Category Archives: Other

And…here we are in Dorset…

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beautiful morning

Wonderful crisp morning walk in the fields 

Olivespastavino is taking time out in England. You might wonder why I would choose to come to England at this time of year when the sun is shining in Le Marche, Italy and people are flocking to the beaches for lunch (but no ice-cream as it isn’t the season for it). The Man is also wondering why he’s here, as his most favourite thing to do is ride his road bike and since being in England the weather has been…shall we say…challenging?

I have enjoyed frosty morning walks with Jpeg who is getting to grips with the England language, rain, narrow muddy roads, horses, badger sets and sea gulls. I am getting a great deal of use out of my Wellington boots acquired on our last visit back in October and I’ve had to add a pair of waterproof trousers to my wardrobe.

Since I’ve been here I have rediscovered the joys of the English pub lunch, pub quiz and pub darts. I have not seen a single pasta meal on any pub menu, but pies, fish and chips or curry are regular daily specials on the chalkboard.

cottagepie

Cottage Pie…good English pub grub

I’ve enjoyed visiting the farm shops, Felicity’s Farm Shop   and Washingpool Farm Shop and buying fresh farm grown vegetables, organic meat, eggs, milk etc.,

Bridport, our closest town is thriving, it has a market twice a week, lots of book shops, antique and second hand shops, cafes pubs and more.  The Man thinks the town stays busy because there is no ‘out-of-town’ shopping mall (thank goodness). More about Bridport on the next blog post.

The banks are full of daffodils and wild primroses. It makes me smile to see them.

daffodils

Italy and England are diverse in terms of climate, culture and cuisine…

The people in Dorset have welcomed us with smiles and encouraging words, they couldn’t be more helpful…and it was the same when we arrived in Italy some years back…the only difference is I don’t have to a phrase book here.

The coastline here is fantastic…the Jurassic Coast, where you can find a fossil with every footstep you take. It was a bit windy the day we went…

wildsea

Rough sea. A bracing walk along the beach.

I have enjoyed the close proximity to London – well not that close but two hours and fifteen minutes on the train.  About the same time it takes to fly from Ancona to Stansted, but then there’s a lot of hanging about and checking in, boarding, walking, customs, passports etc., etc., it’s much easier to hop on a train.  Our closest station is Crewkerne, it’s a country station which could be used as a film set for the Victorian era with only a few alterations.  I love it.  There’s only one platform in use, so it’s impossible to get lost but I suppose you could get on a train going in the wrong direction if you’ve left your sense of direction at home.

crewkernestation

And finally, The Man has a shed in which to keep his bike when it’s not in use, which seems to be most of the time right now. That’s a bit mean of me, he did go out today for an hour and a half, in search of a Roman road which sadly he didn’t find – he did bring back enough mud on the bike to pot up a few plants though, so it wasn’t a wasted trip.

thenewshed

I haven’t turned my back on Italy – far from it, but when I go back (which will be often) I want to be a tourist.

The Walking Singers…

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IMG_1799

The Walking Singers – John, Paolo, Anna-maria, Cristina, Me, Monia, Tiziana and Bernadetta.  (I may have spelt some of the names wrong, please fogive me.) Eugenio and Barbara are missing from this photo but we musn’t leave them out!

‘Would you like to join our Christmas singing group?’ asked my Canadian/Italian friend Tiziana back in November. ‘This will be our third year and it’s just good fun, mostly the group are Italians and we sing Christmas songs.’

I love singing, I take after my mother, she always had a song suitable for every occasion. My friend Linda is also the same…at any time she’ll burst into song after you have said something like… ‘good morning’…she’ll start,

Good morning, good morning
We’ve talked the whole night through
Good morning good morning to you… etc., Gene Kelly version I think.

I don’t want to turn into my mother, or Linda in fact but it is great to sing. It makes you feel good, something to do with endorphins I expect…I do sing, intermittently throughout everyday and if I don’t, then The Man thinks there’s something wrong with me.

Back to the Christmas choir then. I accepted the invitation and joined the choir with seasonal glee…(*groan*)

There were about four rehearsals usually a 9pm start but as most of the group were Italian they actually began somewhere between 9.30pm and 10pm. They were/are a lovely bunch of people but for the first three sessions, there was only a core of about four people who remained the same! Numbers kept changing and I had to try and remember so many different names.

