pm, all packed in the car with the pushchair on the laps of the people in the far backseat. We took the train from Treviso and arrived in Venezia. It's such a fascinatingly beautiful place and was absolutely rammed with people. We pottered through the masses of people from the train station all the way across the island to Basilico San Marco, lifting the pram over the countless bridges that crossed the canals. It was absolutely breathtaking. Walking round the corner through the thousands of people into the most beautiful piazza, with the sound of glasses cheering, espresso cups chinking their saucers and a band playing an Italian Aria. We found a place to sit and had homemade paninis for dinner. Now, usually, if the fireworks don't start until 11.30 and you had a 2 year old, you would've thought we would have arrived a little later or brought a proper picnic and blankets to sit on but this is Italy. So we sat from 6pm round until the fireworks during which the 2 year old was madly weaving in and out of the people walking past and the 10 year old complaining that his dad kept telling him the wrong start time for the fireworks. The display itself was magnificent and went on for 40 minutes. However, the baby and grandma slept through them, the mum was antsy to go and the son was scared of them. So at 12.30 we were swept through with the crowd as everyone wandered back to the station, stepping over numerous glass bottles and ice cream cones. Upon our arrival we looked at the train times and saw that the next wasn't until 4 in the morning. My host mum hadn't looked up the times of the trains before leaving. Another 'Oh Italy' moment. Luckily I have become accustomed to sleeping in any place I can, so with an empty stomach and in the 30 degree heat, I laid on the train station floor, with the 10 year old in the pram and the 2 year old coursing round the train station, and I slept. We eventually arrived home after standing on a train full of sweaty people and all piling back into the car with the pram back on our laps. But of course when we got back we had to eat breakfast...

So every week you get off the last of 4 or 5 sweaty and uncomfortable trains that have flown you through the beautiful Italian country, picturesque villas and quaint towns until you're so sweaty and you bundle off the train and see the welcoming arms of your host family. However this journey back to my first host family had been slightly more demanding. I got off the second train, only to have found that my connecting train had been cancelled. (I have had such great luck with Italian public transport that it was bound to happen at some point). I rang my host family who said there was another train in 2 hours. I pulled up a chair and got a coffee but at this point I had only slept a few hours since my last long wait in a train station so wasn't feeling my best. My previous host mum had given me a goody bag for the journey, which was full of 4 peaches and 2 apples, which I couldn't actually fit into my luggage and all I really wanted was a bottle of water. But it's so sweet. I eventually arrived back in Cremona and felt wonderful. I was welcomed back so lovingly and fell into bed. I cannot believe that now I have a few days to recuperate before getting to see my boyfriend for a long weekend after 6 weeks away. I am absolutely buzzing.

The last camp of summer 2015

And I'm writing the final certificates for my last camp this summer. Where has it gone? I spent two weeks of camps with just one other tutor, a wonderfully mad Canadian, that was painfully organised and lacked the ability to multi-task. I learnt never to even try to start, continue or finish a conversation with her as soon as she lost eye contact. Regardless, I couldn't have wished for a better tutor to have worked with and a better friend to have spent 2 weeks being the only other fluent English speaker. We rolled our eyes at the length of dinners with host families, we worked out ways to get to leave the dinner table when the children did, we played games to retain a little sanity, made innapropriate and incomprehensible jokes during story time, and fell asleep in the office for 20 minutes before the final show. We sprayed each other with mosquito replant, spent an afternoon in an Italian hospital, laughed hysterical at the children copying our over-exaggerated dance moves and fantasised about mad "what if" stories. We nearly got run over on various bike rides, took artistic pictures and sweated profusely in one of the hottest weeks of the summer. We shared life stories, laughs and then said goodbye. It's such a strange feeling, after dinner out on a Friday night, you hug, get into your host family's car and wave. That's it. You'll occasionally Facebook message and hope you'll bump into them at some point but the foreseeable future involves a new set of people.



