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...