Our song list contained most of the popular songs, Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer, (for which we donned red noses of course), Santa Claus is Coming to Town, Jingle Bell Rock and several more. Imagine was the favourite with the Italian audiences…we had to sing it twice when we performed at the old people’s home in Petritoli. Fairytale of New York proved to be a hard one to come to grips with but we managed it in the end – I love that song – we couldn’t have managed it without John Healy on guitar…or could we? hmm. Happy Christmas (War is Over) was equally popular and quite emotional to sing. It seems every year it is topical, sadly.

The name of the group is, The Walking Singers, it came about not because they walk at the same time as singing but because the first year they performed they sang in a piazza in Fermo then walked a bit and sang in a different piazza, then another little stroll and a little sing, and so it went on. This year, we did actually sing and walk at the same time and as we strolled through the streets, shop doors opened, people wished us well, smiled and looked happy. We were spreading goodwill in abundance and it felt good.

So, 2015 saw three performances one at the Casa di Riposo (old people’s home) in Petritoli; one outside Bar Primavera in Fermo (we were given vino brule, which is mulled wine, it certainly helped oil the vocal tubes. The final singing event was on Christmas Eve and took place under the Christmas tree in the big Piazza del Popolo in Fermo town. The atmosphere was…well…Christmassy…with a skating rink set up in the middle of the square, lots of twinkly lights, stalls selling Christmas tack bric-a-brac, children playing, bells ringing…all very nostalgic and magical until we started singing…J Only joking. The crowds gathered to listen, we sang our hearts out and even The Man joined in. His contribution was to play the tambourine with skill and passion especially in We Wish you A Merry Christmas…we never did get any figgy pudding though!

 

IMG_1820

Olivespastavino, complete with red nose. Not that I needed one really as the actual nose was pretty scarlet at the time! (I’m looking very keen)

Happy New Year! Good wishes for 2016 to all.

Father Christmas has moved in next door…

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I know where Father Christmas is living and its NOT Lappland…

frontdoor

I saw through the window, on the street outside, a workmen setting up some electricity in the house next door. (He was taking it from the street light…hmmm) It’s a tiny house which has been empty for several years. I’ve been inside only once. The ground floor is one small room with a traditional Marche fireplace. It’s a perfect grotto for Father Christmas and that’s exactly what has happened.

Babbo Natale has ‘moved in’ for the duration of the Christmas period so that the children of Petritoli can come and visit him – (only during opening hours which seem to be a bit limited!)

visitors

I am living next door to FC – how wonderful! What a pity my granddaughter isn’t here to see him, she’s thousands of miles away in New York. Still, I expect Santa will be delivering there too, but he won’t be living next door!

I was so excited I just had to tweet about it and imagine my surprise when Father Christmas himself replied to my tweet! See below…

BaboTwitter

Happy Holidays Father Christmas…See you around in Petritoli…

Olive Harvest…

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olives

This year has seen a bumper olive harvest. The trees were laden with so many olives that sometimes they looked like bunches of grapes. To those of you who have never picked olives and imagine it’s living the dream – it’s not. But having said that, the first two weeks, with help from friends, the sun shining and the trees of a reasonable height then yes, it is magical. But it’s not so great by the time you get into week four.  The friends have gone home and you’re left with a hardened core of pickers. The weather has cooled as much as the enthusiasm, only the big trees are left to pick and each one taking up to two and a half hours with four people picking. One tree yielded 140 kilos…Amazing. Not as much as this one though – largest olive tree in Italy . The Man thought there was a bigger one in Sicily, but I can’t find that. If you know about it please tell us.

14boxes

14 ten kilo boxes from one tree!

Don’t ever ask The Man to cut your hair – if the way he prunes an olive tree is anything to go by then you would be lucky to be left with a strand or two.

Before pruning
After…..

From the lips of the local farmers, there’s a great deal of advice about planting, pruning, picking and pressing olives. It’s always contradictory advice too, one man telling you one thing and his friend/wife disagreeing. We’ve listened to it all, The Man and I. We’ve read books and researched the Internet, basically you end up doing your own thing and for us that can’t have been bad because – friends and family, we’ve picked tons of olives (3 tons in fact) and consequently many litres of oil this year. It is certainly worth the hard work.  I have never tasted any oil so delicious as the freshly pressed virgin oil from the newly picked organic olives. We’re not registered organic but the trees are not treated in anyway. They grow and flourish, only by drawing nourishment from the rain and sun… and a bit of love of course.

