The Capital City (Part I)

We got on the coach early Saturday morning so that we could head on down to Rome. We stopped at an underground car park before heading into the city itself. The reason for our stop was to drop off those who were only staying two weeks on the language course and so would be flying out of Rome at the same time as we would be doing our sightseeing.

We got rid of our friend from the Lebanon (I use friend loosely) and I wasn't disappointed he wouldn't be with us for the rest of the course. We carried on, past the venue for the world diving championships where my Room 101 (Tom Daley) won gold, and arrived at the Vatican.

 The coach dropped us off just in front of the Basilica and we piled off into the sizzling heat of midday. It was stunning - such a sight to behold. We wandered round the piazza and were given about half an hour if we wanted to go inside, if not we could find somewhere to sit before the tour began. Bree, Gaby, Lynette and I circumvented the fountains, taking pictures along the way.

Lynette and I eventually decided that we wanted to go inside the Basilica and so we joined the queue. Sorry, I mean the mass of thronging people. We got ourselves into some sort of order, but there was an Italian lady behind us that didn't enjoy being behind us. She kept trying to push her way forward until Lynette finally lost her rag and shouted at the woman: 'C'e' una fila!' (Or 'there's a queue' to you).

We hit a slow spot and Lynette decided that together with trying to keep this woman behind her, she'd also put on some trousers because of the whole 'don't show your knees' thing they have going on. We got into the Basilica and it took my breath away. I know I've complained in the past about the OTT nature of Catholic churches, but tecnically St Peter's Basilica is THE Catholic Church so I can excuse it there. It was just magnificent. Everything about it was beautiful: the attention to detail was just incredible. We stayed there for some time and then made our way out to join the party for our tour of Rome.

We went past the Pope's digs - made famous by Angels and Demons amongst other things, and headed away from the Vatican and into town. We passed through so many beautiful piazzas (the one to my left happened to have a sprinkler system whereby passers-by could get quite a welcome shower under the hot Roman sun).

Our next stop was the Pantheon: the oldest church in Rome. Now for those of you that have seen Angels and Demons you'll remember that the Pantheon was almost deserted when Robert Langdon and his Italian friend go on their search for the 'Path of Light' or whatever it's actually called. This is completely unrealistic. I would have gone in, but most of the rest of the world was in there and though I don't suffer from claustrophobia, I didn't want to get involved in the sweatbox that was currently going down inside.

What was more interesting was the spectacle outside: some faux Roman soldiers having their pictures taken with tourists for money. They were about as faux as you get and so I began to take stealth pictures of the one that had just lit up and was smoking a fag on the sly.

I was never cut out for MI5 because as stealthy as I thought I was being, I wasn't being stealthy enough because he clocked me, walked over, gave my camera to a friend and insisted they took a picture of us. My friends found this hilarious, and I confess I did too. Rome was proving to be a lot of fun...

Life's a Beach!

After two evenings out so far in week two, what we really needed was some R&R at the beach. This is just what was in store for us on Friday afternoon. We endured classes in the morning - some of us with pounding headaches (largely the result of vats of wine the night before); we donned our bikinis and headed to Porto Recanati on the Rimini coast.

There was an initial disagreement as to where we would all go once we hit the beach, and then what we would do there. It soon transpired that if we wanted to sunbathe we'd have to pay for sunloungers and the like; if we wanted to go to the free beach we'd have to contest with a whole pile of shingly rocks. Some of our party wanted to play football, I looked at the stones and thought it would probably be a lot better for my feet if I didn't (there was also the minor problem of not being able to play football).

What I really wanted to do was sunbathe, but I wasn't paying for the privilege. This seemed to be quite a popular belief and so Bree, Gaby, Lynette, her housemate and myself started trawling the coastline for either a nice free beach or a cafe.

At this point I think it's time for me to bring Lynette's housemate out of anonymity and introduce her to you as Susan. Ever since Perugia our acquaintance had been growing and we'd formed an alliance in class against Wendy and her bizarre teaching and even more bizarre games. Susan had been there at Babaloo and the Castle and she was with us again at the beach.

I got on really well with her. I confess I hadn't been sure at first, but we'd got to know each other over the week and we'd really started to get to know each other and found we had a lot of common interests. She was originally from Croatia and was mostly legs.

So the full desperate gang walked along the seafront scouring cafes and bars for available tables. We found one and got settled. We stayed there for some time, singing German songs (don't ask) and learning miscellaneous Portuguese phrases (again, let's not go there). Time wore on and we decided to venture into the town for a wander. We wandered prolifically and soon wandered into a restaurant for dinner.

It had been the first trip we'd done that was really up to us to do whatever. All the other trips had had guided tours and tight schedules. This one was the first one where we'd been dumped and told to come back when it got dark.

We feasted on pizza and wound our way back to the coach stop, but not before taking a comical picture that said something on cross-cultural relations...

Bevilo Tutto!

I soon realised that though there were many excursions included on our language course - so far we'd been to the Frassassi Caves, Assisi and Perugia all included in our initial fee - we'd also been on our fair share of trips out of our own pockets: a trip to the opera at Macerata, a night out at Babaloo, Bree and Gaby had even been to Venice. Now these trips were optional, but if everyone else was going, you didn't really feel as if you had very much of an option at all. This was also the case for our next evening out: to the Castello di Caldorola.

In all fairness I did want to go, I just didn't know I'd have to pay for it. It was advertised in the course leaflet as Thursday's trip out and we were all looking forward to having a tour of the castle, followed by dinner there as well. It had all the hallmarks of being a really special evening, so we considered it worth shelling out for.

Bree didn't come to Babaloo and it was a shame; the rest of the gang was there, but she missed out. Fortunately she agreed to come to the castle and so off we went with Gaby and Lynette as well. It took a little while to get there, and then a walk up quite a steep hill, but we made it in the end (despite a lot of the girls having dressed up for the evening in their highest tottery heels).

The group had to split into two for the tour. Lynette, her housemate and Gaby all got in with the first group, Bree and I brought up the rear afterwards. Normally, Gaby would have come with us, but she had started to befriend her classmates and consequently spent half her time with them, and half with us.

The castle was typical of other continental castles - big houses. Whenever British people think of a castle, they think of a fortress; if you ask the same thing to a Frenchman, they think of regal houses and classic architecture. This is the same type of castle you get in Italy. Admittedly they are beautiful buildings, but it's got nothing on Conway Castle which covers a large part of Wales.