So, I packed and left my IOW postcard on the table and headed for Treviso, my last camp. After a few weeks of small camps it was such a relief to spend some time with people of my own age. We had a mass of 8 helpers and 5 tutors, which meant we spent a few evenings out together. In fact my class of this camp was probably the best company I've had all summer. After researching how children learn and having weeks of experience of teaching different ages I feel like I've finally sussed out how to get the right balance between letting them go crazy and bundling me and actually willingly speaking English. Now, obviously, any teacher, instructor or tutor will know that some children just do not give a shit. They are there to make that teacher vein in your forehead come out but I didn't have any of them this week. The camp director had warned me about a certain boy who had been at City Camps for 3 years now and was always the cause of said protruding vein but he was an absolute star. I let him paint my face, played piggy back wars and laughed every time the class
 repeated any word I said (which lasted for a good 15 minutes). Subsequently, this boy, along with the rest of the class, not only learnt their show words perfectly but tried to explain and ask everything in English. Having this 9 year old 'troublemaker' in front of you, getting all aggigtated, hopping from one foot to the other trying to find the words to tell you about the fact he has a t shirt at home with the name of the football player that he is in the final show, is more rewarding than when they repeat the present continuous to you. I was completely blown away by all of them. On the Monday evening we all went to the camp director's house for a pizza and a 2 hour after camp meeting. This definitely set the tone of how the camp director wanted this week to run. Despite the eye rolling between tutors over the table and pointless conversations that went round and round, we had a hilarious dinner with the helpers, sharing random stories and then headed into the town where the streets were buzzing with people for the carnival. We followed the Italian ritual of going to a place and standing around for a good 20/30 minutes before heading somewhere else and continuing the waiting. It is impossible to go out with a group of Italians and not experience this. Yet it was a beautiful evening and we all rolled into camp the next morning looking like death warmed up after getting back home after 2am. Oh Italy.


Despite the slight disagreement between the camp director and tutors, it was a fantastic week. Had such fun and it made me want a 2 week camp but I'm so proud to have ended on such a high. I am so blessed to have had such a wonderful range of camps, tutors, classes and families. I can't believe that's the end of drawing pictures of sheep, teaching directions with blind folded children clambering over tables and smiling ridiculously at the final show when the children are singing their hearts out and your wobbling on a chair at the back of room making faces to make them smile.

Wednesday 1 July 2015

Time is flying away

It's crazy how last week completely flew by as I am now half way through my third week of camp.
It's always such a heart warming moment seeing the child that hasn't said anything for the last two weeks stand in front of an audience of parents that are frantically fanning themselves and talking and proudly state "my name is Giovanni. I have 6 reers old." You can't contain the want to run up to little Giovanni and hug him so tightly. It's even better when Martina is standing in the front row of the choir, playing with the rocks on the ground and giggling, despite having gone over and over the words. Then they just leave. It's just over. Like that. You watch them all potter off with a pile of portfolios, certificates and bits and pieces, to only remember you as 'that English girl at that summer camp.' And you therapeutically tear down the posters in your classroom, collect up all the pens (and pen lids) that were thrown during the pen fight whilst you were out getting paper, and take down the city camp flag whist leaving. Despite this, it's still such a beautiful feeling. I'm not happy because the children have memorised the words to 'Reach for the stars' or because they can now tell me if the bear is in front or behind the box but because I know I have made some sort of impact on these children. I saw them smile and scream and laugh and that's really what this is about.

So as much as the final show is difficult, having to leave the group of fantastic tutors that you have bonded with so quickly over the last few weeks is in another league. This gang of 5 has been wonderfully brilliant and I cannot thank them enough for their support, hard work and shimmy lessons. To be able to pick each other up, make each other laugh and share the weirdest and craziest stories with is something special. It's hard to describe how you can become so close with people in such a short space of time, and this is an overused phrase, but some people just click. I will treasure the memories of our private jokes, ridiculous public embarrassment and loving support. Despite how many times you do it, and how much you learn from doing it, saying goodbye is bloody difficult.

Luckily my next camp was only a 20 minute drive so I didn't have too long to sit and ponder. With only two tutors and older students this camp has been a complete change in pace. Unfortunately, the horrific organisation of our italian company has meant that all our teaching materials are based on a different age group than we have. This has resulted in more work than we should be doing but it's been nice to work together, even if a little demanding.

Mosquitoes.

This deserves it's own paragraph. Being next to the river Po has meant that the moquisitoes are awful. And I'm not being dramatic. The type of mozzies here are called 'Tiger' Mosquitioes and their bites reflect their name. Unfortunately, they love me. Swarm to me. I can stand outside and get 4 or 5 bites within a minute. It's marvellous. Obviously I'm trying everything, several repellents, after bite, cold compresses but my legs look like a dot-to-dot.

Aside from these small inconveniences, the camp is lovely, the family is wonderful (although a tad mad), the tutor I'm working with is becoming a great friend and the kids are bravissimi. AND it's only 22 days until I get to see a certain someone.