Before I came to Italy I had no idea that olive oil could be so good. It’s labour intensive to harvest and as The Man always points out, when you buy olive oil from the supermarkets for under €10 a litre then it cannot be good stuff.  There has been much controversy in the press about big oil companies cheating and mixing the oil but I don’t know enough to go into all that here.  All I know for certain is that our olive oil is wonderful.

oliveoil

Fresh green beautiful oil….

Olivespastavino will be going to England in the New Year so if you’re good to me and I bump into you, then maybe you’ll get a drop or two.

coffeetime

Coffee time in le Marche sunshine in November !

By the way, there’s a great deal of talking goes on around each tree during picking and I’m tempted to make notes or record the conversations because they are so diverse. Subjects range from basic recipes, shopping, best and worst restaurants, expats you love or hate, religion, politics, healthcare in Italy v other countries, tax systems… I could go on forever and so did some of the discussions. I’ve taken to sitting on a box while I lovingly strip the olives from the branches either with a rake or my gloved hands listening with interest to those declaiming and joining in as and when I can – I’m not so good in the sport category but streets ahead in the useless bits of information section.

collecting from the field
loading the last few boxes to take to the press
nets folded until next year

 

olivespastavinopicking

Stripping the cut branches of their olives. I’m standing up, but only for the photo.

Trip to England…family…friends…fabulous…

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Beautiful English Countryside

Beautiful English Countryside

I know you’ve all been dying to know how we got on with the cat and the dog on our drive to England from Italy.
Well…it is not something that I would wish to repeat – at least not with the cat who miaowed for most of the 1200 miles (poor chap) but took less than twenty-four hours to settle in his new home in Essex where he is being thoroughly spoilt!

Mickey, settled in Leigh on sea, looks as though he's been there forever!

Mickey, settled in Leigh on sea. He looks as though he’s been there forever!

We were full up with luggage and at one point Jpeg did try to get on top of it all so that she could be closer to us!

Our little polo packed full...only a tiny space left for Jpeg

Our little polo packed full…only a tiny space left for Jpeg

Jpeg on top of the luggage...poor dog

Jpeg on top of the luggage…poor dog

Most of the stress of the trip was caused by the fact that our Italian vet wrote the wrong date on the animal passports for their last check and the dog’s worm tablet which had to be no less than 24 hours before entering the UK and no more than120 hours, a big enough margin but of course he had to make a balls up of it – and he also omitted to put in the time but wrote next year’s date instead! Goodness knows why. When I realised his mistake I called him and he just said, ‘change it, it’s no problem.’ But of course I did think it was a problem and I was convinced that the dog and cat would be impounded at Calais because I had tampered with the passports. I couldn’t sleep a wink the night before we left and had little rest on our two nights en route. First night in Aosta, second in St Quentin.

Mickey taking it easy with The Man in our hotel in San Quentin

Mickey taking it easy with The Man in our hotel in St Quentin

As it happened everything went well at Calais, but I was so nervous I couldn’t get the scanner to work and read the animal’s microchips, particularly the cat who was absolutely terrified when I lifted off the lid of his box and a stupid man with a huge black Labrador allowed said Labrador to put his humungous nose up the cat’s bottom!‘I’ve got a cat here!’ I shouted but he was an ignorant self-important man who ignored my obvious distress and went about his own business not caring what happened to me or my cat. The French animal immigration lady tried to remain calm but obviously thought she was dealing with an idiot (me) so she spoke loudly and slowly,
‘You are doing eet wrong. You must make ze circle movement over ze shoulders of ze animal, you are not following my instruction!’  I bloody well was following her instructions – I needed help, where was The Man when needed? Thankfully, he was close by and able to   hold the dog while I got the hang of the scanning machine.

Relaxing at Calais after arduous scanning at 'animal passport control'

Relaxing at Calais after arduous scanning at ‘animal passport control’

Travelling with the cat and the dog was bad enough, but imagine taking a ferret?  It must be quite a popular animal to take abroad because they even have a tick box dedicated to them on the pass for your car window. We didn’t see a single ferret – or horse for that matter, but they would be a little difficult to smuggle in one would imagine.

1 dog, 1 cat, no ferret (although you could be forgiven for thinking the ferret box had a positive tick!)

