What the?

Guess what these are?

After the Rain

There is something extraordinary about Naples after the rain. The whole city wakes and draws a deep breath, enjoying the temporary submission of the dust, exhaust fumes and pollution. Heads are poked out of windows. The street is surveyed for evidence of last night’s downpour heard through thick walls centuries old. Eyes quickly take in the puddles, the pot holes that are no longer empty, the sodden mass of cardboard piled against the industrial rubbish bins. Looking upwards these same eyes assess the sky for a hint of more rain or perhaps a day of glorious blue.

The weather took a turn about a week ago. It looked like spring had sprung early, or at least earlier than its official start day of 21 March, as heralded by the national news programmes. The warm weather was greeted with confusion as people continued to wear their winter garb, resorting to carrying heavy jackets as the afternoon temperatures steadily rose. Just as I was cursing the undeniably turn of season, a late week of winter arrived, spontaneously, like a toddler whose mood unexpectedly turns from grins of delight to pouting and petulance. The skies turned grey and the rains fell, accompanied by a daily thunderstorm that rolled across the city, shaking the very cobblestones with its discontent.

The temperatures plummeted and I rejoiced as this late winter reprise allowed me to continue wearing my latest London purchase, a bright red winter coat, the wide collar reminiscent of the 60’s style. While most of the locals grumbled about the flooded streets, increase in traffic as people resorted to the dry comfort of their cars, and teaching colleagues complained that they could have stayed in London for such grey misery I was quietly rejoicing. My new red coat greeted each wet morning with a splash of colour, some sass and bucket loads of warmth.

It hasn’t rained today. After a week of showers I was disappointed. The flipside of any post rain in Naples though is the clarity. The city is washed clean, briefly and fleetingly, but it’s as though everything comes into focus. The Vesuvio looks more imposing, its strength and secrets evident in the way it quietly stands guard. The business district sparkles, the incongruous skyscrapers like ill cut gems. Even the snake of expressway seems to be refreshed, offset against strips of green where urban development has stalled or failed. However, post rain it’s always the sky that draws one’s attention. The blue, there is a special crispness to it. The clouds appear whiter, lighter. And combined they remind me of fresh laundry gently flapping, as the sun slowly draws away the moisture, leaving that special smell of blueness and warmth that is only captured by sun dried washing.

After my class this afternoon one of the students took me to the building rooftop to photograph the city in its fleetingly fresh state. To my left was the volcano; in front of me the Centro Direzionale business district. Turning right I see the straight, wide road of Via Poggioreale cut through and my eyes travel up the hill to the Castel Sant’Elmo watching over the city from its Vomero setting. I never tire of views of Naples. The city looks different from every angle, and I’m always discovering something new, a new perspective, a new secret.

I suspect that my red coat is almost ready for the wardrobe, and that soon the city will strip down to summer fashion, as fake tans are exposed, breasts lifted and revealed, as stilettos replace boots and fur lined jackets are swapped for striped polo shirts. I will however keep looking out for the rain, it changes the pace of things and there are always those special moments once the sky clears when you can feel the city taking deep breaths.

MOB in action

See the bald guy in the middle with his eyes rolled skywards? That's Bruno. He's one of the original members of a band called MOB. They group is reinventing itself and last night I went to one of their rehearsal sessions, at a recording studio. Gi is playing the didgeridoo and singing. Bruno is a poet, who sings, recites his poems over improvised jazz and plays some percussion.

View - Vesuvio to Centro Direzionale

I have recently started teaching a group at an insurance company. It's about twenty minutes walk from the school. I took these photos yesterday. Related thoughts are in the above blog.

Flailing Fulvio

What do you do when you have a job but nothing to do?

Imagine having to find something to do for eight hours each day, knowing that you are getting paid for it, whatever it is? What would you do?

How would you kill the time...or do you take offence to the thought of 'killing time', knowing that at some stage in the undoubtedly near future you are going to be cursing all of that time you had but no longer have and failed to use productively. If only you could turn back the clock and have those hours of flailing tardiness allocated to something helpful like stretching the clock when you are running late for a plane, or an extra hour in bed when you've had a big night and really don't want to get up, or an afternoon to take a leisurely stroll because you've already done the household chores.

A friend of mine, let's say his name is Fulvio for the sake of anonymity, is facing exactly this problem. In fact he has weeks of it stretching out before him before he starts a new job.

So, imagine you are sitting at a desk, in an office, surrounded by other employees who are probably busy, or at least pretending to be busy. You have access to a computer, printer, internet, phone and other assorted stationery. What would you do with eight hours each day?

