I'm outta here

It's Monday, the first day of my summer break. I still feel like I'm on autopilot, stuck in the routine of getting up, catching the bus, starting class at 10am...blah, blah. Gigi leaves for the farm again this afternoon. We had a lovely weeked just chilling out. Wednesday I will train to Rome and then take my flight to Copenhagen for the start of 13 days in temperatures between 18 and 21 degrees. Ah, bliss. To escape the heat in Naples will be an unexpected blessing, although my travelling companion is probably wishing he was heading to somewhere a little warmer.

I am not taking my laptop. It's a full on break. I will endeavour to post a blog while I'm away but if they don't appear then you know it's because I'm having too much of a good time with my lovely Danish and German friends.

Just think of me cruising the delightful northern European cities of Copenhagen, Dusseldorf, Muenster and perhaps a quick pop over to Sweden on a day trip.

Bella Napoli

You're Welcome

Forgive me, but I have to purge.

Imagine you are an English teacher. Perhaps you teach at an Italian highschool. You are obviously not a native speaker, but you should be able to cover the basics right?

After you introduce the alphabet (yep, the English alphabet is different to the Italian one as ours has 26 letters and theirs only 21...missing J, K, W, X & Y) and some numbers perhaps you'd teach standard polite phrases. You know - Hello, How are you? What's your name? My name's...? And you'd cover please, thank you and .....'not at all'. What?

Now perhaps it's a reflection of American English infiltrating Australian English (because let's face it Australian English is different to UK and US English), but surely everyone should learn 'You're welcome'. It's internationally recognised as a standard polite response to 'thank you'.

Sure there a several other options available including 'Don't mention it', 'My pleasure' and more colloquially 'No problem' or even more so 'No worries mate'. But 'You're welcome' is pretty much okay everywhere.

But no, I have had two students argue with me (yep argue) that 'You've welcome' is incorrect.

Why? Well, some random Italian high school teachers have told them that 'Welcome' translates to only benvenuto as in 'Welcome aboard' and it's not to be used after 'Thank You'. I don't mind that students don't necessarily know (although at intermediate levels I am somewhat shocked) and am happy to inform and teach, but I do mind the arguing. It's the blatant 'you're wrong, definitely wrong' comment with a defiant wave of the hands that gets up my skirt.

The insult was only compounded by the fact that I know that both of these students have travelled, and have needed to speak English during their travels. Surely, they can't have met only rude, ignorant people in English speaking lands who only use the very formal, very British 'Not at all' ?

Then there is the little matter of trying to explain to Italians how important the use of 'please' is. They just don't get it really. They think it's unnecessary, and then whinge about the fact that they were refused service at a pub because they asked for a beer without a please attached to the end of the request. Or that the woman selling bus tickets got snappy because they didn't use 'please'.

Let's not even go there.

Summer dreaming

It's not that I'm counting but I have eight days of teaching left and then I'm officially on my summer break. I finish on 27 July and am not expected back in the classroom until Sept 10th...at least that's what I've been told. I have booked tickets to Denmark and Germany for 1 - 13 August and am very excited to visit some wonderful friends there and go back to two of the countries I toured through in 1994. Then it's back to Naples for the peak of the summer break, when most of the city is empty (and somehow that is strangely delightful). I am hoping that we manage to run away for a few days at the beach. We have booked tickets for 29 August to fly to Venice and then train to Udine to join Gigi's family as they celebrate the wedding of his cousin on 1st Sept. I'm looking forward to seeing them again, and participating in what I expect will be slightly unconventional nuptials for Italians.

Other plans include a trip to Almaty in Kazakhstan. I just have to work out how to get to Istanbul from Naples. Why Kazakhstan? Well, Uncle Russell and Aunty Kathy (yep, never too old for 'uncle' and 'aunt' usage as it makes me feel younger) have recently moved there on a four year work contract. I figure it's my only chance to visit Kazakhstan, and it's certainly easier to do the trip from Italy than Brisbane.