1 dog, 1 cat, no ferret (although you could be forgiven for thinking the ferret box had a positive tick!)

The dog was as good as gold throughout the whole of the journey, jumping in and out of the car no problem.  She seemed to loved England, all those different smells and no problem with the language.  During October she slept in several different locations and as long as she had her bed, her food and we were close by she never made any fuss. For five days we left her with friends in Bristol and we were told that she behaved impeccably – although when we went to collect her there was no way she was going to  let us out of her sight or out of any door without her!

Picnic at Ashton Court Bristol - Jpeg loved it!

Picnic at Ashton Court Bristol – Jpeg loved it!

Jpeg's friend Luca in Devon

Jpeg’s friend Luca in Devon (and his owner Caroline)

It was wonderful to be back in England seeing friends and family. We visited, Dorset, Devon, Bristol and of course Essex where we left Mickey the cat. Although travelling around for nearly 4 weeks, I didn’t manage to catch up with everyone – it’s impossible. But we’re hoping to be back again in early 2016.

The Edge of the Cliff in Dorset - The Jurassic Coast

The Edge of the Cliff in Dorset – The Jurassic Coast

The Man enjoying the Coastal Path

The Man enjoying the Coastal Path

We drove all over dorset and couldn’t believe how many public footpaths there were.  In Italy you are free to roam almost anywhere but I think the walks in Devon, Dorset and probably most of the West Country, might take a lot of beating.

Dorset Pigs seen on our walk along a public footpath

Dorset Pigs seen on our walk along a public footpath

Of the small towns we visited Beaminster (pronounced Bemster) was one of our favourites – and I discovered my cousin lives there so we met up with him and his wife for lunch in Bridport, a lovely Dorset town full of bookshops, antique shops, craft shops and tea shops!

The Square in Beaminster

The Square in Beaminster

Some of the other things we did in England…

  1. Went to the cinema to see live screening of Giselle by the Bolshoi.
  2. Ate pub lunches.
  3. Walked miles down public footpaths.
  4. Went to a two-book launch in Exeter,  Sophie Duffy‘s Bright Stars and Cathie Hartigan’s  Secret of the Song. Have read Sophie’s and can highly recommend it-great read. Have only just started on Cathie’s so will let you know how it goes – it’s a good beginning anyway!
  5. Went to London and saw Sarah Mayhew and Sadie Hasler (Old Trunk Theatre Co) in their production ‘Pramkicker’ – fantastic! Superb script and brilliant acting from two very talented actors.
  6. Met my brother and his wife  for dinner in London – we’re managing it almost yearly now!
  7. Also met up with my sister in Thames Ditton…she had been poorly and in hospital so a timely visit. She’s better now though…at least she’s supporting the bar at the local pub again so she must be okay!

I hope you like this small collections of photographs from our visit. Whilst in England I celebrated my 65th birthday with family and friends, naturally my lovely granddaughter  (all the way from New York!) had to blow out the candles on my cup cakes. (Why didn’t anyone tell me I had a silly tuft of hair sticking up on the top of my head?)

Blowing out the candles

Blowing out the candles

On a more poignant note, our family came together from around the world and one morning we scattered the ashes of my lovely son Tosh who died in 2011 in a tragic accident. Now there is somewhere for his extended family and his friends to pay their respects if they wish. A beautiful plaque in the garden of remembrance two, in Arnos Grove Cemetery, Bristol. I’m looking forward to visiting it often.

Tosh Plaque

It’s olive picking time again in Italy so plenty to get on with now we’re back and…the sun is shining! Yeah!

Pet Passports Please…?

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Passports

We did eventually get passports and photos…scroll down to see the fun we had before achieving this!

The Man and I are going to drive to England in October and stay for a month…and…we decided that the animals, one cat, one dog could come with us Yeah!
‘All we (I) had to do was get them a passport each and then they can travel anywhere in the EU. ‘It’ll be easy,’ I said.

First I bought a carrier for the cat, nothing too small because I don’t want him to have to spend 20hours cramped up.
I read that you could buy a spray and use it in the carrier fifteen minutes before travelling. The last time Mickey had been in the box he was NOT happy. So we duly sprayed the box and drove him twenty minutes to the vet. He only miaowed a little bit on the way so we figured the magic potion worked.
I didn’t stay in the room while Mickey had a chip inserted and two injections one for rabies and one for cat flue. But The Man said he was a star, never made the slightest murmur – once they had prised him out of the box. (Which by the way was too big to sit on the Vet’s examination table).