Thursday 25 June 2015

Sun, sea and suncream

This weekend has been fabulous. Friday was a great day if not very long and tiring. After originally organising drinks in the piazza with the other tutors, we all crashed out with our host families and I was glad of it. Although 1 hour difference isn't too prominent, it makes a real difference when it's 12 or 1 in the morning. So despite being up late on FaceTime, I woke up early to go to the beach with the family. I had just rolled out of bed as I was asked to put my shoes on. We walked over the courtyard outside to a little bar, where we had coffee and pastries - I felt very Italian. We piled into the car with bags of towels, balls of various sizes, spades, buckets, sun cream, changes of clothes, water and anything else we could pack into the back of the car and we headed off. I'm convoy with the aunt and uncle in one car, we had a few drag races down the motorway and ground to a halt. The motorway was completely stationary for miles (12km, as written on the board). After a bit of fannying about and calling the other car we headed off on a detour. 3 hours later we arrived at the beautiful sands of Massa Carrara. A place that I remember for a previous host mum driving into a mini on the side of mountain. Here we laid in the sun, played a very serious game of volley-ball, swam and launched the children from our shoulders in the sea. Although it was slightly cloudy at first the sun came out and the sea was beautifully warm. We had an amazing sea food lunch under a canopy on the beach with the sound the sea in the background. Numerous tan lines and albums listened to later, at about 7pm, we packed up and clambered back into the car. With the sun still hot on my skin, I laid back in the seat and woke up in the darkness as we were pulling into the drive way. I haven't slept in a car since I was at nursary, I am very comfortable with this family (and was bloody tired). We all sat in a lump on the sofa, had cereals and took turns to shower. I dried and plaited Sofia's hair and fell asleep, phone in head and headphones still in. A truly beautiful family day.
Sunday's been a lovely relax too. I planned lessons sitting in the sun in the garden, just to add to my slowly growing tan and helped prepare lunch. While the parents had a post-lunch sleep I got to watch the F1 (thanks to my boyfriend) and have a chill with the kids. We had another mad bike ride, all in tow, down to the river and the fair. We went on the bumper cars, which was actually just like the Italian's driving in general, and watched the children go green on a kangaroo ride. It's an unbelieve feeling to be accepted so lovingly into a family and feel like you're part of the team. It's indescribable to be welcomed by open arms, to be the one holding the bags, the one riding behind the children making sure everyone is fine, to be brought the nocciola gelato without a second thought. I can't say how much I appreciate the love I've been given by this family. However, I'm still paining from the mixture of cobbled streets and an hour bike ride! We got back home, went on the trampoline, played ping pong and I got an early night ready for the week ahead. 

Thursday 18 June 2015

because singing about purple stew and making children do stupid things is TEFL

Currently sitting, finally, surrounded by lesson plans, endlessly playing children accompanied by the murmur of Italian TV. I left Milan Saturday afternoon after one last wander around the beautiful city centre. Struggling through the mass of people in Milan Centrale station I saw a group of 4, standing round a mound of cases and backpacks, all looking completely jiggered and far too hot. Definitely ACLE tutors. I had forgotten how daunting it was coming straight from an intense week of training with people from all over the world, to being put on a train that will take you somewhere in Italy where you will meet and subsequently live with a random family whilst attempting to teach English as a foreign language and juggle meeting and bonding with another group of random people. It's as exhausting as a long sentence without full stops. We arrived at the school and had our first meeting and met our eagerly awaiting families. The moment when you see the group of wide eyed children and awkwardly smiling parents is heart warming. The children are always so excited and hide behind their parents legs, whilst they themselves sigh at the relief that I can speak Italian. It is a blessing for me to always be matched with the non-English speaking family.
This family is especially wonderful. The house is beautiful, I have been spoilt with my room, own bathroom and kindness of this family. They are so incredibly welcoming and have already treated me as their own. After unpacking and being given my own trolley at the supermarket (something I had no idea how to cope with!), we went to the cinema. This was a bit different. The film itself was great, hard work to keep up, but great. The continuous talking and mid-way interval were, however, comical. The audience continued with conversations as if they were in their own home. About an hour in, the screen went blank and the lights came on and every got up and bought popcorn and discussed the first half...in a cinema. The applause at the end topped off the evening for me.
Oh Italy.
Sunday is a family day. After a lazy morning and late lunch, we walked to the cathedral and violin museum (Google: Cremona for further details). As lame as this appears, it was actually a wonderful afternoon, followed by a family bike ride. A group of 6, weaving between cars and through red lights. And a ping pong tournament, were I was thrashed by a 70 and 7 year old!
Camp itself is also fabulous. In a job that is constantly in limbo and changing you have to be immensely flexible, which is difficult if you're thrown into a situation that you're uncertain of or you're bloody tired. However stressed something makes you or however much you don't agree with something it's always best to sit back and let it happen. Better to be the person to clear up the mess than to make it. Despite saying this, the children have been Angels and in fact, the tutors work well as a group, even if there are certain loose parts. Day 1: I tripped in the morning circle, picked a stone that was embedded into a child's knee and was reminded of the amazing skill of switching between tutor and normal mode. By day 4 you'll be using hand expressions and talking at a slow pace even with the English tutors! I do adore working with children. Being brought flowers after lunch and have them cling to your leg as you leave the lunch room to go and collapse in a heap for 5 minutes before having to haul yourself up again to prepare the afternoon games, is marvellous. But it's immensely tiring. Thinking constantly about which child has sneaked out the room, where the pot of pens have gone and what that suspicious lump is under that child's t-shirt while worrying, at the same time, how long this worksheet will take and if you should just play hangman and screw the lesson plan.
After a week of untangling name tags, loosing my voice singing about llamas with emotional problems and post-camp Prosesco, tomorrow is Friday and "Friday is a funky day".

