Last Night She Said, 'Oh Baby I Feel So Down'

My friend and I reached Baiardo that evening after my interesting travelling experience. There was just one other person staying there, a guy who was a swimmer by day and an English tutor by night. I shall call him Tom Daly, though he wasn't nearly as irritating.

We raided the food store and got a pan of water on to boil. I say we, I mean we burnt ourselves a lot of times trying to light the gas hob with a lighter and then asked Tom to do it for us. The water took about an hour to boil - plenty of time to catch up. It also gave us time to properly examine our surroundings.

When I'd been there with everyone else it hadn't been appropriate to delve into the nooks and crannies, and I'm glad I only spent one night knowing that there were creatures like this one (left) lurking in the shadows. It was also fun to discover the picture of the funny old man that was on one of the walls. I took a picture of him because he was obviously important to someone...

But what was by far the most bizarre aspect of the house was the staircase. As you can see there is little rhyme or reason to the size of the separate steps so much so that they were probably built before someone invented boring things like rulers and spirit levels. You certainly wouldn't want to fall down those stairs, or catch your toe on the way up... Anyway we ate our fill, whatever our fill was from what we had managed to raid from the food store and we shared even more of our stories as well as reflecting a little on the experience.

It was then that I really regretted my decision to go back to Brescia. Not only had I missed out on banter like finding big curly worms and pictures of funny old men, but I'd also missed out on Cinque Terre, one of the most beautiful places in Italy.

My teaching experience would end the following day and sadly, I ended up leaving with a bittersweet taste in my mouth. So as I went to sleep that night (after chatting with Tom until all hours) I couldn't help feeling that I could have done it better.

Nudity in Public Places

I left my family in Brescia for the second time on the Monday morning (and this time remembered to stamp my ticket). I had to spend most of the day on Italy's collection of slow trains and I wasn't looking forward to it. I had much to ponder and several changes to make.

I went to Milan (again - who's counting - I make it four times) and despite a person waking me up whilst taking a nap at Milano Centrale, everything was going swimmingly until we got to Genova. I'd been the same route the previous week and I knew I had to change at one of the stations in Genova. The first time I'd gone all the way to the terminus and hopped on my other train no problems. What I hadn't realised was that train had been delayed. This train was not. And I missed it.

Bother.

Well get the next one - you may be saying. It wasn't as easy as that. I had to get to Sanremo for a certain time so that I could get the bus up to Baiardo. Even this wasn't as simple as it sounds. I was meeting one of my friends from Sanremo and we were going up to Baiardo together. Though I would have been ok spending the night in Sanremo, my friend had to go back to Baiardo to collect her stuff as we were both flying out the following afternoon.

Things were about to get tricky.

I hurtled through the station to ask someone when the next train would be, the nice lady at the ticket office told me I should have got off on the stop before. I explained that I knew this and that telling me what I should have done is little use as it's not going to help me get the last bus to Baiardo. (I didn't actually say that, but I would have done if I'd had more time.)

Anyway, she gave me an alternative route via some other place on a train that, for anyone's money, looked more like a bus. I changed in another place I'd never heard of and then again in another place with a population of about four before I was on the train to Sanremo. I was clock-watching avidly - counting down the stops: 'We're not gonna make it!' 'Yes we are!' 'No we're not!' That was a very entertaining conversation I had with myself for about two hours.

I saw the second to last stop and started to get ready. It took ages to get to the next stop and then we went in what was by then a very familiar tunnel - for some reason we'd skipped the previous stop and gone straight to Sanremo. Good job I was paying attention.

I ran down the walkway.

This took some time.

I arrived at the waiting area to greet my friend and we legged it to the bus stop. Ten minutes later we were on the bus to Baiardo and I was glad I had an hour on the bus to calm down.

Now at this juncture I want to share something about the bus to Baiardo. When it's not full of tutors and others affiliated to the company, it's speckled with locals. I don't know what it is about these locals, but several of them seemed a couple of basil leaves short of a ragu.

I was busy catching up with my friend and telling her all about the time that during hide and seek one morning at camp, we'd gone and lost three children at which point it had ceased to be a fun game. Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the locals take their top off.
'It's ok,' I thought, 'it is hot in here.'
I carried on and told my friend about the morning we tried Olly, Olly Octopus on tarmac and in about four rounds we ended up with six injured children. This local caught my eye again.
'Hang on,' I thought, 'he's wearing a bra!'
It transpired this local was a woman. Awkward. Still. No matter and I went on to tell my friend about how my kids had written me a thank you message on my blackboard and had spelt it 'thank yuo'.
'OH MY GOODNESS! THE WOMAN HAS TAKEN HER BRA OFF!'
She was literally changing completely on the bus. I mean what kind of situation means that you have to change the majority of your clothes on a public bus!?