Jpeg (the dog) had already got the chip and distemper jabs so she only needed the rabies – she was a real wuss and tried to escape the kindly vet’s hypodermic syringe by winding herself around my legs. It’s a wonder I didn’t get the rabies jab.

So everybody ready…now for the passports.

I went to the local hospital in Petritoli on a Saturday morning. On the door, which says VETERINARIO quite clearly there are the opening times. (I’ve written it all in English)

Saturday 8.30 – 9.30
Thursday 8.30 – 9.30 For enquiries phone the vet on ********(with the number)

So I called the number because I was there, in front of the door at 9.00 and it was locked and not a soul around.
The conversation went something like this,‘I’m at the hospital, I need two passports for the dog and the cat but there is no one here,’
‘No, it’s closed on Saturday.’
‘But it says open on the door’
‘Oh take no notice of that. Anyway, you need to go round the corner by the church, that’s where the office is. You could try Tuesday at 8 in the morning.’
‘So, Tuesday at 8, right fine thank you.’

I walked around the corner by the church but couldn’t find anything, so assumed I had misunderstood. Tuesday morning I went back to the door which said it was the vet’s door but of course no-one there so I came home and called the office in Fermo, the county town. She gave me the opening hours during the week, I then asked where I should go,

‘Where are you?’ she asked.
‘Petritoli.’ I replied.
‘Ah,’ she said.
The music came on the phone and I waited…

‘Pronto?’ said the voice on the phone (pronto is how they answer the phone – I don’t know why because it means ‘ready’).
It transpired that they had put me through to the Petritoli office.
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘but you’re not open.’
‘We are if you come immediately.’
‘Where ARE you?’ I asked.
‘Come into the hospital, through the main entrance and we’re on the right.’
‘But I’ve just been there, five minutes ago and there’s no one there.’
‘I am here, come now.’

So I did, but the bloody door was closed! I searched and shouted and rang the bell – nothing.
I asked a cleaning lady and she took me by the hand, led me outside, round the corner of the building to an obscure door, I couldn’t see a sign but there must have been one. I entered…
Happiness…she was there, the women I needed, at last I could obtain the passports….Hoorah!

Dog first…

‘Name?’
‘Jpeg.’
‘No, your name.’
‘Sorry, Ninette….’ Etc.,
‘Now for the dog. Name?’
‘Jpeg.’
‘Masculine of feminine?’
‘Female, we say bitch, but that’s not a nice word really.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Nothing, it’s okay.’
‘Breed?’
‘Don’t know’
‘Let’s put mixed breed then.’
‘Okay.’
‘Date of birth?’
‘Don’t know but she was a tiny puppy in 2009 and she found us so we had to keep her.’
‘Colour?’
‘Not sure, brownish.’
‘Long nose or short nose?’
‘Shall I just show you a picture?’
‘Yes, thank you.’

Then the cat…

‘Name?’
‘Mickey.’
‘Masculine or feminine?’
‘Masculine but he’s been, you know…done?’
‘Okay, maschio, castratato.’
‘Oh poor Mickey, imagine having that written on your passport.’
‘Date of Birth?’
‘Don’t know but he’s the same year as the dog.’
‘Breed?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘I’ll put European.’
‘Okay.’
‘Colour?’
‘Ooh, I can answer this one! We say ginger but you say red. I can show you a photo of him too if you like?’

After three quarters of an hour and only 20€ later I had the two pet passports in my hand. We had great fun taking the photos as you can see…

What do you want now

What Passport photo-

Expression

My best sideHow about a little blingsunglasses and false teeth copy

Is this better-

Too Close

Spot the Tomato…

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Spot the Tomato!

Spot the Tomato!

At the back of our house is a little bit of waste ground that nobody bothers about so The Man decided he would make it a project and set about improving the look of it. He made terraces using some wooden beams taken from the roof when we made a roof terrace and arranged a wine press ( an old one that we don’t use) in an artistic way, threw in a couple of green vintage wine demijohns (even more artistic) – put down some paving and gravel. The Man generally made a rather good job of it and proudly announces to everyone, ‘I did all this without spending hardly any money, only hard labour and all the materials are recycled. I only spent €10 on screws!’

garden

I was in charge of filling the beds so I bought lots of rosemary plants, lavender, sage and other herbs. Then I decided to put in a couple of tomato plants. Yeah what a good idea. I thought I’d bought those cherry ones and looked forward to lots of little red jewels to put on our salad.