In the meantime Gigi has run away to a farm just north of Naples and is labouring away digging and planting a new orchard. He tells me he is wearing boots, overalls and a hat (god forbid, Italians just don't wear hats as it contradicts their sun worshipping policy) all supplied by the priest that runs the establishment. He's enjoying it immensely.

Eight days...sixteen lessons...I am feeling increasingly Italian as I lose motivation with the rising temperatures and lazy atmosphere that creeps over everyone at this time of year.

Naples in July

History on the Wall

'History on the wall'...usually you might assume that I'm talking about a plaque, or some sculptured detail. Perhaps something the Romans did, something that has managed to withstand the ravages of weather, time and neglect. I am, however, talking about some posters I recently saw pasted to the side of a building. Naples is covered with posters, leaflets, flyers and grafitti all promoting something - accommodation available for rent, jazz concerts, pizza making courses, a political rally. These particular posters are a peak back in time, to the 1950's. If you look closely you can even see the official stamp on one of them authorising it to be publicly displayed.

For some reason they reminded me of old issues of 'The Woman's Weekly' and old movie stars posing in furs or full bikinis, always glamorous and eternally sensual. Ah, the good old days.

The cats out

Wow, my last blog seems to have 'set the cat among the pigeons' as my sister callled to tell me. I have received more emails in the last two days than I have for absolute ages. So, I have decided to post more ambiguous and emotionally distraught emails - just for the attention.

I want you to know that I'm okay. Naples, and living with Neapolitans, is a challenge. Every day it's something new. Quite literally. Gigi has realised that if he stays here for much longer he'll get sucked down into the vortex and never come out again. This city is like an addiction. And last night I finally realised why so many people continue to live here, despite the problems. In fact when I ask the question "Why don't you leave?" most Neapolitans look at me blankly. "Sorry could you repeat the question?" Just like I imagine an addicted person looks at you when you ask "Why don't you give it up?". The question just doesn't make sense.

I'm a little battle weary, but nothing that a cold shower, and a spurt of travelling over the compulsory August holiday period won't cure, with the knowledge that pretty soon WE will book tickets HOME.

I repeat, I'm okay. I haven't broken anything. I have my health, my education, somewhere comfortable and safe to live, an interesting job, some money in the bank, an Australian passport and family and friends around the world who have reached out with messages of love and support over the last few days. Most of all I have the ability to leave Naples, and return to the land of (suns)cream and (eucalyptus) honey that is Australia....although if I can work out how to get a stopover in Kazakhstan on the way home to drop in newly arrived aunt and uncle that would be cool.

If none of this is making any sense to you, email me directly. The more the merrier.

And Aunty Kathy, don't shed any more tears. You have greater things to worry about. Did you know that in Kazakhstan driving with a blood alcohol level above 0% is illegal? Homosexuality is not illegal, but it's not widely accepted. They have the death penalty too. And earthquakes. I can't wait to visit.

Love and smiles,

Wren

Chosen or Chance

There are some changes happening here. I would love to share them with you, but they are, unfortunately, far too personal. If it were just me, I would spill them all over the blog. However, my life is shared with others, and alas, it’s not always appropriate for every gory detail to hit this blog.

Suffice to say that things are changing. Change is something I love and loathe. It’s a great way to break out of that comfort zone. Chosen change is optimal as it allows you an element of control, even while the carriage may be careering along behind a horse different to the one that you thought you were hooked. Chance change is a completely different matter, but it’s a reality, and one of those things that tends to bring out our true colours. Chance change really tests us. Occasionally, it leaves behind some damage or it may unveil new opportunities, a new path.

The problem with dealing with chance change here in Naples is that I’m feeling increasingly isolated. Gigi and I have both learnt that as you get older it seems to take at least 12 months in a new place before you start to make solid friendships. Generally, those new friendships are the result of personal connections at work. Having chosen to teach English on a part time basis I did indeed make friends with some of the other teachers, only to have them leave, such is the nature of the industry. Several of my students have become friends but with well-established lives and routines, it is sometimes difficult to find time. However, more fundamentally it’s proven challenging to meet people that I connect with who can help bridge the gap between my culture, language and background and that of most locals.