1. Obviously there is surfing the net. Subtopics under that would be checking your emails, and replying to those that are personal and of interest. There is also internet banking to do, checking the pitiful state of your mortgage and credit card, and just maybe there's been a mistake and they've put a huge bonus into your account.
2. Internet sub topic 2 would be researching your next holiday
3. Internet sub topic 3 is keeping up to date with the latest news and any blogs of interest, oh and of course there is You tube and My space for hours of mindless entertainment.
4. Naturally you need to stay across important sites like www.oprah.com, www.kathandkim.com, www.kylie.com and www.beppegrillo.com
5. Then on to more serious things...perhaps you need to think about updating your latest Will and Testament...we are grown ups now and we drive, fly and use electricity so the chance of dying unexpectedly is quite high. You don't that house and crappy car and CD collection going to the government so get your Will up to date and it can go to your great aunt instead.
6. Momentarily abandoning the internet you need to spend say twenty minutes completely absorbed in a few prize games of Solitaire.
7. Oh, and before you forget pick up the phone and run through that list, call the insurance company for a new quote, book that crappy car in for a service next week, make sure the pest control guy is going to be at the house before 9am next Thursday, make a reservation for that family dinner at the local Chinese restaurant for Saturday night and call the guys in the drumming group and confirm practice is still on Sunday afternoon. Oh, and call your better half while your at it (that is your lover, not your mother).
8. Now that you've ticked off the list return to your computer and open Microsoft Excel. This is the exciting bit. Label twelve columns from January - December. Then down the left list all of your annual expenses...yep, you need to overhaul your budget and this is a perfect opportunity. Get cracking.
9. Remember that song you had buzzing around in your head? Well now that the budget has been saved and printed out for above lover to review and tweak, you have a chance to write down those lyrics that were floating through your head. Now, being careful not to sing out loud, go over the song in your head and see if the melody fits the rubbish lyrics you've scribbled down. It doesn't work at all does it, so get moving on making the changes.
10. It's only nine months before Christmas so now would be a great time to get cracking on that Christmas letter you always think about writing but never do. It doesn't have to be true, just make stuff up. You know, took a trip here, a trip there, worked on the house, mowed the lawn a few times, changed my job sometime in April, got engaged, but no solid plans on the wedding yet and certainly no sign of any children yet thank you very much. Add a couple of Christmassy type images and print out 50 copies to throw into those Christmas cards you never get around to writing....I wonder if you can buy Xmas cards in March??
11. Send an SMS message to above mentioned lover asking 'What's for dinner?' and depending on your expected energy levels at the end of such a strenuous day of nothing you could offer to cook. Or pick up Indian take away on the way home.
12. While you've got the time go back to the internet and surf around for some ideas on what you might like to wear to the wedding that you haven't yet set a date for. Imagine how organised you'll look when the bride-to-be asks what you want to wear and you already have an answered prepared. Something like 'white tux with powder blue ruffled shirt, silver bow tie and matching shoes' would be perfect. Oh and don't forget the carnation in your lapel. Brides are particularly concerned about the little details.
13. Now would be a good time to call your mum, but god damn them, you can't make international calls from work, so you have to settle for sitting quietly for ten minutes imagining the conversation you would have with your mum if you could.
14. That credit card statement arrived yesterday, so a little paper shuffling wouldn't go astray. Pull out the statement and all of the receipts you've saved and match them off, ticking the transactions off as you go. When you are done, staple the receipts to the back of the statement for filing when you get home.
15. In preparation for your last day at work, go through your drawer. Clean it out. Put that stash of stationery into your briefcase, and throw out whatever rubbish has accumulated. Get a wet tissue and scrub around a bit, removing the dust, pen marks and general grime.

So, that's about 8 hours of productive time wasting. It's time to go home.

See you again tomorrow I guess. Gosh, I wonder how we'll fill another eight hours?

Embraced

What I’m about to tell you may come as a shock. Some of you will be mortified. Some of you will, like Gigi, think I’m overreacting. “It’s cultural” he assures me. ‘Inappropriate’ is my word of choice.

The story: I’m at the centre, watching the band warm up in preparation for their usual Sunday afternoon practice. Some of the usual crowd are there; lending moral support and enjoying the music as the band find their rhythm. I greet the familiar faces as they arrive, often not really sure of names, but in no doubt that I’m supposed to as their faces light up at the sight of me trying to blend into the wall, before approaching with greetings and double kisses. However, there are a few faces I haven’t seen before.

A number of middle aged women mill around, looking very comfortable, but unusually I’m not introduced to any of them. I don’t mind though, preferring to keep to myself, as I try to understand the conversations going on around me.