Sunday 14 June 2015

The world's city of fashion and selfie sticks

Yesterday already seems a life time away.
Milan was incredible. Such a beautiful city to just get lost in. I left my hotel early and decided to walk in the direction that the majority of people were going. Although this initially seemed like a good plan by the evening I had walked about 20k. I had also nearly got run down more than I care to mention. The skill with crossing roads in Italy is not to wait for the green man, because in fact the green man just means that the cars on that road are stopped, not the ones turning into that road. So the best thing to do is just walk, don't run - you won't fit in, but walk with ownership of the road. It's very likely you'll get beeped at or skimmed by a moped at some point. This is normal. Especially if the cars have been waiting at a green light, then they'll go through the red light to make up time - now doesn't that just make sense!
Two things that really took my breath away in Milan was the intricate and utterly amazing architecture and gorgeous fashion. Every building had elaborate detail along the windows and around the roof. Places were people don't necessary look were an explosion of patterns and complex design. The effort and artistic attention given to the simplest of buildings was just extraordinary. I don't know why people took the time to make these places look so beautiful but it's fascinating that they did. And that's without mentioning the Duomo (cathedral) and the shopping mall. Although you wouldn't expect these two to be associated they were both of different, but equally outstanding, beauty. This is something you have to see for yourself. A £40 flight and £60 hotel is really worth it.
The second thing I noticed was the beautiful fashion that the Italians had. In general the Italian dress sense is to die for, along with their figures, but there was something different with those in Milan. I assume this is due to the renowned status of the fashion city of the world but the simplicity and modesty of these outfits were what every woman dreams of. Again, something that is worth a £100 weekend away.
For lunch I stopped for a sit down on the steps up to the cathedral. I sat and watched the masses of people walk by. The old women teetering along in high heels behind striding tourist guides with their flags stuck into their bagpack. Bikes and cars weaving between people in the pedestrian only zones and endless vendors of selfie sticks, books and any other crap they could carry around! While sitting on these steps one of the vendors came up to me and hassled me with a selfie stick. I repeated said no but he was being very persistent, until a guy next to me said, in Italian, "she doesn't need that, she's got me to take pictures for her". It was smooth. I thanked him and he asked where I was from (apparently my Italian accent is obviously not Italian!), we then spoke for a while and he asked what I'd seen in Milan. We got a coffee and had a walk round some of the tourist sights, the castle and churches. It was lovely, so friendly and very Italian. When travelling alone it's a very good idea to lie sometimes. It will get you out of situations and give you a bit of security. With this in mind I told him I was meeting a friend at the train station soon and should probably go! I was appreciative of his tour but am not so reckless to give the wrong impression. I wandered back up to my hotel.
I had planned to meet some new tutors in the middle of Milan so had a quick nap and headed back into the centre (30 minutes late, adopting the Italian way of life!) So after a blind date type meeting in the busiest squares in Milan I was reminded once again of the frustrating, Italian ritual of walking and standing and walking and standing and walking and standing for hours before finding somewhere to eat which is actually exactly the same as the 1,000 pizzerias you walked past. Oh Italy.
After one too many cocktail I decided to tackle the Milanese public transport system, which in fact wasn't as bad as I expected. Crawled into bed, FaceTimed my wonderful boyfriend, deciding that FaceTime is the best invention ever, and crashed out.