The interior of the castle was also different from UK equivalents in that there was one. Britain tends to pride itself on the fact that when visiting its castles, even if you tour the inside, you'll still need your umbrella. Caldorola was much more like D'Annunzio's house that I'd visited on the shores of Lake Garda: full of stuff. And expensive stuff at that.

Anyway, we had a wander round, listening to a tour guide rabbit on about past-owners, conflict, how they kept it warm, and other such useless information that doesn't even help in pub quizzes. It was nice, I confess, but I felt like I'd seen it all before - it's like going in one small provincial Catholic Church in one town and then going in another somewhere else - they all tend to look the same.

After we'd had a look at the castle, we were all deposited in the grounds while our meal was prepared. Ironically both tours had finished at the same time despite starting quite a long way apart - I think our disinterest was tangible and our tour guide knew when she was beaten.

We were called up together for dinner. I was sitting with Bree on one side and Lynette on the other. The meal wasn't dissimilar to the stuff I'd had in my orientation week in Sanremo, but this time it was a lot nicer. I was reunited with a familiar foe - 5L vats of wine. I'd seen them last disappearing over a pier wall towards the sea on the last night of orientation.

I don't like wine - and certainly not wine that's mass-produced on such a large scale. Anyway, some of my coursemates weren't as picky... We started with a large dish of pasta and pesto. Our table got through most of it and there was a bit left: Lynette and I polished it off. They brought another platter of pasta. Lynette and I exchange a worried glance, but still we dig in. Collectively we manage to polish that one off too. They bring a platter of meat and vegetables: this is becoming a farce.

Needless to say that at the end of the meal, we were stuffed and no matter how much we drunk, we would not get even slightly tipsy because it would all get absorbed by a vast amount of pasta. Though Lynette and I had been applying this piece of philosophy, Gaby had not. Bree drank occasionally, but that night wasn't one of those occasions; Lynette drank, but the aforementioned food consumption meant that she would have to down one of the entire vats before she got drunk.

It was therefore left to Gaby to embarrass us all and get completely bladdered. She didn't let us down. It transpires there is a song in Italy that goes through all the months of the year and when it gets to the month you were born in, you stand up (as the song dictates) and then you, well, 'bevilo tutto' - you drink it all. So we worked our way through the months of the year and when it got to Gaby's month she downed a large glass of red wine - like properly chugged it down.

Not long after she was a drunken mess. The previous night at Babaloo we'd discovered she was only 19, and not a lot older (as she liked people to think): the cap fitted - young, immature, eager to impress...

The dancing started after tea and we danced quite a lot of the night away with a spot of kareoke thrown in for fun. Quite a few people were comatosed on the way home and unsurprisingly, there were a few empty seats in class the next morning...

Dance the Night Away

The second week of our language course wasn't initially that eventful in terms of trips. We'd had another one of our exciting culture lectures, but apart form that, life in Camerino had ebbed to quite a pedestrian pace. After a busy first week this was actually a welcome surprise and in view of the busy schedule over the next fortnight, taking some time off to study and do, quite frankly, what we'd gone there to do, made a lot of sense.

Still there are always exceptions to this atom of logic and the school organised a trip one evening to Babaloo, a club on the Rimini coast. If enough people went then it would make it worth their while to get a coach and when questioned, the majority of people were up for it. I was in that majority.

Bree wasn't. If she didn't have a skirt for the opera, she probably didn't have a dress for a club. There's absolutely nothing wrong with this. I will fully admit to going because most other people were and I didn't want to miss out on anything. I've never been a party animal, but after a week of doing not very much, it was nice to go out and let me hair down, so to speak.

We met at the bus station and piled on the coach - us at the back as usual. It was going to take about an hour and a half to get there, so we settled down for what was to be quite a long ride before the party could start. Most people were quite reserved and were saving any boozing until we got to the club - this made for probably the slowest start to a party in living history.

We all stumbled out of the coach at the club - not because we were drunk, but because we were really sleepy; there's nothing that will induce a state of drowsiness quite like a long coach trip at night. We had left at ten to arrive at midnight. To put this into context, I like to go to bed at 10pm.

The first thing we did when we reached the club was to head to the bar - we needed something that would perk us up a little. Wait. Drinks are 10Eur each. Each. EACH! I suppose it was free entry. I thought I could do without. Lynette buckled and her housemate pressganged someone into buying drink for her. Handy.

Anyway, this matter dealt with, we started to get acclimatised with our surroundings.

First of all, it was out in the open. There was a large building that looked like a house and a courtyard area as soon as you got through the gates. There were plush leather seats and lots of palm trees and the like - it was very swish. The house-like building had several rooms - two main areas and plenty of chillaxing space with more leather seats. The whole place was built on the edge of a lake and at the end of a jetty was a salsa hut.

It was a fantastic place. The music wasn't my scene really, but it was great to go and get out and do some dancing. Things didn't really pick up for a few hours. Bearing in mind we got there at midnight and left at three, it was only 2'o'clock that things started hotting up and there was any real atmosphere to speak of. After the first hour we were considering going and sitting on the coach until we had to leave. Fortunately we didn't do this.

So we sat for a while, then we moved to the salsa tent. For anyone that's every seen me dance, I can't really do it and certainly not salsa. I was wearing flat shoes and I had a wayward bag - this was not a recipe for much fun. Still I kept calm and carried on and after sitting awhile some more, the Camerino gang reassembled itself and we danced the last hour away and even convinced the bus driver to let us stay an extra half hour.

We were back very late that night and I walked back to our house with Gaby. She was a little out of sorts and it turned out there had been an incident with one of the guys on the course. He'd made a move, she didn't want him to, the poo had hit the fan, yady-yady-yah.

At the time this happened, she was still in love with her English sort-of-boyfriend and she was incandescant with rage at the very thought that her coursemate would make a move on her. This made me take a certain dislike to this guy, but I soon found out this was ever-so slightly misplaced, but we'll deal with that when we come to it.

So I went to sleep that morning and let's just say when Wendy rolled out whatever nonsense we were learning in class, I was less than receptive...

Culture Vultures (Part II)

Every week we had cultural classes; in the first week it had been the perfect complement to our trip to the opera,  in week two we were to have a lecture all about Rome as our Saturday trip was all about the history of the capital city.

I will confess that I wasn't very interested in Puccini, but it paid off much later in my year - more on that as we get there. I was, however, a lot more interested in Roman history. I had found the Romans fascinating from being a kid at school and I was actually looking forward to first delving into a bit more history, then going and experiencing it a few days later.