Everyone grows tomatoes here without any problem. I watered and fed them and they grew like triffids…amazing! They grew huge and are taking over the whole of the area but they are devoid of tomatoes – or are they? I have now spotted one or two but they are the buffalo variety – shock horror – where are my dainty little gems? Sadly they are taking a long time to get to anything like the right size for picking and as for going red…hmm – I think I’ll be making a lot of green tomato chutney this autumn.

Spotted one tomato...

Spotted! One tomato…

I had also put in some strawberry plants which did quite well and look as though they’re spreading well so next year there should be a better crop – if only I can stop the cat and dog using that particular area as their toilet. Not sure if it improves the taste of the strawberries as I was rather put off trying them…

On a brighter note, my flowers have done extremely well this year and I’m very proud of my cascading petunias, a wonderful burst of colour – aren’t I clever?

Petunia you adorable lady, well done!

Petunia – you adorable lady, well done!

And – I hope I don’t speak too soon – I have six oranges on my little tree, with a bit of luck they’ll be ready for Christmas!

Oranges...(or greens as they are at the moment)

Oranges…(or greens as they are at the moment)

Holidays…

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Sunflowers

Sunflowers

My last blog was all about our journey through France to England in July. Just to keep you updated, I stayed in the UK for just over a week during which I managed to take part in a 90th birthday celebration in Kenilworth, visited my good friend Maralyn in Devon and attended the Romantic Novelists’ Association Conference in London – I am a member but as yet have not finished my first novel. I am on the New Writer’s Scheme and need to get my manuscript in for appraisal before the 31st August 2015, Yikes! It was a fabulous conference.

Happy 90th Grannie...looking good!

Happy 90th Grannie…looking good

I returned to Petritoli energized and refreshed and brought back with me a couple of guests, The Man’s sister and brother-in-law. We spent the following week going to the beach, eating out and doing a little bit of sightseeing. The beaches here are safe, clean and if you steer clear of the big resorts then the smaller ones are not overcrowded. We favour, Pedaso, with Il Faro restaurant for great seafood dishes, particularly the mussels. In August Pedaso have their mussel festival but we didn’t make it this year. Perhaps next.

Blue Skies on the beach at Pedaso

Blue Skies on the beach at Pedaso

Prawns and Zucchini...Il Faro Restaurant (this is just the starter!)

Prawns and Zucchini…Il Faro Restaurant (this is just the starter!)

After sis and bro-in-law left, The Man and I took a three-week holiday with more family. I expect you’re thinking our whole life is a holiday but it’s not – honest – only the last couple of months might seem like it.

And Relax....

And Relax….

Cuprapedalo

The sea at Cupra…Pedalo in the distance…(you may need glasses)

For part of July and August while the family came to stay, (my daughter, her husband and our granddaughter and my two sons), we rented a house with a pool, 4k from Petritoli in a small place called Montevidon Combate. The temperatures for the period rocketed. It never really dropping below 30 degrees and much of the time it was way up close to 40 so the pool was a marvellous thing to have.

The Man and I did nothing too strenuous, we left the others to take a few days out on the beach at Cupra Marittima, hiring pedalos and being energetic. We also opted out of the visit to the evening market in Fermo choosing instead to babysit for our granddaughter. The joys of grandparenting – you’ve heard it said many a time before I’m sure – much more enjoyable than you r own kids as you can hand them over when the parents return! She was a delight and quite the water
baby, in the pool everyday.

Fun in the Pool

Fun in the Pool

It was lovely to spend time with the family and to recharge our batteries even though we were only a stone’s throw from Petritoli. However, after three weeks away we were ready to return to life in the town, our own bed and the comforts and familiarities that can only be found in one’s own home.

holidaypool

Have you taken a holiday yet this year?

Italy, France, Food for Thought…

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Dijon

Dijon

Olivespastavino and The Man went on a road trip. From Petritoli to England – ‘twas fun indeed! We left town at 07.30 hours (note my log like tone) on Friday 3rd July and on the first day drove all the way to Dijon in France. Sensibly we had invested in a Garmin SatNav – it worked well and the computerised Italian and French pronunciation was hilarious and kept us entertained during the many kilometres. I had packed sandwiches and drinks so that we didn’t have to stop for a meal on the way.

