Telling Tales

All in all the time with my family couldn't have been much better. Ok so there was very little genuine relaxation, but I got to see loads of interesting places and had a laugh in the process. Camp, however, was a little different. Jane was only with us for a week, and it was a real shame because she was great. Mr Wickham was enjoying ruling the roost and using his right to a veto wherever possible. He had managed to ensnare Lydia who hung off his every word and adopted his inspiring 'I can't be bothered' attitude.

So after my amazing Garda-filled weekend, I was ready for a much better week at camp. I'd fumbled my way through up until now and after taking some time out to plan, I was confident of being able to start afresh and power through some good lessons for the kids so that they could come out of the week having learnt at least a little bit of English.

This was not to be.

Lydia had insect bites.

Mosquitoes are potentially the most unpleasant animal found in those parts and boy did they make their presence felt. So Lydia, we all had insect bites. We did not, however, decide that these insect bites were so bad that we desperately needed a day off. Lydia did.

Picture the scene. It's Monday morning and already getting muggy. I cycled a couple of miles to camp and I need to prepare some things for my class. I arrive at camp only to be told that Lydia won't be joining us today and so I have to take her class.
'But I already have a class.'
'I know.'
'Now you have two. Together.'
'Oh.'

Mayhem. Mayhem is the only word I can use to describe what went on that day and put me back in my ever-so efficient plan that I was still playing catch-up on Friday. Fortunately the company was way ahead of us and sent another tutor to help us out. I shall call her Charlotte Lucas. When Lydia decided to come back the next day, she was told that as she was weakened (yeah right!) she could share her class with Charlotte Lucas.

Lydia and Mr Wickham continued their acquaintance and I was adopted into the American/Canadian family. Charlotte Lucas, a Canadian herself, took great pleasure in telling us over lunch that Lydia didn't do any teaching at all. She used her pidgin Italian to bark instructions at the children and keep them in order.

Anyway the end of camp show couldn't come sooner, but not without a few extra tales on the way...

Road Trippin'

The following day I was treated to more of Northern Italy's impressive lakes in 'Garda: the return of'. I know that saying 'more lakes' and then going on to talk about the one I went to yesterday isn't the best way to start, but I love contradictions, so I'm gonna run with it.

Basically Garda was going to be our central point and from that we'd work our way around and about, exploring what there was hidden in the nearby hills. You think it sounds idyllic? Yeah, it was.

As you can see the day wasn't as perfect as it had been previously, but it was cooler, and less humid, so I was cooler, and less sweaty. Win. Win.

The views were traditionally Italian - the cypress trees, the villas, the fluffly green hills and the lakeside towns. With one exception.

D'Annunzio was a famous Italian poet and author that was famed, amongst many other things, for being around at the start of the fascist movement in post World War One Italy.

One of the other things I mentioned in passing was that he was widely considered a little eccentric. I've seen his house and I can confirm this 100%: he was a nutjob.

His estate sprawls up a hillside overlooking Lake Garda and after the house (full of 'things' - some cynical people may call it 'clutter'), he has a large mortuary cum shrine cum momument to himself (see above); there is an open-air theatre and... oh yes. A boat. In fact many boats. And a ship. A full-blown navy ship-thing.
I mean who has a ship in their garden? After that pretty flummoxing question there is the issue of how it got there. The thought processes to get to the moment where you realise you need a ship in your garden are so beyond my comprehension I cannot begin to explain.
Anyway, to your left you can take in the might of the ship. In the garden. Jus' chillin'.

After the slightly out-of-body experience of il Vittoriale, D'Annunzio's hood, we moved on to some more picturesque places.

Riva del Garda is a little town that, if it were a person, it would be sitting on a jetty, dipping its feet into the lake. It's obviously a tourist hot-spot but the slow pace of life for the locals is so infectious that you can sit at one of the lakeside cafes, watching the world go by for hours.