Friday 12 June 2015

A Pinot Grigio and a tomato salad in Milan

As I sat on the bus from the airport to Milano Centrale I had a reflection on my previous summer here and I panicked. I was ill for a week, which was hellish. I nearly got arrested, twice. Both occasions were not my fault, I was just the translator! And I had spent a weekend on my own and got very emotional with my own thoughts. But then, I heard the Italian radio. The endless Italian rambling by the familiar voice and awful, dated English music deterred any negative thoughts. Suddenly I was back. I reasoned with myself, I know that last summer was incredible but you have those moments that you ponder on the bad experiences (or should I say the experiences that one should learn from). I remembered the times of the disco-tech, awful dancing and terrifying moped rides. Large family meals and the endless fannying about. Picking muscles fresh from rocks and sitting outside till 1 or 2 in the morning without a jacket, because you can. Getting off the bus I was confronted by an Italian man, asking for directions. Being mistaken for Italian is a wonderful feeling in itself but for it to be followed by walking through one of the most beautiful, thriving cities in the world, it's as if it's your own movie.
I got to my hotel and it was beautiful. A large, air conditioned double bed and the most wonderful view over the shopping street below. Seeing this, and feeling on top of the world, I showered (always recommended after any travelling), changed and headed out for an evening in Milan. A restaurant was suggested by the hotel desk but thought I'd have a wander. The smell of the heat in Italy is indescribable, it's just something you have to experience yourself. You can taste the country and feel it on your skin as if it was an actual perfume. It's not the smell of freshly made dough, or strong Italian coffee, it's the air itself. Enchanted with this overwhelming sense, I walked around a small park, tackalling the unpredictable roads with traffic coming from every direction and turning in every direction. It was coming up to 8.30 and after a day of travelling I was feeling pretty done. I sat at a table outside a quaint restaurant in the Milanese evening heat. Not only was I amazed, once again, by the stunning wine and food that Italy holds, but I was captivated by the language and happenings around me. The men to the left discussing how little they ate after destroying 3 courses. The couple opposite drinking 3 beers each, finishing with a shot of Limoncello and then receiving their moped helmets from the waiter. There is something about Italian life that just encaptures me.
The tomato salad and small bottle of Pinot Grigio, along with everything else, reminded me why I adore this country, so much.

Thursday 11 June 2015

The wonders of airport queuing

The anticipation of leaving for any sort of travelling is always overwhelming. You're so excited that you don't know what to do with yourself but parallel to that you're tense and nervous, can't relax. You're on an absolute high with the fact that within the day you will have started your journey and be taking in all the new sights and be buzzing from the culture however, first, you're going to have to say goodbye. That horrid word that can mean anything from "see you tomorrow" to "fuck, I'm not going to be able to look into your eyes for another 2 months." But some people are definitely worth fighting through the time away for.
So the waiting game begins. The waiting for the check-in gate to open (which is now all electronic and I'm hoping I haven't sent my hold luggage to Morocco instead of Milan). Waiting for the queue of people fannying about with those little plastic bags for your under 100ml toiletries. Waiting awkwardly for the man to nod at you after walking through the security gate and it feeling like a whole hour as you pray "please don't go off, please don't go off." Waiting for your gate number to come up while struggling through the hoards of people trying to pick up all the duty-free deals, who still have luggage, which has to be over the hand luggage size. Waiting at the gate, when the queue for gate 26, 27 and 28 is somewhat unclear and you have to peer over people's shoulders to see if their ticket matches yours because do you really want to be the one who pushes in and pretends not to realise. Waiting while the token crazy man sits in everyone else's seat and complains about it. Only after this can you actually sit back, touching thighs and arms with the people next to you, wishing you'd got that bottle of water out the overhead locker before you wedged yourself in ready to zone out and pretend to try and sleep for 2 hours. 
Despite this, you can observe, dream and imagine about the lives of all the people encountered in an airport. The family with two double buggies full of children and the dishevelled mother who really needed a quiet weekend at home - what were they thinking. The lads holiday, all with inside joke nicknames on the back of their t-shirts, and you can usually work out which one is going to get drawn on, tattooed or so drunk they'll sleep in the hotel lobby. 
But everyone knows this. Travelling is not about repeating the airport games done by so many before. This time alone is not to be wished away. To sit and ponder dreams and unimaginable situations that you couldn't ever comprehend while sitting at your desk at work is invaluable. Imagine what you would do if you could. Like living two lives, for me, one would be in Italy. The slow but passionate life style, with the heat and the cheese. The other would be the busy life of London, trying to fit everything into the hours of the day. 
Take this time to think about the important things that you know you think about but that deserve more thought. To escape and watch the world go by before you step off the plane and feel the wall of heat and the sun on your face and know that you've got your head clear, you know what you'll miss, what you want to do and the endlessly wonderful things you have to look forward to. 
An adventure is only as good as you make it, so make every detail something to talk about. 