So on our second Wednesday afternoon we were psyched for a bit more Italian culture.

We ran into a problem almost straight away. The first class had been in the school and quite a lot of people came. But that was Puccini and not everyone's keen on opera. The initial signs were that far more people were interested in Rome and so we'd need to take the class into a bigger arena.

I had absolutely no idea where it was. Someone had tried to give me directions but I was still clueless. I was going with Lynette, Gaby and Bree and we found the place by accident. I say by accident, I actually mean by tailing some other people on the course that for some unknown reason, happened to know where we were headed.

Just as we were leaving the rain started. It was much like it had been a couple of days after my arrival: the rain was Biblical. I still didn't have an umbrella and so I was about to get very wet. We hurried along with the storm clouds gathering and managed to get ourselves to the classroom about five minutes late (which, for Italians, it actually early).

As more latecomers began to drift in, you could see how much more the weather was coming in; each person would be slightly wetter than the one before. Fortunately for me, because it had been quite hot, I wasn't layered up, and like Bree, I certainly wasn't wearing jeans. This means I dried out really quite quickly and could focus on Roman banter without sitting in a wet patch.

One of the main lecturers was taking the class. At this point I'd like to explain that though my friends were all similarly aged, and the majority of people were, in fact, young, there were some older folks that had come along for the ride, and let's say there were ever-so-slightly keen.

The first question went thus:
'Can you name the seven hills of Rome?'
The lecturer had a go. He couldn't quite get there, but he wasted about five minutes in trying. I was starting to wish that I was drenched after all as that would certainly take my mind off it all: he could have called them after the seven dwarves and I'd have been none the wiser.

Good start.

The rest of the lecture picked up a little. It turned out to be as interesting as I'd expected and there were plenty of things I learnt that came in handy during my year studying in Verona; but I had no foreknowledge of this and in that moment I was looking forward to Saturday's trip to Rome even more...

Old Friends

Week two started with great gusto and after having a break on Sunday where I relaxed, did some food shopping, and Skyped my family from the main piazza in Camerino, I was feeling more ready for some more Italian-learning fun.

Building on the banter we'd had in Perugia, I took a seat by Lynette's flatmate in class on Monday morning. I'd kind of forgotten she was in my class - I'd forgotten that anyone else was in my class other than the very, very loud man from the Lebanon. It was nice to have a familiar face in my class. I loved spending time with my desperate friends, but classes still felt like they dragged because the level of banter just wasn't there.

Wendy still wasn't pulling her weight and the only other familiar face (Anna, my flatmate) was being much like her character and a bit of a petulant teenager who felt she was 'too cool for school'. The classes were potentially the thing that I dreaded, and I say dread to be melodramatic - I've been in plenty of classes in my life where I didn't know anyone and you either swallow it and make friends, or swallow it and don't let it bother you.

So I'd thrown myself into Monday morning, taking a seat on the front row with Lynette's flatmate. I was trying to focus on whatever it was we were doing, but I got distracted. The blame for part of this distraction can be laid at the door of a phone call I received - it was from the company I'd taught with. They were desperate, and I mean dseperate for tutors. They had camps coming up and no tutors to staff them. They were embarking on a campaign of carpet bombing tutors with phonecalls and emails hoping one of them would bite and fill the gap that had started to emerge.

What happens is they hire a number of tutors and in the downtime during 'Ferragosto' - the national holiday - quite a lot of whom will go on holiday. What some tutors do however, instead of spending all the money they have just earned, they go home and though the company might be expecting them to stay on into September, if they've thrown in the towel, this isn't going to be an option.

I was one of the tutors they carpet bombed. I was quite overwhelmed to get an offer like that and immediately told them I was busy for the next three weeks. I may not have been enjoying classes as much as I might, but I wasn't ready to sacrifice the money I'd paid trying to learn Italian so I could teach children how to speak English instead.

I thanked them for giving me the deets and the offer, but I told them I'd have to think about it. Basically I had to choose whether I wanted to go on my family holiday or not. The company would pay for get me up to Domodossola in Piemonte (where we would be holidaying) but I would do the standard teaching thing for a week, stay with a family that wasn't my own and only get one week of my family holiday.

It was tempting - it was 250 Euros, but I didn't know if it was worth sacrificing my holiday for. Had this been the plan back in the day, then I would have been fine with it, it was just that I'd psyched myself up for two weeks of holiday and never teaching children again.

After some time I refused the offer. I'd spoken to my family and they felt the same way I did. I hadn't enjoyed my time with the company as much as I might have done - the enjoyment that there was I can attribute to my host family. I didn't want to chance this and get another bad camp but with a bad host family.

All it had succeeded in doing was mean that for the rest of the morning of classes, I paid attention to nothing whatsoever.

Some Amusing Things

I'm going to take a brief hiatus from my stories from Camerino to share some amusing things with you. Thus far in the story I've been in Italy for about six weeks and there have been plenty of amusing stories that I've shared with you. This is all well and good, but I want to share some of the amusing observations that I have captured in photographic form.

As I sat at a cafe in Sanremo on my last day in Italy after getting the early bus down from Baiardo. I was enjoying my caffè macchiato when a billboard caught my eye. I found it so amusing that I photographed it. The first bit is of little interest, as is the offer of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire for 8,90Eur. No, what interests me is the bit in the middle:
'If you pee up against the wall, there will be a fine of 300 Euros.'
Those kind of threats only need to be made if that is a prolific problem. Che schifo.

My next amusing thing comes from Camerino during our tour of the town. There was a room in the university cum town hall that had what looked like crests painted on a wall. This was no ordinary 6' wall - it had an incredibly high ceiling and all four walls were covered in these crests. One of them caught my eye in particular: no bears allowed.

The third amusing thing I want to share with you is a sign I saw at the escalator going into the heart of Assisi. Apparently the Italian doesn't make much sense either, but I'm not sure how one is supposed to adhere to the rule: 'self-starting stairway'.

Oh well you can always 'hold you up at the handrail' and 'keep always the position towards the line march'. Yes.

This next example can also be found in Assisi - in a church on top of the hill. I saw the Pope depicted in statue-form and though he is probably doing something respectable and indeed reverent, all I could think he would say is:
'Would you like an orange?'

My last example can be found in Assisi too; it seems Assisi is just a funny place. And come on, who doesn't find old people on scooters funny. I did see some nuns in an Apecar later that day, but they were going so quickly that I didn't have time to snap them and catch them in the act.