We drove all the way round the lake through towns like Limone (so called because of the lemon plantations stuck to the side of the hills). We also drove through what, to me, was just another generic tunnel, I was however, informed that it was a little more special than I'd first thought.
This picture looks quite ordinary. I mean it's obviously very beautiful, but that is in fact a picture looking back at the 'special' tunnel. Eagle-eyed film buffs will recognise that picture from the beginning of Quantum of Solace, the most recent James Bond film. After a lingering look at this vista, the shot then changes to the tunnel where Daniel Craig's James Bond has an epic car chase in about 4 foot of space with a camera strapped to a shopping trolley. The shot then changes to Siena, which, for fans of continuity will realise that Garda and Siena are connected not by a tunnel, but a large motorway. And things.

The final stop on our tour was another lake and by far my favourite. Lago di Ledro looks as if it would fit in in the Lake District. It's so peaceful and the only people that really know it's there are Italian. I could have stayed there all day just looking at the view and I got chance to do that long sought-after relaxing that a week of camp requires.

Going Garda

The rest of my first week passed by without much more incident. I was looking forward to the weekend to recharge my batteries and maybe take in some of the local sights. The reality was, in fact, much the opposite...

So Saturday saw my first voyage to one of the most famous lakes in all of Italy - Garda. Whatever you've read in the guide books and on the internet isn't true - there are no words to describe how beautiful it is. So I'm not going to try. I'll post some poor photos and fervently encourage you to go and take a look for yourselves...

On the southern tip of the lake is a series of towns. I was taken to two of them - Sirmione (see right) and Desenzano. Sirmione is a little island that juts out into the lake. (Adopting my best estate agent voice) It boasts many quaint streets and some impressive Roman ruins affording many beautiful views of Lake Garda.

I was taken by my host-uncle who had a reasonable command of English, a keen interest in music, and a typically Italian driving style. It was certainly an eye-opening trip...

The weather had been - let's say - interesting all week. Very humid spells were often followed by intense thunderstorms. It was very dramatic - certainly when you can see the rain coming in over the mountains, but it is a sight I could have done without during my whistle-stop tour. Nevertheless the weather came in across the lake and left Desenzano looking a little grey and lifeless.

It wasn't as tourist-y as Sirmione, but still pleasant. I imagine it would be beautiful on a clear day, but unfortunately I never got the chance to see it that way...

Out of Body Experiences

Instead of progressing chronologically, I'm going to maintain the theme of family outings. So a couple of nights in, my family, still keen to show me as much of the region as possible, took me over to Brescia to have a nosey at the castle.

It was a beautiful castle - high up on a hill looking over the city, and there was a beautiful sunset to match. My family were eager to please, as always, and wanted to get a closer look. I agreed, stressing it wouldn't be any trouble to just look round outside. It transpired that the castle was shut. At that point I'd have gone home - not that I wasn't grateful, but I was tired after camp and I really didn't want to put my family out at all.

That is not how Italian hospitality works.

On closer inspection the castle was open, but only if you were going to watch a film at the open-air cinema. So after taking a butchers round the castle grounds, taking some pictures of the sunset, I found myself sitting on a Brescian hilltop, overlooking the city, mountains in the background, watching X-Men Origins: Wolverine.

It was a true out-of-body experience. Never in my life had I ever expected to be doing that - with a family I barely knew, though they had welcomed me with very open arms into their home.

This is why I love Italy.

Adventures on Two Wheels

Though I parted from my fellow tutors on Saturday evening, Sunday had much excitement in store as the rest of the weekend was devoted to getting to know our respective families. I was treated to a visit to Mont Isola.

In the middle of Lago d'Iseo there is a large pimple of an island - that said it really is spectacular. Considering it was my first taste of 'traditional' Italian beauty in a long time, it lived up to expectations.

To visit the island you have to get across by ferry, which we duly did, and then to see as much of the island as possible you have to hire bikes.

Imagine the scene - the weather is, let's say 'close', and we're cycling up, let's say a 'mountain' - pleasant. But not content with leaving it there, let's add something else to the mix: a fly, some vanity, and an epic downward slope. What difference do they make, you may be wondering. Well, much water has passed under the bridge since and I'm still bearing the scars.

It really was quite funny really. On said slope a fly flew into my personal space and not wanting to get the mother of all insect bites on my face I tried to bat it away - BIG mistake. In order to temper the rapid acceleration I had just experienced I thought I had better pull on the back brake. Problem. Which one is the back brake? This one? No, so it must be... this one? Yes! Oh, wait, no... oops. Face full of gravel.