Needless to say that when we got to Baiardo I'd had my fill of Italian public transport...

We Beat On...

The title from this post comes from the closing lines of F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby: 'So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past'. A long way of saying 'keep calm and carry on'.


The Great Gatsby is one of my favourite books. I love how tragically glamorous everything is: Gatsby and Daisy are perfectly formed characters crumbling to pieces in front of the stunning backdrop of the lake. I can't help but get swept along all the way to its terrible conclusion and when I get to the end I can't help but starting again.

But on my camping adventure I wasn't reading F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby, I was reading Joseph Conrad's The Secret Agent at the side of a lake in an unknown location, slowly melting due to the intense heat. I wasn't enjoying myself.

We'd left the previous day for our surprise camping adventure. It had taken an age to get to wherever we had got to (I still don't know - if you recognise the pictures, answers on a postcard at the usual address) and because it was so last minute we hadn't pre-booked. We tried all the campsites in the area and drew a massive blank - they were chocca-blocca with Dutch people.

The problem wasn't as grave as you might think (though I would have preferred it to have been so we could have turned round to go back to Brescia); we were in our own home! All we needed to do was park up and everything would be just dandy.

We found a car park and did just that. Now I don't know if you've ever spent a night (or even two) in a box with four other people but I can tell you it's not much fun at all. So the next morning we'd gone lakeside to sunbathe and chillax. We can now pick up from where I left it earlier...

I wasn't having much fun at all. I would read a bit then look out at the view: something about it haunted me.

 I don't know what it was about that view in particular, but I was struck by that same feeling I had when I read The Great Gatsby. In my head the lake where Gatsby lives is pretty much identical to this so I suppose it's no surprise that I ended up linking the two together.

That might not be all. The 1% of my subconscious that regretted my decision was growing by the minute and I was hit with the inevitability that Gatsby and Daisy were subjected to. I realised I'd made a mistake and I should have gone to Cinque Terre with Kitty and the others. Don't get me wrong. I love my family and I was really touched by their kindness, but this wasn't what I really wanted.

The location may have been stunning, but I couldn't relax. I was starting to miss Kitty and the others and realised that I'd made the wrong decision. It was at that point I resolved never to take the easy way out again on my year abroad.

On the way back to Brescia I was a little desperate. Everyone was a little tired and short-tempered due to the lack of sleep and a proper house. I closed my eyes and thought of the song Whatever by Oasis. I love this song and much like The Great Gatsby it struck a familiar chord with me at the time: 'I'm free to do whatever I, whatever I choose and I'll sing the blues if I want'. In that moment the song appeared on the radio of the campervan. My family didn't register and so I sat there enjoying it and coming to terms with my poor decision.

That evening I showered and got myself ready to leave the next morning. By then I was ready to leave. I hadn't been before, but at least I could go without regretting it, which may have counterbalanced the regret of not going to Cinque Terre.

Surprise! Surprise!

The night after the restaurant debacle had been interesting. Kitty had a bit of, let's say digestive discomfort and she was up a few times in the night. She admitted it was probably psychological, but she was still up four or five times to try and rid herself of the rank profiteroles.

The following morning we headed en masse down to the station. We went back through the impossibly long tunnel and split into two parties: to Monaco and Cinque Terre, to Brescia. When I say we split into two parties, everyone went the other way and I was the only one heading back towards the east.

I boarded my train and waved to my friends as we accelerated out of the station. It was a proper goodbye because I never saw them again. We kept in touch sporadically on the internet, but if you spend a month with someone and it's another month before you next speak to them, that's like your whole acquantaince all over again. It's not long before you realise that all you ever got to see was a snapshot of their lives.

I had a lot of time to ponder this on the train over to Brescia. I had to change at Milan - yep there again - and was in Brescia by early afternoon. I was in minor discomfort due to my interesting sunburn, so I arrived in 30 degree heat wearing my jumper so my backpack didn't chafe. I was roasting.

My host dad collected me from the train station and I had my first ride on a scooter. To date it's still my only ride on a scooter. Apart from nearly flipping off the back due to the incredible weight of my backpack, I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. He took me to my host mum's work as she only had half an hour left on her shift. Then he went back to work.