We did 11 ½ hours of driving which The Man and I shared – I usually do most of the driving when we go anywhere but 11 ½ hours would have been ridiculous. The Man and I very rarely have a cross word and this doesn’t change when we’re in the car – which is a good thing when you’re travelling over 2000 kilometres. We are good travelling companions.

When I drive he talks about the countryside we pass through. I know a lot of it is probably BS but honestly, it keeps me entertained and his knowledge of European history is pretty good so I learn a great deal about the first and second world wars as we travel. The problem is I don’t retain the information and can’t make notes with my hands on the wheel.

When The Man drives, I talk about how much writing I’m going to do over the next few weeks, all my ideas and how I’m going to get my novel finished by the end of August. He smiles and makes encouraging comments, but he knows I won’t do nearly as much as I say. He is my greatest fan and a good editor but he doesn’t push me hard enough.

Anyway, back to the journey. Of we went, up the A14 Autostrada, no traffic jams – not even as we skirted around Bologna – on we sped round Milan, through the Montblanc tunnel and into France then wending our way through beautiful countryside and eventually – ‘you have arrived at your destination’ said the SatNav.

The first night was spent in Aparthotel L’Urbaneva in Dijon. Secure parking, close to the centre, lovely hosts and an excellent room. We showered quickly and walked into town to find somewhere for supper. We passed by a few places which were too full and ended up in the Central Place restaurant, where we enjoyed fabulous French cuisine washed down with a rosé wine from the region.

Menu

Menu

Rosé Wine

Rosé Wine

Of course one has to taste the mustard if one is in Dijon. This proved a little difficult at first because the shop was closed the evening we arrived and then – shock horror, it was closed in the morning too but we were relieved to see it opened at 10.30 a.m. How very French and sensible – not like Italy where they open at 8.30 and close at 12.30 for 3 or four hours.

Mustard Shop

Mustard Shop

Just a small selection of available mustards.

Just a small selection of available mustards.

When the shop eventually opened The Man tasted and enjoyed a bit of mustard (that is not a euphemism) – he particularly liked the rhubarb flavour. There was so much choice it was hard to make a decision so we stuck to what we knew – a small jar of whole grain for the enormous cost of 22 euro. ‘You’ll not be lathering that on in large dollops’ I told The Man, ‘you’re going to have to make it last!’

The Nice Man who Served us.

The Nice Man who Served us.

We said our farewells to the mustard man and by11 a.m. we were on the road again and heading for the small town of Brandeville, in the region of Lorraine, close to Verdun. We’d allowed ourselves plenty of time to get there and took a route away from the motorway through the massive fields and plains of Northern France. We passed through Domrémy-la-Pucelle, the birthplace of Joan of Arc and stopped to take a few photos. Unfortunately, the house and museum were closed but I managed to get a few shots and The Man filled me in with a few extra bits of the story (possibly invented) even though I know it well.

Joan of Arc's Birthplace

Joan of Arc’s Birthplace

At Brandeville we stayed with friends in their wonderful countryside, summer home. The village was very small and we learned that it was one of the first places to be occupied in WW1. Close to the border, the local men and the army tried to hold off the Germans but sadly they were taken by surprise – there were many fatalities, injuries and men taken as prisoners of war. Our hosts took us for a walk and we were able to pay our respects in the small military cemetery to those who lost their lives in August 1914 and later.

The clump of trees surround Brandeville Military Cemetery

The clump of trees surround Brandeville Military Cemetery

Brandeville Military Cemetery

Brandeville Military Cemetery

I loved Brandeville and the surrounding countryside and we plan to return.

The following morning we made our way to Verdun and the route we took passed many battle sites and destroyed villages. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the terrible fate of the French people during the First World War and what it must have been like for the civilians living and working in the area. It seems they lost everything.

Map showing the Battlefields of Verdun and other sites

Map showing the Battlefields of Verdun and other sites

We went to the Douaumont Ossuary, a grand memorial under which are held the bones of 130,000 unknown soldiers. In the grounds in front of the memorial are the graves of over 16,000 – you can read about it here.
A truly moving place. I could not believe that the official opening had been in 1932 and many heads of Europe and the World attended. It is unbelievable that seven years later Europe was at war again. How could that be?