Popping to Perugia

Our trip to Assisi had been good, if a little warm, but I wasn't really in the mood for much more sightseeing that afternoon. Realistically there's only so much a normal person can take in about the Italian Renaissance in one day. When we arrived in Perugia we had to get the monorail into the town. The monorail carriages were basically sweatboxes and though I enjoyed whipping through the air, up to the town, I didn't enjoy everyone else doing it in my personal space.

After meeting with that stunning view when we alighted from the monorail, and headed into the main piazza and the tour began. Bree and Gaby were standing at the front of the party ready to absorb more pub trivia about Italian independence. It just so happened that I didn't want to learn these facts on a sunny Saturday afternoon when I was in the company of friends and shops. It just so happened as well that Lynette wasn't keen, and neither was her flatmate. Cue slightly awkward chat with Bree and Gaby when we divulge this information. They wanted to stay, we wanted to go - there was a very simple solution to this that it took a little too long to realise: they can stay, we can go. This is what we decided to do and we dropped out of the tour after the main piazza.

I don't know where we headed really. We ended up walking down and out of the walled town and into a more run-down residential area. Then again it's Italy, and it's beautiful wherever you go.

We headed down wherever it was we ended up via a number of interesting shops. I bought a banana and some harem pants, tried on some interesting sunglasses and a Valentino Rossi backpack, and had a little ride on a rocking horse before we hit the edge of town: that's my kind of sightseeing.

We started to wend our way back into town. We saw a side of Perugia that most tourists don't - not if all you do is wander round the big churches and the town hall.

This is the part of Italy that I just can't get enough of. Everyone's seen pictures of the famous places, but how many people get to see understated views like that one to my left?

When we discussed Assisi and Perugia later on, I chose Perugia as my favourite. Assisi had been far more spectacular, but Perugia was somewhere I could see myself living. It was the kind of town that had everything you'd want and then some.

We met up again as the sun was beginning to set and headed back down to the coach on the monorail. We got back to Camerino late that evening and I went straight to bed. The following day was a day off for me, Gaby and Bree had paid a little extra to go to Venice, but it was a long way away and in view of the fact I was going to be spending a year in Verona just down the road, I decided against this.

It would give me the chance for some much needed rest, and though things weren't necessarily uncomfortable after the incident with Bree and Gaby in Perugia, I was glad we could have a little break from it all.

Perugia, Italy, 2009

Seeing Assisi

After spending Friday evening watching Madama Butterfly in Macerata, I was keen for a lie-in on Saturday morning. It had been a full-on week and, quite honestly I needed a break. Saturday wasn't going to be the day for that: we were going for guided tours in first Assisi, then Perugia.

We had to be on the bus reasonably early so that we could get over to Assisi for about midday. Midday - yes, that's when everything's very cold, right? Readers, I was melting. I had a tomato and mozzarella sandwich in my bag - the tomato turned the bread to mush, and the mozzarella melted just like its owner.

We made our way into the city via the 'self-starting stairway' - yeah, I don't know either - and were treated to a wonderful vista. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and everything was in sharp focus (apart from the horizon which was boasting a heat haze - no surprises there). There was absolutely no breeze. You would have thought that there might have been even a whisper of something higher up. There was not.

We were given a few minutes to ourselves in the piazza where the 'self-starting stairway' had 'self-stopped'. We took some pictures, drank a lot of water, huddled in the shade, tried not to pass out... You know the kind of thing.

After that we embarked on our tour. It was like Camerino in that someone would take us around, tell us some interesting things about the place in which we found ourselves, we would take some pictures, and then leave as more well-rounded individuals.

I had discovered that Bree was very much into the culture thing as was Gaby. I liked to think I was, and so we made a very good team. We were taken in and out of town halls and churches, soaking up the sights, and taking some beautiful pictures along the way.

What I really liked about all this was that we always had our own time. We'd get the chat first off, and then we'd get some time to explore and find out for ourselves what the theory looked like in practice.

My favourite bit, however, was still going to be taking the pictures. I had bought my camera especially for my year abroad I was going to make sure I used it at EVERY opportunity...

 The tour continued. I snapped happily and Bree and Gaby absorbed what nuggets they could for future pub quizzes. I was quite honestly in my element - well apart from the fact that I was sweating like the proverbial pig and I was going ever so slightly faint.

We reached St Francis' church and made it the last stop on our tour. It sits right on the far side of the town as you look at it and it really is a sight to behold. What I didn't realise is that though you can take wonderful pictures looking away from the church, you can't take that picture (the one where you see the church and all the arches clinging onto the hillside) from the church itself - you have to do it as you come into the city. The church itself was very dark and a bit eerie. By now you should know I'm not a big fan of Catholic churches. This one was supposed to have a very famous fresco in - by Giotto, if I'm not mistaken - but strangely our tour guide hadn't let slip that information.

I started to explore a little and soon found that I'd lost Bree, Gaby and Lynette. I mean I wasn't at the stage where I was panicking, but I did feel a little disconcerted about the whole situation. My visiting experience in the [very large] church then became a search for my friends that just happened to be inside some wonderful Renaissance architecture.

I ran into Bree and Gaby eventually and we sat for a while by the arches, looking out onto the plains below. To be honest we were really tired and I certainly wasn't relishing Perugia as much as I might have done.

We started to walk back into the town and ran into Lynette coming out of a shop selling foccaccia. Good idea! I thought and did likewise so that I didn't have to brave my disgusting sandwich. I was also in desperate need of a drink. It turns out Lynette had felt really unwell in the church, had to leave, and gone straight away to get something to eat and drink so that she didn't pass out (or worse). We thought that we'd probably had out fill of sightseeing in Assisi and started to wind our way back via some shops for a spot of retail therapy.

Chiesa di San Francesco, Assisi

Next stop Perugia!

Friday Night at the Opera

It may have taken all of an afternoon, but I eventually started to grasp the intricate details of Puccini and his unique approach to the art of opera. If I was going to get my money's worth for my language course, I was going for the immersive approach and if it meant enduring an extended lecture before an evening at the opera itself, I was going to do it.

The venue for this opera-fun was Macerata, a town not far from Ancona on the coast. We were told by the course tutors that we must wear dresses or skirts. Hold the phone. We must do it.

This was fine for me - I'd brought some dresses. Admittedly I didn't have many, but I had enough to be going on with and one of them I hoped would be opera-fit. Bree, however, had a little problem. She only had jeans. I don't know how she didn't just melt, but she'd only brought jeans with her and this was not a dress or a skirt. No, this was a problem. Cue feverish borrowing and trying on and mismatched outfits and more borrowing and trying on.