All of this is compounding into what at times is a vague sense of homesickness. I have suffered severe bouts of homesickness in the past, when living in London and Thailand, and I’ve been waiting for it to hit me here in Naples. I am happy to say that it hasn’t been an issue (to date) but I am becoming increasingly aware that I am missing my friends and family more and more. Missing people and being homesick for a place/culture/environment are, in my opinion, quite different things. I am missing the companionship, the support and the fun that my friends and family provide. Some of these things are culturally based, like sense of humour, but also about shared time and experiences. I miss Sunday night BBQ’s at mum and dad’s place. I miss slow sit down coffees at Fat Boys Café in the Valley. I miss dinners at the Vietnamese BYO restaurant. (Why do all of things revolve around food & drink?) But mostly I miss just hanging out, laughing, crying and talking to my mates, sisters and parents.

Some of these amazing people have been to visit. Some of them are coming. I find their efforts to come to Naples to visit Gigi and I an incredibly generous gift. Not only is it wonderful to spend time with them, but it’s also amazing to have other people from my Aussie world have a glimpse of this place, this crazy, vibrant, over the top city that Gigi calls home, and that I’ve come to love as well. Creating shared experiences, and having others understand what I mean when I talk about the traffic, the markets, the mozzarella, the history, architecture, and jaded beauty of this former kingdom is a blessing. A blessing that I know I will only fully appreciate when I am back in the land of Oz, reminiscing about the energy and colour of Naples, wishing I could get a decent pizza, and have a real coffee on the run standing up at the bar.

I’m missing my friends and family, but I’m determined to make the most of this experience, savouring each smell, taste and visual assault. One because I’ve chosen to be here, but secondly because the element for chance change is something that I need to embrace, for I know I will walk away wiser and stronger.

With all of this in mind, I want you to know that yesterday past without notice. Yesterday was 30th June, the end of financial year in Australia, and ordinarily a day of incredible stress and business. Here in Naples nobody was talking about it. I find that somehow liberating and odd, considering my work history in the finance and account sector.

Instead of worrying about what wasn’t done in time, I realise that it’s six months until New Years. July will be a busy month of teaching. August is a month of travel and visiting friends in Europe. September will be back in front of the white board with a welcome visit from more honeymooning friends at the end of the month. I’m hoping that October and November will be busy with work and weekends away as the temperatures, summer crowds and prices drop away. December is already booked up with visitors and Christmas plans. I expect January will be focussed on preparations, as we are planning to be back in Australia in February 2008. At this stage, I’m not sure if it’s a flying visit to attend to errands and other responsibilities and catch ups, or if it will be for a longer period.

If you’ve got this far, and you live in Brisbane (or maybe even Melbourne), you might be happy to know that before long I’ll be calling you for that Sunday night BBQ invite, or a coffee catch up. Or, maybe even a day at the beach with long stretches of clean white sand and pounding surf (don’t ask me about Italian beaches).

Nero

One Sunday afternoon recently, my lovely friend Francesca invited me to join a scout group on a tour of a Roman/Greek theatre. It was originally an amphitheatre seating an audience of 5000. The theatre was partly demolished and built over in order for new housing to be established. It was customary that old buildings be destroyed, which is in direct contrast to our current thinking that old buildings, structures and ruins are to be restored and preserved.

The famous emperor Nero enjoyed performing in this amphitheatre as an actor in religious dramas. Our guide informed the group that he paid for audiences to attend. His artistic endeavours were considered scandalous by the aristocracy and his army.

Nero was said to be responsible for the burning of two thirds of Rome in 64 AD, although modern scholars continue to debate this. It was true however that in order to gain power he murdered many of his political enemies and ordered the execution of his mother and wife. In 68 AD, the Roman senate declared him an enemy of the state and he committed suicide. He sounds like a positively delightful character.

Entering the building, we found ourselves in what was a private apartment.

A bed was pushed back on tracks into the kitchen area, literally revealing a door in the floor. The door opened up. A staircase led down into the amphitheatre hidden underneath the house. Only part of the original amphitheatre is accessible as much of it has been filled in or is blocked off by the foundations of adjoining buildings.