The main tower of the Ossuary

The main tower of the Ossuary

We also visited the Trench of Bayonets
I felt humbled by the sight of the simple crosses, barbed wire and earth. The thought that men had died here, buried alive whilst ready to ‘go over the top’ bayonets fixed. The bayonets have now been removed, for what reason I do not know, but on this original postcard you can clearly see them. What a terrible thing war is.

Old Postcard of The Trench

Old Postcard of The Trench you can see the bayonets

http://www.worldwar1postcards.com/the-trench-of-bayonets.php
(you can read about the trench here)

Time was running out so a quick tour of Verdun was all we could manage (we plan to go back) we had lunch on the Quai de Londres (The London Wharf). It’s an area on the ‘left bank’ of the river Meuse which has many cafes, restaurants and shops…a place for the boating fraternity to pull up and stay for a few hours or days. A very pleasant lunch was taken.

Boats at the Wharf and pretty houses on the other bank

Boats at the Wharf and pretty houses on the other bank

Lunch at Verdun

Lunch in Verdun

We made our way to Arras having booked accommodation in La Cour des Grands  just outside the town. The hosts were welcoming and so helpful. There was no restaurant but they booked a meal for us at Amarine. The Man said he had the best fish and chips ever…must admit they looked good and didn’t resemble anything bought at the seaside fish and chip shops in England.

Fish and Chips?

Fish and Chips?

Naughty Pudding...I just had a spoonful...

The Man indulged in dessert…I just had a spoonful…

There was so much history to see in the Verdun area The Man and I plan another visit next year. In fact, we’re thinking of taking a six month or one year road trip, travelling around France, Spain, Italy and anywhere else the fancy takes us. Not sure I want to be that nomadic and I’m not sure what Jpeg and Mickey would think of it…

Gotta go…it’s up in the high 30’s here at the moment so need to get down to the beach for a cooling swim.

By the way, the first traffic jam we encountered on our road trip was when we hit England! The queue for the Dartford Tunnel was a mile long!

Colourful Hotel in Dijon (not ours) Such a fun picture I think.

Colourful Hotel in Dijon (not ours) Such a fun picture I think.

Jesi…Somewhere to go on the way home from Gubbio…

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Frederick II Square

Frederick II Square

Frederick II – Barbarossa was born in a tent in the market square of Jesi on the 26th December 1194. The reason he was born in a tent was because his mother the Empress Constance was at that time, on her to Sicily to join her husband the Emperor Henry.

Impression of 'The Tent'

Engraving  of ‘The Tent’

She had to give birth in a tent because she was an elderly first time mother – and nobody really believed she was pregnant so there had to be lots of witnesses to prove that she actually gave birth to the child and there was no substitution, which was often the case in those days. So, priests and bishops and nuns attended and probably half the population of Jesi…

Possibly this could mark 'the spot'

Possibly this could mark ‘the spot’

The Man had wanted to visit Jesi for a very long time in order to see this square and frankly, had mithered on about it for EVER… so we had to make the stop on our way back from Gubbio.

I was not overly impressed with Jesi or the Frederico II Piazza, but I did my best to enthuse.   There was a monument in the centre of it but it didn’t give any information…there was no…X marks the spot and surrounding the square engraved into the border tiles it repeated a pattern of the date and a drawing of a tent. Strangely there was no statue of the great man in his own square, we had to walk to the edge of the town walls and found him lurking around a corner.

The Man with statue of Federico II

The Man with statue of Federico II

After our little walk around the town we stopped at a rather lovely café. The array of savoury delights and sweet pastries looked divine. I made my choice and we took a coffee each and some water.  It was just coming up for one O’clock and we, The Man and I, were the only two customers. I noticed that the staff seemed to be clearing up and shutting up shop. How strange… I thought, why would a food outlet be shutting at lunchtime? But, yes they were. It’s typical in Italy. The people don’t take a sandwich for lunch they eat a full meal at home or in one of the many restaurants so the coffee shops often close for three hours and open again around 4 or 5. By the time we’d finished (and we felt obliged to hurry our rations) the streets of Jesi were pretty deserted and all the shops closed.

So different from England which I believe now has now a 24hour shopping culture.

I wonder who’s got it right?