It was so nice to see my family again. They are such wonderful people and I was glad I could spend more time with them. When I texted to ask them if I could come back, they said they had a surprise for me. I was intrigued to find out what this might be. I didn't have long to wait.

We were going for a weekend away in the campervan.

At this point I should just interject and say I don't really do camping. I like home comforts - running water, television, somewhere I can plug my laptop, and a proper toilet. Camping doesn't afford you these luxuries. Still I was going to be open-minded about my pending experience. I was touched that my fam were going over and above to give me the best time possible.

We were to go in a campervan that they'd borrowed off a friend as a kind of trial to see if they should buy one. We were also going to a different region of lakes. It was going to be epic.

So as I snuggled down in bed that night I was excited to be back and happy with my decision. Nearly. There was 1% of me that regretted the decision I'd made and wished I was in Cinque Terre. I ignored it and went to sleep.

Jimmy'll Fix It

So Thursday morning was to see a massive exodus from Baiardo and indeed Sanremo. Kitty and the other Canadians were off to Cinque Terre, my Sanremo roommate was off to Monaco with her new friends, and some people were even headed for home.

As it was to be our final night altogether we decided to have dinner together. At this point I feel it is appropriate to tell you a little something about Jimmy...

If you have ever been to Baiardo, you will have met or heard of Jimmy: he is a part of Baiardo folklore. He is not Italian. I don't think he can even speak Italian. He is a handy-man. From London. With very few teeth. Now Jimmy is a great person - he fixes stuff and so we had no reason to believe that he wouldn't fix our dinner plans.

'Now Jimmy' we said. 'We all want to have dinner together. Can you fix it for us?'
'Sure' says Jimmy.
'We have two very simple demands: cheap, and no set-menu.'
'No problem.'
Jim was going to fix it.

So that evening we met Jimmy and he walked us down to the restaurant. It looked a bit ropey, to be fair. We sat down and I got used to my surroundings.
'Yep,' I say to myself, 'that is a stuffed squirrel behind me, just above a large hunk of cured meat. Nice.'

Our first course was brought to us.

Hang on.

Our first course was brought to us? But we didn't want a set menu. Oh well. It was probably the cheapest option. Jimmy knows what he's doing.

The first course was pasta in a sauce - vegetables and the like. It wasn't the best I'd ever eaten, but it was passable. Oh well, it's only the first course. We were soon brought the second course - bolognese. Lovely. I take a mouthful. Not so lovely. There is a hum that goes round the table - don't eat the meat.

So far, not so good.

We were brought the meat dish next. We were understandably a little tentative at this moment in time. We passed it round - 'Oh, rabbit, my favourite.' Now I did have rabbit with the Brescian banquet my host family treated me to and it was ok. This was not. It was incredibly dry. I put a dollop of vegetables on my plate to moisten it a little. I have never eaten something so repulsive. I kept eating them as I couldn't work out how it was possible for a courgette to taste that bad.

By this point we were on a downhill spiral. Then dessert came. We realised that we'd been looking at dessert all evening. Next to the cured ham and the squirrel was a tray of profiteroles. No, not refridgerated, and yes, covered in a selection of neighbourhood flies - the very same flies that we watched crawling over stray cats and dogs outside.

Boke.

We ate as much as we could stomach so we wouldn't go hungry and then asked Jimmy if we could settle up. Jimmy has a word with the restaurant owner and walks over to us apologetically.
'That'll be 15Eur. Each.'
Silence fell in the restaurant and then the murmurings began: 'I can't pay that'; '15Eur! He must be joking!' and so on. I was sitting at the end of the table with Kitty and the other Canadians. We made eye-contact and decided against saying anything. The murmurings became louder and the tension began to augment. This was not going to end well.

Kitty made an executive decision.
'Let's pay.'
We looked at her.
'We ate their food, so let's pay for it. It's so disrespectful to refuse - what kind of impression are we giving!?'
I agreed with her and could tell things were about to get nasty. We collated 60Eur between us, handed it to Jimmy and left.

I believe at that point the poo hit the fan.

Thankfully we were long gone at that point, walking back to our house with a smashing view to boot.

We watched this stunning sight and hung around for the other diners to return. It transpired that most people had left within a few minutes of us, putting down any pile of cash - 5Eur, 10Eur, 0Eur... The other tutors couldn't understand why we had paid up - Kitty played the disrespectful line; I said that although we hadn't got what we wanted, we'd paid for an experience we certainly wouldn't forget - when Jimmy didn't fix it.

