Timing is everythng

Off to Shakespeare country......

Way back in the distant past of May 2000, I needed to get a job to complete the financing of our new home venture here in Margon. I had been working as a freelance property consultant to a water supply company in the south-east of England. As often happens, new management teams come in and feel the need to change things even when they aren't broken. So it was that I felt thought it prudent to find someone else to sponsor our move south. 

For the second time in my life I found myself working for an American company "doing rather well over here" They were a nice bunch, based in Warwick. The work entailed a great deal of travel all over the United Kingdom and so it seemed sensible to sell up and move north. Perfect timing again, as it focussed our minds on the project in France and allowed us to invest the proceeds of the house sale for a short time before we left the UK. After 17 years in Bracknell, it was a bit of a wrench; but hey, it was only a temporary thing and, as luck would have it we really landed well having found this place.

 Our lovely home for two years

Consequently, in May 2000, Val and I found ourselves in the Midlands, close to Stratford-upon-Avon. We have travelled in many places arond the world but this was one of the most beautiful. I must add, immediately, that we were the proud tenants of the two windows immediately to the left of the main door in this picture and not the whole thing. We rented in this rather grand 18th century manor house, the former home of a local dignitary, now converted into apartments.

Not a good omen........

We arrived on a damp morning in late May with our removal truck already there and waiting for us. Having just started to unload and squeeze our life's collection of goods and chattels into a 3 roomed apartment, we were welcomed by a friendly voice with a distinct 'colonial' accent. "You're timing is great, " said he. "The sewage treatment plant has gone down - again!" and he raced off with something in his hand akin to a large spanner, presumably to fix it – again. "Great timing!", I thought too, and immediately had visions of having to roll up my sleeves and shove my arm up somewhere I would rather it didn't have to go. I knew I shouldn't have had that extra coffee and doughnut on the way here. We carried on moving in and needed at some stage to test the plumbing, which worked fine. As it happened, I was able to keep my shirt on thanks to Charlie's obviously successful intervention. What a way to meet!

The timing was perfect because, among the wonderfully eclectic group of people who made up our fellow inmates, were the Saworths, a great couple who were to become great friends in the years to follow. Over the next two years, Charlie and I, between us, kept the creaking old sewage plant, the pool and much of the rest of the old house running - against all the odds. Had we moved a day or two later, we may not have met them as they were about to leave for Italy.

Bologna bound..........
A much travelled and worldly-wise couple, Charlie prefers technology to people and it takes a while for mutual acceptation to ferment, but is so worth the effort if one perseveres. Shelley is the warmest, kindest individual one could ever wish to meet. Together, they are the most likeable and generous of couples. For the better part of the past thirty years, they have been renting the same house near Bologna in Italy for entire month of June. They were once living in Bologna itself while Charlie was lecturing at the university there. Almost since we have known them, they have been inviting us to join them there for a few days; an invitation we had always hoped to take up but never managed to accept due to other demands on our time, particularly with the B&B business.

Neptune’s statue in central Bologna

Until this year that is, when we found ourselves with a clear window towards the end of June. Five days; just sufficient to warrant and achieve the 900 km drive to get there and spend long enough with our lovely hosts to make their efforts worthwhile for us all.

The timing, once again was spot on. During our stay Charlie and Shelley announced that this was likely to be their last year renting. We are so glad we found the time to accept the offer. We have seen very little of Italy and, being so close, it seems crazy not to have done so, but it does figure very highly on our agenda. From what we saw last week, it won't be too long before we go back.

It was festa time in the village, which was a great experience; a typical southern European shindig with every man and his dog out and about eating, drinking, wandering, apparently aimlessly, but all with the single purpose of enjoying life. The atmosphere was alive and I was impressed by how such a small village could put on a show as big as they did. All kinds of stalls, most run by one or other of the local benevolent societies to raise funds. The main attractions were the eateries, serving traditional dishes of prosciutto di Parma, tagliatelle and an infinite variety of tarts, puds and other sweet things designed to make my doctor shake his head in dismay. Well, it is la festa after all said and done. We finished the evening with the best cup of coffee I have ever drunk and a large cone full of ice cream, home made at the local bar. Fantastico!