Saturday 6 June 2015

Mastering the skill of filling a small tube of tooth paste.

Despite spending innumerable summers in Italy and this being my second summer teaching with ACLE, it is always a new adventure. The interminable task of packing feels like a journey in itself. Laying in bed a week and a bit before your flight, 3am, trying to make a list on the ceiling of what you’ll need is just the start of the trauma you will go through. Partly because your mind ends up wandering and fantasising about the numerous, exhilarating and terrifying experiences you will encounter. No matter whether you’re an experienced traveller, who can stuff the necessary items into a 30l backpack or a hoarder that brings an extra ‘just-in-case’ of everything in their 80l snail house, you will always experience the hellish stages of packing. 

Last summer I was the definition of ‘over-packer’, taking 14 pairs of pants and 7 bras, along with enough medicines and toiletries to accommodate half of Europe. As I was walking up the Avenue Jean Médecin in Nice, on my first night abroad, the pain in my shoulders and calves was screaming that perhaps 80l was a tad excessive, even for 3 months. In fact, after the presents from the first few host families, that included books, t-shirts and a miniature glass elephant, (among other things) I resulted in sending a parcel home with just some of the many t-shirts, jeans, cardigans and dresses. Even then I had far too much stuff. 

This time I feel I’ve been a little more restrained with ‘stuff’. It feels good when you can say “I won’t really need that, will I.” Let’s hope I don’t regret that statement. To start; it’s all about mix and matching. A phrase often found in Woolworths sweet aisle but something that comes in extremely handy during packing. Don’t pack specific outfits. (That’s a mistake I have previously learnt from!) Decide how many outfits you’ll need and then find some bottoms and tops that will all work together and subsequently accumulate the right number of outfits. For teaching we are provided with some beautifully vibrant red t-shirts and it’s wise to wear shorts, racing round with children in the Italian heat. In this case it’s useful, and spacial aware, to pack tops that will match your work shorts! Then you can chuck in (when I say ‘chuck in’ I mean heavily contemplate for days) a few nice dresses or skirts that will suit any occasion. Don’t panic about wearing the same thing again and again. This is one of the perks of living from a bag.

Now is not the time to celebrate. You’ve packed your clothes - great. And you think, “Wow, in fact, I’ve been great. I’ve got LOADS of room.” Sorry, but now you can start to assemble the other crap which will take up any free space you thought you had - even that useless pocket on the side of your bag. You would never think that chargers, hair brushes, and other miscellaneous junk would really take up that much room, and create that much weight! And unfortunately this is the stuff you can’t really go without; unless of course you go really hippy and become ‘at one’ with nature resulting in no connections with soap, mum or that tiger selfie post while you’re away. However you can restrain this junk! The art of filling smaller tubes of toothpaste, or shampoo, is a real skill of a weathered traveller. You need to make sure the air is out so as to create room for the new paste and then gently squeeze the tube to refill it. Along with this handy hint, you probably don’t need that hefty lucky charm that your auntie gave you for ‘safe travels’ or that pack of rock for host families (it’s a very strange English sweet anyway!) Don’t take things that you don’t normally use, because, and this is genius, you won’t use them. 

Remember. At this point, the excitement of packing has got too much and you can’t stop thinking about it, anywhere you go and whatever you do: “oh, yes, I'll need that” - adds to the endless list. You need to prioritise the important things like your passport, travel tickets and cash, before it all gets too much and you’re ringing your mother at Gatwick South Terminal with 40 minutes to spare.

I hate to speak so soon, but I think I’m sorted. Two smaller bags, still with space and all important documents printed and packed. So I’m ready for a summer living off espresso and sunshine, teaching English and perfecting my Italian. My British summer in Italy.