Italy

Pink Dinosaurs and Grappa…

20130716-141042.jpgHave I told you about my little nest? My abode? The one I sacrificed my first born to rent? Eh! eh! And you thought Port Macquarie Holiday Inn was a tad on the dodgy?

First up, shan’t be inviting ‘y’all over for Spag Bol and Grappa as you simply wont fit. Heck even I don’t fit! You’d likely refuse my offer anyway in fear of premature heart attack from climbing the 179 steps to get here, ‘specially with the carton of wine you’d be obliged to bring. Heck even I’m exhausted by the time I get to the 9th.

 

If per chan20130716-141059.jpgce you persevered you’d be sleeping in the bathtub for there’s only one bed, a permanently folded out sofa protruding from under thewardrobe cupboards. And it’s mine. I’ve grown quite fond of my bed…and the bedspread. It closely resembles a green and orange checked picnic blanket and is complimented with matching lime sheets the texture of table cloths. Thread count? Let’s just say, exfoliation while you sleep.

Certainly can’t hang your cloths sport because you wouldn’t reach. Even Harlem Globe Trotters wouldn’t reach. That’s what the peach pincher’s for. To hook stuff down and back up.

I might let you admire my shower curtain though.The cartoon pink, green and blue dinosaurs frolicking on beaches, some scarfing watermelon, others supping tequila sunrises, the babies building wonky sand sand castles. Heck even I’ve grown fond of it. Specially when it sticks to my butt. Makes me temporarily forget the dank odor emanating from under the sink. And the conniving bidet.20130716-141143.jpg

And you’re definitely not borrowing my splendid lime green waffle weave hoodie bath robe. Yes Hoodie! The piece de resistance and on which I grade all hotels. No robe? Zero stars.

I give this place 4 though. You know why? ‘Cos its terrace has the most breathtaking view down over the village and across the ocean…infinity and beyond. Plus a free supply of lemons to keep the G&T topped up. Oh! That’s right you won’t fit. Shame. Pour another will you Jeeves? (He lives next door you understand)

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Toothpaste and testicle crushers…

Dear diary…


Will my toothpaste for 7 to 13 year olds maintain my pearly whites through an excessive onslaught of cheap red wine these coming weeks? And will using fabric softener to wash my clothes cause long term damage? Just a tad of supermarket confusion, it will pass won’t it?

Does smirking while watching a tourist laboring to fork spaghetti into his mouth before resorting to sucking directly from the plate mean I’m not the nice person I thought I was? And why didn’t his wife offer to cut it up?

A local in the Village beckoned me over today, introduced his friends, poured glasses of Prosecco all round then launched into a rapid fire Italian conversation. It was really hard to keep up but do you think he might have been welcoming me into the fold? I’m pretty sure he meant me, not the bloke walking behind?

And would you 20130712-113148.jpgput the hot frothy milk and two sugars his crusty old friend, the one with the blood red eyes and shock of white hair, was drinking into the ‘baby-chino’ category? Or should I have kept my mouth shut?

Why are songs sung in languages other than English just not resonating yet that song coming from the fellow standing on top of the Colosseum video clip, who incidentally looks just like Dr Gregory House, sounds positively sexy?

Will finally getting the gist of an Italian soap plot because there’s Italian subtitles as well as voice mean I’m finally learning the language? And should I also get a trout pout, bright yellow tan and testicle crushing kick ass platform shoes too? No wait! It’s in Spanish!

Dear Diary…does this mean I’m finally a local?
Oh! And one more thing…do you think I will ever find a Limoncello I’ll like? How many bloody brands are there? Surely that would ‘complete’ my transition?

Meanwhile, some nice photos of Riomaggiore.

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DT’s and a few other disturbances…

Uh oh! lovely readers, I’m a tad disturbed! Male tourists are strolling through the Villages wearing just their DTs.* Here I am I’m sitting in a breezy little beachside restaurant sipping my Aperol when I hear the Scot at the adjoining table muttering ‘Walk doon beach leck dat e’ oome’nye’d be knifed ye wooud!’ to the back of his girlfriend’s head. She didn’t hear; too busy eyeing up a package in a pink pair, her expression vacillating between repulsion, curiosity and lust. Oh! and hey you! Yes you, stud over there proudly sporting the white ones? It’s not cold today my friend, not cold at all.

I’m also disturbed to see every female on the beach regardless of nationality, shape, size, age or original gender sporting a bikini. The ones that don’t entirely cover the butt cheeks. Clearly ‘de rigueur’ on the Italian Riviera. My elegant one-piece suddenly non ‘de-rigueur’  – my butt screaming otherwise.

And I’m particularly disturbed that, aside from the harsh disregard for ‘slip, slop, slap,’** I’ll need to hand over €20 for a ragged deck chair, a folded umbrella and the privilege of sitting on the grey pebbly beach in very close proximity to all that DT/bikini clad slow roasting flesh. Too cosy by far.

It’s all just too disturbing so I’ve poured another wine. Today I will think about the prospect of Australia clearing the national deficit in just one week by adopting a similar ‘pay for privilege’ beach plan. Tomorrow I will start a diet consisting of a single strand of pasta and an expresso. Needs must if I’m to ‘fit in’. Meanwhile, a few snaps to put you in this distressing moment (‘cept for the DT loving men – privacy and all that)

20130704-101419.jpg(Monterosso main beach)

20130704-101135.jpg(Taken in Nice, the same scene in Monterosso – uncomfortable pebbles)

* Speedo swimming trunks, commonly known as ‘Dick Togs’ ‘budgie smugglers’, ‘junk trunks’ and ‘Tonys’. (in honour of Tony Abbot, leader of the AU opposition party, who has a propensity for red ones)

**Slip on a shirt, Slop on sunscreen and Slap on a hat – an Australian anti-skin cancer campaign.

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