No Regrets...

There are only a few buses a day to and from Baiardo. It is potentially the only place in the world where you are completely relaxed one minute as you have breakfast looking out over a beautiful view and then suddenly there is sheer panic as you might miss the only bus down to Sanremo.

Because of this, I was treated to an early get up the following morning as it only really takes one day to do Baiardo. Even the prospect of getting further with Joseph Conrad's The Secret Agent couldn't tempt me to stay and sunbathe any longer.

Kitty and I therefore took the bus down to Sanremo to spend the day doing fun things. Shopping was a high priority.

At this point I am going to tell you about my biggest regret of that whole trip.

Kitty, from Canada, had been spending the extra weekend I spent with my host family with a couple from her native land. So much had they got on, that they decided to go to Cinque Terre together on Thursday morning. Cinque Terre is a beautiful stretch of coastal land, spanning 5 (cinque) villages (terre - sort of). I had been invited on this trip. Kitty had organised accommodation and trains and all I had to do was say yes.

I said no.

I don't know why I said no. Now I would say yes, yes, yes - try holding me back. But back then - when I was only at the start of my adventure, something crept inside me that told me to go for the safer option.

The safer option was by far and away the most complex. It was not staying in Baiardo. Most of the tutor population was leaving for one reason or another and I didn't want to be rattling round on my own. One of my Sanremo friends was coming at the weekend, but I was facing Thursday and Friday on my own.

So I took the easy option. I texted my host mum and asked her if I could come back. She couldn't have been happier. She was thrilled that I wanted to return and sample some more of her hospitality: to be honest, I felt instantly relieved.

I think Kitty was a bit bummed at this. Not at me personally, but because she would be spending a couple of days with just that - a couple. But I think it was the thought of travelling back to Baiardo alone that made me nervous about it, so instead I decided to go back to Brescia - travelling alone.

The depths of my intellect astound me, they really do...

So that day in Sanremo, as well as buying some harem pants - the first of many - we also bought our train tickets and that was that. My decision had been made, and do you know what, I still haven't managed to make it to Cinque Terre...

[Wo]Man vs. Wild

I like to think of myself as intrepid. I love exploring new places and discovering nooks and crannies rarely trodden by the majority of modern man - you'll see that as my year continues...

It was this attitude that I decided to employ the following morning in Baiardo. I say morning, I really mean afternoon, but as we've mentioned the morning, I'll tell you what that entailed too.

So I got up and went to the shop. No, wait - before we get to that I just want to share this photo with you.

A room with a view.

This was the view from my bedroom window. I say my bedroom, I actually mean the bedroom that I was currently sharing with about ten other people. Snug and cosy, yes siree! But when there's a view like that, you can never feel claustrophobic...

I got up and went to the shop - I had nothing to eat for breakfast, you see. I went with Kitty to the local shop and bought things like yoghurts and fruit. There were several people that were there on a semi-permenant basis that cooked for us in the evening, and we could probably raid the supplies to get some lunch. Breakfast, therefore, was the only meal that was up to me.

After this I joined the rest of the gang out on the terrace. I say terrace - imagine a terrace that's made by nature and has a fence round it to stop people falling down the mountain. A terrace then.

Oh, that's the view by the way.

So I spent the morning reading, soaking in the view and one other thing - oh yes - getting a hand print in sun burn on my back. Yes. I am that intelligent...

 I didn't realise that until much later, but I did have what Kitty called 'sun head'. It was at that point that we decided to do some exploring.

Everywhere we turned there was another stunning view - I could have walked around those hills for hours and hours. But it was really hot. Really hot.

We made our way out of the village and walked back along the road. I wanted to take a picture of the view as you come into the town - there's none quite like it.

 When I say Baiardo is a town perched on a hill, I'm not lying. What I want to know is how they got the crane up there. I also want to say how grateful I am that I never met it on my way up on the bus...

The rest of our walk was largely in the shade - in a garden that was supposed to take us to the fountain of everlasting life or something twee like that. We never found it - I'm still mortal. Oh well, I'll live (but obviously not forever now)...

We walked all over the village and the surrounding countryside until we got to this point. I looked up and took a photo. It was only months later that I realised I'd taken a picture of our houses. La dolce vita indeed - not so [wo]man vs. wild after all...