A typical medieval fortress in Emilia-Romagna 

One for the road? Perhaps not, well...............

One of the many highlights of the trip for me was when Charlie and I went off on a wine hunt. Charlie is rather prone to the local version of prosecco, a stick dry fizzy white wine which makes you suck the sides of your mouth when you drink a sip. A few days prior to our arrival, he had stumbled across a new supplier, a great, larger than life character who owned around 8 hectares of vines, a bunch of fruit trees and the most ramshackle collection of buildings you ever saw in your life. Gianluca, was a star. He spent most days, asleep, swinging in a hammock struck between two old almond trees at the end of his driveway, just a few metres away from the main road - but VERY visible. Passing trade would stop and wake him with their orders for whatever it was he had ready to go. I suspect many stopped, just to check he was still actually sleeping and had not passed on to the great vineyard in the skies

With a smile from ear to ear and words spewing out from it faster than a Gatling gun, he ushered into one of the barns, to check out the latest brews. We tried the wines, fizzy white, fizzy red and fizzy pink. He then winked at me and said the Italian equivalent of, "You likea summating a leetle ...you know?" "Si, si!" I proffered eagerly, at which time he beckoned us to follow him into the inner sanctum. It was a typical shambles of a place with old boxes, torn up newspapers, baskets and dusty piles of junk everywhere – and a single, dusty glass. Amongst this collection of old, but nonetheless useful, garbage were a number of carboys, all wrapped in their protective wicker coats. These were full of his latest distillations ranging from about 50% to 80% alcohol. Each was carrying a container of fruit of one kind or another, slowly infusing its flavours into the alcohol and fermenting, slowly but surely, in its individual cauldron. "You wanna try?" "Si, si! I said again, fluent by this time and even more eager.

Gianluca’s apricots, drying in the sun

Armed with his length of rubber tubing and an old glass, he sucked a good mouthful of liquid air into his lungs to syphon a good dose of tincture into the glass. "Dissa one eeza limons – sessante cinque per cento," he announced, passing me the glass containing raw, unfinished ‘limoncello’. "Bere!" he ordered, smiling again and again until we had not only drunk that glass but had gone through the whole range of fruity digestives. "Come!" and we followed obediently into a labyrinth of junk filled holes to where the oldest, most valuable piece of junk stood in all its rubbish littered glory. His still. Home made some generations before and still working to dribble out some kind of supplementary income for the family. He explained then that the house had been there since Adam was a boy, well three hundred years anyway and it was still standing firm.
The best part of a great hour with him was, descending a further two levels down to see where and to listen to the story with expansive Latin gesturing, of how, during the war, his forebears (he arrived just post-war) had joined the locally based German forces deep in the bowels of the place to shelter from the American bombardment from the surrounding hills. But the still remains intact, as he stated with enormous pride, smiling ever more broadly.

Charlie and I left Gianluca to climb back into his hammock to wait for the next wake-up call and we made it home, safely, with our wine and some fruit. A great character indeed, but his wine didn't travel well - not even the 7 kms to home. It was not good. Charlie tried to get us to bring some back to France with us but we declined, respectfully of course.

La Piazza at Ravenna - home to the most stunning mosaics

There were so many things to photograph in Bologna, it was impossible to choose. It is home to 28 kms of old, arcaded shopping streets and, surely, the finest collection of scaffolding and hoardings in the universe. We simply didn't bother taking shots of everything. We bought a book instead. Italy is a marvellous place. Personally, I couldn't live there, if only for the suicidal drivers who would drive me mad or kill me - or both - but it is THE most beautiful of places to visit. The people and the food are terrific and we will go back again and again for sure. We have the flavour now and it is bellissimo!