So having undergone much trauma already, we were setting off for what we hoped would be a pleasant evening. Macerata was a nice town, we had some time before the opera was due to start and we hit a cafe. We had an addition to our desperate gang in the form of Catherine, who was living with me and Gaby. She was a bit of a loner and though she was friendly enough, she seemed to be quite happy on her own. Despite this, we invited her to join our little party at the cafe.

When the time came, we took our seats in the threatre. It was a fantastic place; for a start it was open-air. The evening was nice and warm and though it got a little chilly as the night wore on, I wouldn't actually say it was cold.

I wasn't sitting with the desperate gang. I wasn't even sitting with anyone else on the language course. Ok so I was near everyone, I just happened to draw the particular straw which meant I wasn't near Bree and her programme, or Lynette and her banter.

We were watching Madama Butterfly and I confess that the best bit was the interval with the ballet dancers, but like I've said to anyone who's asked since, I'm glad I went, I just wouldn't go again. We got back late that night and hit the sheets so that we could get up early for another trip the following day - Assisi and Perugia.

Culture Vultures (Part I)

I paid a fair whack to go on the language course, but then again I got a room in a flat, four hours of class, five days a week, numerous outings, and four special cultural classes. We'd be warned, sorry told about these during our introductory meeting. They would each cover a different part of Italian culture: opera, the Romans, the Renaissance and one I have conveniently forgotten.

It was this (together with the guided tours around beautiful towns and cities) that enabled the school to advertise the course as language and culture. Gaby and I decided we would go; Bree and Lynette agreed because, after all, we were paying for it - there'd be no sense in not doing.

The first of these was set to coincide with our trip to the opera on Friday night. We had the opportunity to see Madama Butterfly by Puccini in Macerata, a beautiful open-air theatre. This was at an extra cost (naturally), but one that was worth it - in our view at least.

So I went to this class to hear all about Puccini. It wasn't that interesting as I wasn't passionate about opera. From a musical perspective it was informative and Puccini was really quite a clever bloke. I made some notes, but then decided to just listen and enjoy it - it wasn't as if I was going to get tested on it.

The ironic thing was that I never knew how useful that information would prove to be, but you'll hear all about that in due course...

So that evening, following on from the success of the night before, Bree invited us back for another movie. This was not Puccini or opera. We were treated to one of the films from the Saw franchise. From what I'd heard of the films (and we were launching in at number two) it was a lot of people getting injured in lots of different ways. Boke.

I don't know whether I didn't want to offend my new friends or whether there was no alternative, but I acquiesced and we started to get to grips with one of the most gruesome films I'd ever seen. You know it wasn't that bad. There was much more of a plot that I thought there would be. I would even go as far as to say it was clever.

I went home that night (I managed to get home safely without being kidnapped by someone seeking to exact moral vengeance on not-so-innocent members of the public) and dreamt of a mixture of refined Puccini and refined ways to kill people involving complex contraptions. Zzzzzzz...

Recreational Horror

Friendships were blossoming already in the first week of the language course. Gaby and I were enjoying each other's company in the flat and even cooking for Catherine and Anna was proving to be less stressful that it was to get the money off them in the first place. In between our outings and classes we had quite a bit of free time on our hands. We weren't at the stage where we knew enough people and the town itself well enough to go and descend on a local pub - sorry, bar, so we found alternative forms of entertainment.

I was surprised as to how many people brought laptops with them. Had I not returned home from Italy the first time, I wouldn't have had one. Gaby didn't have one, but Bree did and the other thing that Bree had in plentiful supply was horror movies on said laptop.

During the morning that saw Francesco Totti-Gate, Bree invited me and Gaby over to her flat for a movie night. We ate (probably pasta) and left (probably late) and arrived at Bree's flat. Ours was quite old - we had an old front door and the flat itself was hollowed into the old walls. Bree's flat was quite modern by comparison. The building itself was old and a bit run down - wide marble stairs all the way up to the fourth floor: this is where Bree was. Lynette was on the floor below, but I was yet to see her flat.

It was a small flat with modern furnishings and it was generally quite cozy; our flat was typically Italian with very high ceilings and whitewashed walls which made the whole place look a bit impersonal. Bree's flat was in the roof of the building and so everything seemed that little bit more intimate. She was sharing a room (I only met one person who wasn't and they, interestingly, were in Bree's flat: if you wanted such a privilege then you had to pay for it). Her roommate was a nice girl, from Ecuador if memory serves, but she left us be.

We got ourselves settled and crowded round Bree's tiny netbook.
'What do you want to watch?' she said.
'What have you got?' says I.
'You know.'
I didn't.

It turns out much of the video library was horror-based: my least favourite genre: gratuitous violence, unnecessary torment, nightmares and poor plots cover pretty much everything. When I was in high school I watched the Johnny Depp film Secret Window. My friend was a little affected by the film and so decided to turn the sound off. Without the soundtrack it was literally watching a man with unruly hair wandering round a house and opening cupboards.

But Bree only had horror films. We settled on a thriller with Jodie Foster about a team of people who are have to complete a training exercise where they locate and catch a dangerous criminal. Predictably there is an actual dangerous criminal on the island and one by one the team members are killed off. It was a good film. I'd managed to steer Bree away from pure horror and the result was a nice evening where we could just relax and take some time away from studying Italian.

We were now in the middle of the first week and I was really getting into the whole experience. Camerino was the perfect location - it was like we had our own authentic campus town built where we could try out our Italian in a controlled environment.

The end of our week was looking busy - we had all (as in the four of us) decided to go to the opera, the following day would see a special culture class all about Puccini and at the end of the week we were having a trip to Assisi and Perugia. Lovely.

Grand Tourer

So after Francesco Totti-Gate that morning, we all met up in the main piazza, the one with the funny Pope, for our tour of Camerino. The four of us that had started to form a tight unit at the Frassassi Caves once again drifted together and got our cameras at the ready for what promised to be an entertaining afternoon looking at some of the more beautiful places in the town.

The tour started at the university. There was a large courtyard/cloister set up which led on to some of the university buildings. Within that, however, seemed to be the town hall - I think they ran into each other or used each other's facilities where necessary because we came across quite an unusual room (on the left). I confess I didn't really listen to the explanation of what it was because I was more keen to ask if I could sit in the big chair and look important. It turned out I could. It was very comfortable and, even though I say it myself, I felt at home in such a seat of power. (Jokes.)

