Pietrasanta

Ooh, Anonymous has left a comment! Welcome Anonymous, yes I had a bath thank you.

On Saturday I ventured out with a bicycle that had flat tyres. Walked it down a road until I came across a petrol station with air for tyres.

Then I launched into the traffic. Went looking for the house we used to live in in 1985. I know I was very close but couldn’t pinpoint it. Even the street names were sending my synapses into spasms. Memories with giant gaps were coming back to me. The gaps may be caused by the amount of local Chianti that I consumed back then. The area is a mixture of medium density units and old farmhouses still with plenty of farming going on. Via Africa rang a bell and so did Via Apua. I rode the bike around the streets until the locals started giving suspicious looks.

Then ventured on towards the sea past the lovely forest. The beach looked so familiar and just as disappointing as it was that long ago, parking must be more of a hassle too.

Found a strip between the private beach areas, which are oh so ugly, parked the bike and went for a walk on the beach. I won’t say too much except that Aussies are spoilt with the most beautiful beaches and you just shouldn’t make comparisons.

It rained all Saturday night and Sunday was raining steadily. Lazed about for some time before venturing out to the piazza, which I expected to be empty. Surprised to find that a street market was happening despite the rain and lots of people were out and about sitting at the bars. The African guys who are usually pushing hats, handbags and sunglasses had switched to selling umbrellas.

I love the piazza (really it’s just a closed off street). Its only about 40 meters wide and 200 long. I paced it out. I’m planning the Barraba revolution, which is to create a piazza in the main street and bring some life back into a dead town. Wish me luck.

In the evening lots of people come into town and walk the piazza and surrounding streets, which are also pedestrian, only service vehicles allowed at certain times. There’s bars (coffee shops that also sell alcohol) little bakeries, patisseries, gelatarias, restaurants and humans. I sat on the cathedral steps and ate a gelato on Saturday evening and on Sunday evening I stood under a shop awning and ate a gelato. I’ve yet to talk to any humans but that might come. Dogs and cats understand me. Already I recognise the characters that are always there.

The frustrated looking violinist who sits at the bar smoking and drinking when not busking. (then busking for more money to spend at the bar smoking and drinking). He plays well.

The happy black man hawking hats. He keeps his hats piled twenty high on top of his head and ten handbags over his shoulders, and a shopping cart full of other goodies. He has a nice smile and doesn’t seem to care that no-one buys anything off him.

There’s a pixie that looks as if he comes from South America and wears the strangest hat and colourful clothes. He has a long instrument that looks like a didgeridoo but isn’t and some prayer bowls, maybe he’s from Nepal. The thing is he’s always there in the street crouched against a wall, usually deep in conversation with someone.