Nevertheless, it was fascinating to stand where Neapolitans stood some 2000 years ago, enduring what was surely yet another horrendous performance by the fifth emperor of Rome.

Even more fascinating was listening to the eager boy scouts ask questions about the theatre and its history. Our guide eventually told one scarfed and toggled boy not to believe everything that he sees on television and the movies. It seemed that most of his knowledge was gleaned from the screen, making him a historical expert, in accordance with the ways of all ten-year-old boys.

He would surely have had snippets of sanitised, historical sound bites to confidently share with Nero had the opportunity arisen.

Burkina Faso Theatre

Last weekend, I accompanied Gigi to an afternoon rehearsal. It was a dress rehearsal for an independent theatre performance. He was approached to coordinate the music after the director heard his didgeridoo playing. He agreed to source the musicians and oversee the direction of the music.

A group of Neapolitan girls, including the director, recently travelled to Burkina Faso and came back wanting to translate that experience into a theatrical piece. Burkina Faso is one of a number of countries in the west northern part of Africa oozing men and women into southern Europe. They come looking for employment and opportunities, often sending money home to support families left behind.

It struck me as odd that these girls had ventured to a place I’d never even heard of before. I am embarrassed to admit that I had to look Burkina Faso on a map. While researching this African nation I discovered the stark differences between it and Australia.

Burkina Faso is one of the world’s poorest nations. It is poor in all sorts of ways.

Basic Facts
Life expectancy: In Burkina Faso = 44.2 years Australia = 80.3 years
Population Density Rate: In BK there are: 50 persons/sq m Australia only: 2.6 persons/sq m
Infant Mortality Rate: BK has 99 deaths/1000 live births Australia only 5 deaths
Literacy Rate: BK = 27.6 % Australia = 100%
Urbanization: BK urbanization is ironically = 83% rural Australia instead = 8% rural
GPD per capita: BK = USD 260 Australia = USD 20,820
Just think about that a moment.

Sunday afternoon, and the ensemble were gathered in a run down building, in a suburb that reminds me of New Farm and Fortitude Valley (in Brisbane for those of you that are strangers to the city). At some time, this pocket has been beautified. There is a mini soccer field, garden beds, and a row of olive trees along the brick steps leading up to the building that appears to be used as a theatre and community centre.

As we approached the door, we were hassled by a gaggle of teenage boys strutting their stuff, rolling a joint and marking their territory. To further emphasis the tingle of warning that ran up my spine Gi had to bang on the door before someone came down to unlock the front entrance.

Up on the third floor were the actors, in long flowing black dressers, a couple of technical people and the other musicians, two guys from Burkina Faso. Solu and Ahmed are half brothers, and friends of Gigi’s through their involvement with other local band initiatives. They are both accomplished drummers and sing. They always greet me with enthusiasm and broad smiles. This afternoon was no different, our cheeks meeting as I kissed the air and inhaled the smell of cigarette smoke and sweat. Solu is the extrovert of the two, and I his scratchy stubbly cheeks are a contrast to the smooth face of Ahmed. They both speak French with strong accents, as it is the official language of Burkina Faso, although interestingly it is not the mother language. Their Italian is somewhat limited (as is mine). Luckily, our conversations are never about anything life threatening, as I’m convinced they are loaded with misunderstandings. Gigi largely communicates with them in French, translating crucial points into Italian for others involved in the production.

It was a stinking hot day, and the blackness of the theatre, velvet covered seats and energetic performances left me drained. I watched the group run through the play four times. As the late afternoon humidity settled in, energy levels flagged, concentration levels lapsed and motivation leaked away.

Last Thursday they gave their first performance, as part of an application for government art funding to launch a season of events after the summer. It is now a wait with fingers crossed to see if the initiative will develop further. In an attempt to distract myself from the blanket of heat and spirals of cigarette smoke that filled the theatre whenever a break was called that afternoon, I tried to capture some of the atmosphere on film.