We moved outside after our little flirtation with power and influence and moved along another covered walkway. Instead of skirting the piazza, this one skirted the edge of the town itself and gave the most fantastic views of the hills below. It seemed a shame that there were only a few windows in the passageway where you could look out and see it in all its glory. Still, when they came, they were spectacular. It was also a great day for taking pictures, the clouds were big and fluffy and cast some incredible shadows on the fields below.

 After we'd fully explored the ins and outs of the university cum council town hall thing we found ourselves back where we started, in the main piazza. We turned our attention to the church - the one where you are expressly forbidden to show your knees - and with the clouds the way they were, from the outside it looked quite something. From the inside it was still a little gloomy and overly ornate, but my friends and I took great delight in finding the pew for 'La Famiglia Innocenti' and thought that it would be the perfect photo opportunity.

 We walked over to the other side of the town after our visit to the church, skirting the left side of the city. Lynette got halfway there and then decided that she'd go and do some shopping and get on top of the pile of homework she'd be given by her tutor (who seemed to take things a little more seriously than Wendy, or should I say Sig.a Totti).

 In between the amazing views, we came across another church - it is Italy. This one, I came to realise, was a lot more traditionally Italian. It was smaller that what I can only imagine was the main parish church in Camerino, but they'd crammed in just as much stuff. I know 'stuff' isn't a particularly eloquent word, but I can't think of a more appropriate one. It was just stuff - gold stuff and painted stuff, marble stuff and miscellaneous shiny stuff - stuff everywhere. Stuff. Stuff. Stuff.

Stuff.

Anyway, our tour ended at the top side of the town where there was a little walled park; the guide (who was one of the tutors) left us to wander back in our own time. Gaby, Bree and I decided to hang on a little before we wandered. We wanted to take some pictures first. I'll leave you with one.

'I Am Francesco Totti'

The following morning at class Wendy decided she would play a game with us as she got the 'why are you making us do a tense that no-one speaks?' vibes. Looking at her, there was something familiar about her - something of me that I saw in her. I thought it might have been blonde curly hair or even seeing someone that looked like Victoria Wood and that just made me feel at home. It took me a long while before it occurred to me what it was.

Her teaching style.

I had taught for two weeks at a summer camp near Brescia, and if you've read the posts, you'll have seen that things didn't really go to plan. I wasn't the best teacher and I lacked real drive or experience. I knew teaching wasn't for me and so although I'd put my all into my class, I knew I was still a bit rubbish.

Most of my lesson plans fell through in one way or the other, and because I hadn't taught for very long I didn't have an arsenal of games and ideas to fill in if my class got bored, or started going native. The knowledge I had of English grammar was very formal and linguistic. I could explain the subjunctive mode to my class, but this was little use when they were still on 'do you have'.

Unfortunately I wasn't the right fit for that job, and it was that I recognised in Wendy. She had decided to play the 'who am I?' game, where you ask yes/no questions so that you can guess who the person is masquerading as.

Wendy went first. We got down to a sportman who also did some writing. I looked around. None of my classmates were even remotely interested in sport. The two blokes we had weren't the type of guys who spend Saturday in the pub watching the footy, and the girls didn't really seem to case about any kind of sport. It was down to me.

The writing thing flummoxed me. I didn't know of any Italian sportmen that were also writers. I guessed as many Italian footballers as I could and then gave up. We all gave up.
'Io sono Francesco Totti' says Wendy.
Ahhhh. Now it makes sense. Though not a terribly clever chap, Signor Totti has written a few books here and there.

We played this game for a little while longer but it soon transpired that sportmen and women weren't the only people of little interest to my classmates. They just weren't interested in anything really. Wendy abbandoned the game and we went back to the passato remoto.

Another Evening at the Theatre

That evening we all assembled once more in front of the naked lady (who we still hadn't clothed with Lynette's zebra print dress) and took our seats in the theatre. Well I say we all, I actually mean myself and Gaby waited next to the naked lady for about four minutes and then went to get a seat. To be honest I wasn't there for the music - I love music, but I had the feeling it was going to be a little on the dull side. I just quite enjoyed being in the theatre in our little booth, with plush red velvet everywhere.

After a while Bree arrived and wanted to join us in our little booth. We were quite a long way up and had a great view so I directed her to where we were, but it was like a maze and unfortunately because all the booths look the same, it was a case of trial and error. In the end I had to go and find her so that she stopped terrifying people by bursting through the curtains expecting to find me and Gaby.

Once we were all settled and had stop frightening the locals, we found that the best bit about the whole experience was taking pictures of each other looking regal. I would share some of these with you, but I deleted them on account of the fact I was laughing so much that without the flash, blurry was certainly the order of the day.

Still. No worries. I don't have any pictures of the band, but I do have a video - watch with caution, they're a rowdy lot.

Anyway Bree decided that although she was loving the booth, she was going to watch down in the circle with the commoners (it's her video).

The concert went on for a while and when they came back for their encore I decided that it was perfect timing  because I needed to do some homework for Wendy. I don't know what 'encore' means in Sicilian, but apparently one of the translations is 'come back again and again and play for at least twice as long as you did before the encore'. I stayed another twnety minutes and then called it a day.

Though I had initially feared the music would be dull, it turned out to be noisy and energetic and almost as bad as boring music. With boring music the worst that will happen is you fall asleep; with loud music the worst that can happen is a banging headache. Gaby stayed until the bitter end, I couldn't manage it.

It was still a good night though, and my authentic Italian experience was getting better by the day. I went to bed after I'd trawled through all my homework and woke refreshed the next morning. Not only was I ready for class, but I was ready for the tour of Camerino that we were to have that afternoon.

Road Trip!

That afternoon as we met in the place the bus had dropped me off those couple of nights previous. There was a double-decker coach waiting for us. Whenever I was a kid, the people at the back of the bus were the cool ones. When I reached an age when I was getting buses to and from university, this ceased to be the case, or at least aged twenty I still wasn't cool enough.

I say 'still', there were the odd occasions that I did manage to make it to the back of the bus. Anyway, for some reason this is where I ended up on that first road trip. My new friends and I had bonded so furiously that there were about ten of us in a group and the back was the only place that could accommodate us and our desire to get to know each other further.

I confess this move made me feel slightly immature - surely we're too old for the back of the bus lark, but it proved useful for leg room and chatting. So our first road trip was to see the Frassasi Caves. Anyone who's been to these kind of caves before will know the deal - stalagmites, stalagtites, lots of eerie lighting, a strict 'no photos' rule, and dark, dank walls.