Well done. Day two with the host fam and I've already shown myself to be completely irresponsible and lacking in what most people would call 'common sense': cue explanation of the term 'blonde' over dinner.

I felt really bad for embarrassing the fam in feeling embarrassed for me. I was totally fine about it - to own the truth I found it rather amusing. If I'd had an audience I would have expected them to laugh.

So that evening I elected to keep a low profile and prepare myself for 5 uninterrupted days of English camp fun - easy, especially when (I think to draw attention to my stupidity) my family had put an attractive red dye on my wounds. Smooth.

Camp America

I wasn't the first to arrive at the school for our camp meeting and so I was shown into a classroom where some of my fellow tutors were already getting to know each other. Along with Kitty and Lydia was a tall, laddish American that for the sake of my Pride and Prejudice comparison, I shall call Mr Bingley; a subdued and smart  American I shall call Mr Darcy (though he had none of the looks of Colin Firth); and a team-spirit all-American gal, that I shall call Jane.

I am now thoroughly lost in Pride and Prejudice comparisons, but it will just make interesting reading later on when newcomers happen across later entries and discover that Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy tried to engineer a human pyramid whilst Kitty took a photograph...

Though these tutors were new that year, (like me, Kitty and Lydia) they had been touring the country for about a month and had, thankfully, more experience than we did. They all seemed very pleasant - nice, proper, jolly Americans.

I was adding to my worry by the second.

We chatted a little, had some ice cream, and then we were given our classes. For the next two weeks I had the pleasure of teaching... 10 year-olds. Oh. I was spared the 7 year-olds, but it still wasn't what I wanted.

At this point the last member of our team of merry men and women arrived. I shall call him Mr Wickham for reasons that will no doubt become apparent. My first impression was that he was a British jack-the-lad that enjoyed a bit of banter. I must say I liked him a lot. He immediately stood out against the Americans (and Lydia, but then again if she stood sideways she did disappear).

So having met everyone, we made plans to go out for a drink in the evening and get to know each other a little better.

On my return to my 'old' house, my host dad had arrived - he welcomed me warmly and things finally started to seem to fit in together...

Welcome to Brescia

After our first train had been a good four hours, we were quite surprised when, 40 minutes out of Milan, we arrived in Brescia (a place none of us had heard of). Our camp director (an eccentric Italian lady with a shock of orange hair) met us at the station and whisked us off in her car en route to Concesio - the place where our camp was to be.

Originally I had wanted to teach older children in a small camp, made up of tutors from orientation; what we were given was a large camp of children - the oldest being 11 - and we were to be joined by four more experienced tutors. We weren't to meet our fellow campers until that evening.

Kitty was dropped off first and the camp director gave a glowing reference of her new family - talk about full of praise. Lucky Kitty, methinks. Then it was Lydia's turn - yet more A* quality - the family seemed truly angelic. Then it was me. We made polite small talk in the car; I revealed my Italian expertise, which was received with surprise, giving hope to the fact my application probably hadn't been scrutinised that closely: my origami would live to die another day...

After that brief interchange we fell silent and soon arrived. As we walked through a rusty gate and into a dark hallway the camp director looked over to me and said,

"The house has a history."

Oh. Where was my exceptional familial review? Aren't there any nice things you have to say about them? Can't you at least give me some information!

Then I met my mum.

I was welcomed into her home, introduced to her charming daughters, given the house keys, and left to take it all in by having a well-earned nap. It was not a restful nap; my thoughts were plenty: who were these people? How should I behave? What if I offend them? What do they expect of me?

I confess there were feelings of regret - granted it was only two weeks, but two weeks is a long time if you're not enjoying yourself. I thought of my Sanremo friends all having identical experiences at the very same moment. My mood wasn't helped by the weather - it had turned strangely mysterious and the thunderclouds had rolled in. Talk about pathetic fallacy...

I wasn't given long to ponder these issues as I was soon delivered to the school to meet the rest of the tutors, so off I popped with my mum (whose name I had already forgotten) to meet some more people that I was to spend the next two weeks getting to know.