Lea's Kitchen

This one's for Grace, as requested, photos of Lea's kitchen. Taken before I clean up for Lea's arrival in a few days, yikes.

For all of you frustrated comment posters and I know there's heaps of you who just can't get through (well at least one), why don't you email me your comment to beulahstation@gmail.com and I'll post it for you.

See, here's a comment from an ardent admirer that I recieved by email yesterday and my reply. (some language editing was necessary)

"cool Cliff,
looks like you're having an interesting time! i'll be f****d if i can figure out how to reply to your blog, so 1 to 1 my comments must remain!
take care old (mountain) goat!"

My reply:
"Ah young buck,

Can't you get it together technologicallywise? Other people are having the same problemo and I keep trying different settings. Keep trying. By the time I get back might have it sorted.

I've wasted an amazing amount of time f*****g around with learning how to upload photos and struggling with computer stuff.

 I think I'm just avoiding getting down and doing some art. Art, what's that? I've had artistic constipation for years now. Hoping that feeding myself some culture will loosen things up, like castor oil.

It's weird keeping a blog. I can't really tell the world all that goes on inside my sordid brain and how screwed up I feel sometimes. So its sort of a glossing over the surface of what's really happening for me.

Lea's arriving in a week and I'm going to help her with a fountain here in her garden. that should give me some sense of purpose.

How's things back at Limore?"


Today its raining. After stuffing around on this computer for too long, I'm going to attempt to write a real letter with pen and paper to Lesley who is kindly looking after Wedge and my house at Barraba.
Lesley is one of the few remaining humans who doesn't use a computer or even have a mobile phone. So neccesity calls me to find some paper to write on. If I don't make it could someone tell Lesley that I really appreciate her generosity and what a great woman she is? When the world goes back to donkey and cart, Lesley will be the only one not writhing around in agony, suffering technology withdrawals.

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.

to Pietrasanta

Friday, 30 April 2010

Nearly three weeks of moving, hotels, hostels and food prepared by others is enough.

Caught the train from Messina, Sicily to Rome on Wednesday. Sharing my compartment was an Australian couple. It was their turn to be put through the wringer over their tickets that were unstamped by the ticket person back at Messina. The drama went on for the whole day, obviously the problem was not their fault but finally resolved when they gratefully paid a 100 euro fine; he fighting off a nervous breakdown and she shaking with fear of being thrown off the train.

I was biting my tongue and if I had any command of the Italian language would possibly have given the guard an earful of it.

Stayed one night in Rome and went through Florence to make it to Pietrasanta  yesterday.  Florence will have to wait.

Had a sensation of coming home after many years absence. Twenty five years since I stepped through the old arch into the piazza, the thought giving me goosebumps and bringing tears to my eyes.

I was met by Toni, an Australian living here, married to an Italian. She showed me the way to Lea’s place which is right in the corner of the piazza, gave me the keys and left me to it.

 Lea’s house overlooks the Piazza and is a wonderful old but recently renovated house with a lovely garden of olive and citrus trees. There’s a pizza oven out in the garden and Lea has built herself a little studio. It’s beautiful here.

In the afternoon I went down into the town eager to buy some food that I can prepare myself. The town is so nice and civilised. Even the perpetual hawkers of hats, handbags and sunglasses don’t push too hard. There was a wedding on in the cathedral and I sat at a bar in the afternoon sun and watched the procession of people, stupidly looking for someone I might know from the past.

You never know.