This is quite cynical isn't it, and it was beautiful, I was only disappointed I couldn't take any pictures of it. We were allowed to take a group photo, but it's so small that it took me a good five minutes to find where I was.

Anyway, it was still spectacular and a really nice way to spend an afternoon. Looking back at some of the pictures, there were four of us starting to emerge as firm friends - me, Gaby, Bree and Lynette. We made a great team: we all had the same sense of humour, a good attitude to studying, and a childish delight in comandeering the back of the bus.

When we got back to Camerino, we decided that we'd all go to the concert that evening. One other thing we had in common, was the desire to get stuck in at every opportunity...

The Class System

After our evening at the theatre we all retired quite early, I seem to remember. With the prospect of a concert the following night as well as our first outing the following day, there was certainly a lot to look forward to and also to prepare for.

The teachers at the school had been feverishly marking our placement tests so that they could put us in classes the next day. So when we got to school the next morning, everything was in place for us begin putting the money we'd spent to good use.

Gaby and I congregated with Bree and Lynette, and one of Lynette's flatmates. When we met we were all equals, but we were about to be separated into the good, the bad, and the downright hopeless. We had a little idea of each other's ability, but only because we'd chatted about how we'd ended up in Camerino: we'd all studied Italian, but at different levels and in different contexts.

The principal came out and started chanting names. I was called with Lynette's housemate and my housemate Anna. There were others, of course, but only two people that I'd actually spoken with. We were whisked away to the first floor of the school and left in the charge of a woman called Wendy.

Hang on. That doesn't sound very Italian.

She wasn't. Well she was in that she was Italian, but she looked more like Victoria Wood than Sophia Loren: it was uncanny - she had short, curly blonde hair and the slightly-protruding teeth. I took a seat at the back, probably with Anna, excited to start learning how to actually speak Italian.

'Cominciamo con il passato remoto' says Wendy, turning to the blackboard.
We were going to start with the only tense in Italian that only appears in the written language. Not that the passato remoto doesn't have a place in Italian - I believe I used it in my final exam to adopt a high and ironic literary tone when talking condescendingly of something. It was also useful to learn so that I could recognise it when I had to dive into Petrarch and wade through Dante. I mean it wasn't just the heavy stuff that uses it - I found it spread liberally all over I Love Shopping, the Italian translation of Sophie Kinsella's Confessions of a Shopaholic (I had to read it - it was not out of choice).

Anyway, it turned out that the start I had to my language course was an eency-weency bit disappointing. I took the time instead to suss out my classmates. There was a gentleman from the Lebanon (he always referred to it at the Lebanon - I'm never sure why some countries give themselves a definite article, but I don't wish to be politically incorrect). He was quite loud. He had a friend, also from the Lebanon, a nice girl, quiet, but her friend more than made up for her silence. There was a Spanish guy, some Spanish girls - in fact the most represented nation was Spain. Lynette's friend was Croatian, Anna was Belgian, and then there was little old me from England.

At first glance they didn't seem like the kind of people I normally come into contact with and subsequently befriend. I wasn't pre-judging them at all - I fell victim to that once before. Instead I was trying to read them, as I had done with the group in the cafe. This sounds a bit creepy, but it isn't; I was just trying to get the measure of them. We do it all the time subconsciously, I just wasn't that interested in the passato remoto.

Our days were structured thus: one class, break, another class, finito! At break we all met up and found out where each other was, who we were with, and what we'd done. I had thought that at that moment everything would become clear as to where we were placed in terms of levels. I didn't necessarily want to know about everyone else, but I was keen to know where I stood and what level I was aiming at. I established that I was in a class above Bree and Lynette, but I was unsure about Gaby: no problem, if we were doing similar things, we could do our homework together.

The afternoons were ours to do whatever, though the school had organised a number of trips and special classes throughout the month. Our first trip was that afternoon - to the Frasassi Caves; we had just enough time to go back for lunch and get ready to go out again.

An Evening at the Theatre

When you get back from holiday and it's a nice day and people say you brought the weather back with you, it is potentially the most irritating thing in the world. Of course I didn't bring the weather back with me! It would not fit in Easyjet's hand luggage allowance, and the logistics of removing the sun from one part of the world to place it in another is full of pitfalls.

Anyway, I had spent approximately a day in Camerino when the British weather caught up with me and we were subjected to Biblical rain showers. they had been brewing during our jaunt around the piazza and they materialised not long after. I didn't even have an umbrella - I was in Italy. So that evening Gaby and I squelched through the building site - which, by now, was filling with water - got some shelter in a covered walkway, emerged on the main street and dashed into the theatre a few yards away.

In the foyer was a large statue of a naked woman. This was a little too close to home for me and my recent experience with naked Italian women and I did my best to ignore it.

Gaby and I went to join Bree and Lynette and wait for our tour to start. From what I remember, it was originally Roman. They took us down into the basement and showed us what was left of the original Roman columns. This was the first proper encounter I had with Roman Italy. As a teenager at college I'd been to Hadrian's Wall, I've been to places like York and Chester loads of times too, but there was something quite special about seeing it in Italy - as the Romans intended. Even though there are Roman walls all over the UK, they're ever-so-slightly anglicised. These weren't, however - they were 100% Roman, it was just a shame they were hidden away in the basement.

After that they took us up into the theatre itself: it was quite incredible. It wasn't massive - it had a very high ceiling and balconies all the way up. There were murals and gilt-edged this and gilt-edged that wherever you turned. It was like a little treasure trove, hidden away on top of this hill in a tiny town no-one has ever heard of.

Our guide left us back in the foyer and told us that if we wanted to see something at the threatre, a Sicilian band would be playing the following evening. We all thought it would be good fun to go and see and so we parted to meet again the following morning for our first day of classes, but not after threatening to get Lynette's zebra print dress to clothe the poor naked woman statue.

Don't Show Your Knees!

After the shopping had been put away and our housemates had been told they owed us (actually they owed me) quite a lot of money, especially considering they hadn't initially consented us to do their shopping for them. This is something I didn't realise as Gaby was being so efficient and busy-body-ish that I hadn't even thought to check to see if she'd asked our housemates if they wanted in on our elaborate dinner plan.

Now I have no problem with communal living. What I hate, however, is wasting money and wasting food. When I was at university I made sure I bought only what I intended to eat. I was able to do this because I would plan my meals in advance and buy accordingly. I realise that this is a bit of a sad thing to do, but if it means I can save £5 or even £10 a week, then it's more than worth it.