The band has started rehearsing a new number, something I haven’t heard before, involving a mandolin played by a Russian woman. The music has a South American flavour, and I’m listening as the acoustic guitar, African drums and keyboard start to settle in. As I’m concentrating, deciding if I like the high pitched energy of the mandolin, I’m suddenly approached by one of the women.

I’ve gathered from the early conversations that she’s from Ukraine. She has the trademark home dyed hair of many Eastern European immigrants in Naples. It has faded to an unfortunate apricot colour and closely mirrors the hair cut and colour of her companion. I’ve been watching as she enthusiastically claps and dances to the music, although it’s still somewhat fragmented and under development.

Before I realise it, she’s standing in front of me, her hands on my shoulders. She’s already invading my personal space. In Italian, she says ‘Oh, look at this woman, this sad, sad woman. What’s the matter? What’s happened for you to be so sad? Come on, leave your troubles at the door, and enjoy the music.’

I’m trying to process what she’s saying, wondering how I can respond without appearing rude. My instincts are crying out for her to step back, remove her hands. Perhaps an introduction might be in order before you get so personal, part of my brain is thinking. Unexpectedly, she releases me, only to step behind me and embrace me in a hug, her arms wrapped around my chest, my own arms now pinned to my sides.

It’s at this point that something inside me starts to panic. I’m standing in a crowded room, Gi is just metres away, and yet somehow I find myself in a front to back cuddle with a complete stranger who is now murmuring, what she thinks are, cheerful reassurances in my ear. I’m aware of her bosom pressed up against my back, her breath warm against my ear. Half of my brain is working through a list of things to say, quickly eliminating everything that comes to mind. Stock standard expressions I try to have at the ready when I’m riding public transport, like ‘Don’t touch me’ and ‘What the *@!#$% are you doing?’ None of these seem appropriate though, and the English half of my brain is just wondering what it is that makes strange people think it’s somehow okay to just come over to me and hug me like I’m their best friend. I know Gi is watching, and something inside of me snaps and I’m afraid that I’m going to start to cry, partly out of shock and partly because I know that whatever I say to her it’s not going to fully express my complete discomfort and the wave of irritation that is rising within me.

I awkwardly push her off, disengaging her clinch, and manage to say ‘Per Favore’ (please) in an effort not to offend her.

It’s not until much later that I wonder why I don’t just speak English in these situations. I know I’m not going manage to say what I want to say politely in Italian, and perhaps by speaking my native language she’ll hear from the tone how inappropriate her behaviour towards me has been. I go on to assume that in her culture it’s okay to hug and attempt to console strangers. But somehow that gives me little relief as I’m left wondering if she wasn’t experiencing a moment of misdirected sisterhood left over from some 70’s feminist rally she took part in during her youth.

For some reason Gi confirms my suspicions that it’s ‘cultural’. I wouldn’t have minded if it had been someone that I’d already been introduced to, someone that at least knows something about me – my name, that I’m Australian, that I’m Gigi’s wife, that I’m a naturally shy person who doesn’t appreciate being attacked by over zealous Eastern European women with polyester trousers and a zest for life that is not part of my make up.

I went home and recounted the story to our flatmate Dana, who physically cringed at the tale. Dana has much greater personal space requirements than me, and reckons she might have fainted if she’d been in my place. I don’t doubt her either.

Several hours later, I still don’t understand the cultural etiquette that allowed this woman to be so physically intimate with me. I do know, that next Sunday, should I accompany Gigi to band practice I will try and work up the courage to talk to her, perhaps starting with an introduction, and then letting her know that in future she might like to consider that some people need a little time and familiarity before you jump on top of them. It’s a cultural thing, but surely my culture is just as valid as anyone’s.

Around Town

I poked my head out this morning. After flinging open the enormous doors that shield the enormous windows, covered by the enormous shutters that lead out to the balcony from our bedroom, I spent a minute surveying the morning market activity below. It's seems that the picture and basket vendors only set up on Friday and Saturday. I snapped a couple of photos, only to find myself attracting unwanted attention from the lads hanging around just across the road. That's it, I've been spotted. A tourist in our midst.

Later, Gigi dropped me at Resina markets, as he went on to give a treatment at Ercolano. I wandered around the markets and again couldn't resist the tempation to snap a couple of photos, while trying to blend into the background. Sometimes I think I get away with it, but I'm pretty sure I rarely go unnoticed. Unfortunately.

Tomorrow night one of the bands that Gi is playing in is performing at a community event at Scampia. I'll let you know how it goes.