I had the same attitude when it came to my language course. Gaby didn't. Anyway, that will come out in glorious technicolor in good sweet time.

After we'd put our shopping away, the clouds had rolled in a little. We were going to meet up with Bree for a wander round the town so that we could get to know our surroundings a little. By the time we met Bree at her flat it looked like it was going to rain so though we still went on a walk, we made it short and as indoor as possible.

Our first stop was the piazza itself. There was a statue of a pope in the middle and for some reason we found this quite funny. I want to stress that I don't find the Catholic Church inherently amusing, but sometimes the way its figures are interpreted in art does, unfortunately, raise a smile.

So after we'd laughed at the Pope, we went into the church itself. Catholic churches do tend to offend me slightly with great ornate murals and trimmings and then a tiny wooden box 'per i poveri'. Still, from an artistic point of view, I like to look and admire how even a tiny village church can be as nicely fitted out as St Peter's Basilica in Rome.

We went in and then realised we were getting dirty looks from the haggard old caretaker. Due to the fall in temperature, I was wearing a jumper, so it wasn't as if I was showing my inapporpriate shoulders. Bree was wearing a shawl over her shoulders, Gaby was wearing a cardigan, and they were both wearing trousers. What's the problem then!?

Oh.

My knees.

It turns out you're not supposed to show your knees in church. I mean I realise that under close scrutiny knees are funny things - knobbly and and a bit unsightly - but why should I cover them up!? Why is a knee more ugly than an elbow!?

I'm only kidding. I know why you can't show your knees in church, I just think it's a bit silly.

This somewhat curtailed our visit to the church, not because we were kicked out, but because I found it a little difficult to walk with Gaby's spare shawl wrapped around my legs...

We decided to abort all attempts at sightseeing until evening when it was to be our first group outing - to the theatre...

Getting to Know You

Our morning may have been devoted to the school and sitting our placement tests, the afternoon and evening was ours to do whatever. I had two things on my to-do list: get food, get to know my surroundings. You may know by now that I love exploring, and I was keen to get to know the place I'd be seeing a lot of in the next month. I went back to my flat with Gaby and we made some plans.

 For a start, this is what the view was from our kitchen window. I literally couldn't get enough of it. Unfortunately our room looked out over the street, but when we were cooking this is what we saw.

Camerino is a peculiar town. It is typical of a medieval town in central Italy: it sits on top of a hill and is enclosed by walls. Our flat was basically built into the walls so if we looked down from the same window that afforded us such a lovely view, we'd look down into a ditch a couple of hundred feet below at the foot of the town. It was certainly spectacular.

As I said before the view from mine and Gaby's bedroom window looked out over the street. For the majority of the month it was a building site because of damage caused in an earthquake. I was never totally sure when this earthquake happened - whether it had created some sort of subsidance over many years, or whether it was a reasonably recent phenomenon. But whatever the cause of the problem, there was a large hole, lots of diggers, and workmen that liked to start at 6am - and who says the Italians are lazy!!!

Back at the flat, Gaby and I decided we'd go to a supermarket. She seemed to know everyone and invited a couple of Portuguese guys along for the ride. I shall call one of them Carlos. I shall call the other one Carlos' friend.

We found that the supermarket was quite a walk away and spent a good half hour getting to know each other. When we arrived at the supermarket, Gaby and I went round together buying food for our flat, the idea being that we would cook together.

Gaby was awfully efficient (or at least gave that impression) and knew exactly what it was that we'd need. At that stage I thought she was in her twenties and was a seasoned pro and courses like this - she had just finished one in London. It was only three weeks later that it came out that she was only 19 (at this point I was 20). If I had known this, I would have realised that she was a little immature and had never lived on her own (I had been living on my own at university for two years at that point). That would have allowed me to pull rank and not waste as much of our money (and that of our housemates) as we did in buying bananas that would go off in approximately five minutes.

Oh well, that's only a taste of what's to come. We bought many things and soon realised it wouldn't be much fun having them back up the hill. Carlos, however, seemed to know when there would be a bus and we hopped on outside the supermarket and got off at the main piazza. Job done.

We packed our shopping away and then started to deal with the second of my tasks to do - get to know your surroundings...

Cafe Culture

The following morning I woke up in my new room. Because it was August in Italy, it was already hot by 8am. I didn't have anything for breakfast having just arrived the day before, so I decided to join Gaby in meeting some of the other people on the course for a coffee and a croissant before we had to meet at the town hall.

I was a little swept along by everything - I didn't quite understand how Gaby knew people already, but I wasn't going to complain. At that stage I still didn't know the town and so I was led down narrow backstreets, inamongst old-fashioned blocks of flats, the like of which I'd seen in Sanremo's old town and Baiardo. We arrived at what I learned later was the main street and I was immediately set upon by another Portuguese girl I will, in the interests of maintaining my Desperate Housewives theme, call Bree.

She scooped up me and Gaby and chivvied us into a cafe that seemed to be full of other students on the language course and explained that she'd met my roommate on the plane over from Portugal. She asked me where I was from and I told her I was from Manchester.
'Great!' she said, 'there's another girl from Manchester here too!'
I was quite taken aback and then I remembered that the person that had put me onto the course was a university lecturer and had mentioned it to one of her students too.

Bree introduced us: I shall call her Lynette. I got the impression everyone knew everyone else and considering I arrived so late the previous night, I wasn't surprised. I slotted myself into the pack and waited quietly to find the lay of the land and see what kind of people they all were.

Thinking about it now, and thinking about how strong our friendship became, it seems funny that on the first morning we were all playing characters and playing to stereotypes until we got to know each other better. It seems like we went about it backwards and became friends in the most complex, round-about way possible. But then again, you could say that's why we became friends...

After the cafe debacle, which fitted a whole host of personalities into a confined space in a headache-inducing half hour, we moved on to the town hall where our introductory meeting was to take place. It was typically grand. We all took our seats - I sat with Gaby, Bree and Lynette - and the principal told us about the course.

We did a quick show of hands for different nationalities and Lynette and I discovered that we were the only British contingent - language wasn't going to be too much of a problem as the Portuguese people spoke English almost better than we did! There seemed to be as big a stress on culture as on language which I didn't understand until long after the course had finished, but was grateful for in the meantime as it meant the month certainly wouldn't be 'all work and no play'...

We had to sit placement tests so that we could be placed into classes of an appropriate level and we were informed of a couple of opportunities coming in the next couple of days - a concert and tour of the theatre and our first official outing (to some caves).

The scene was set and the players had been moved into position...