"My life is in your hands"

Now this phrase is a very dramatic phrase. Maybe something you would say to the doctor, perhaps before a lifesaving operation……I'm not going to have a lifesaving operation; I'm going to the hairdresser!

I'm going to a hairdresser who doesn't speak English, he speaks Italian and I speak English, I don't speak Italian ( not yet anyway). I had made the appointment spontaneously one afternoon with a salon in town that was recommended by a good friend. When I had made the appointment all I could manage to babble out was " tagliare, colore, Questa settimana? Giovedi? Alla dieci? Si perfetto, Civediamo giovedi!" Which translates exactly to "Cut, colour, this week? Thursday? 10.00am? yes perfect, see you Thursday". As I left the salon I was a little chuffed I did that all by myself and then a little baffled as to how I'm going to tell the hairdresser what I need and want done with my curly locks. In my experience not many (any) hairdressers (except my aunty strawb…'hair with flair') know how to deal with curly hair and I normally end up coming out looking like an electrocuted poodle. And this is after in English, at length I have detailed my wants, needs, dislikes and fears. My fear of the hairdresser can be compared to a bad fear of flying. I normally sit, shaking, sweating and hyperventilating at every bit of movement.

As I sat in the chair I felt weirdly calm. I thought this complete lack of communication would freak me out but it had the opposite effect. I felt more excited than anything, excited and a bit perplexed as to why I put myself in this position in the first place, but mostly excited. Like when your team is kicking the deciding goal after the siren and your sweaty, sickly nervously excited. It could go either way, it could go horribly wrong and he could miss or it could all go beautifully right, but it's not up to you. You can't kick the ball, your life, your happiness is in someone else's hands.

So I sit there and let the games begin. I watch the cute little guy fan colour swatches of hair across my forehead as if he were competing in a Japanese 'fan opening' competition. With a colour decided the cute little blonde assistant begins to brush in the colour…my eyes go a bit wide when I realise I forgot to try and inform them I wanted 'foils' and not a whole full colour. Oh well too late now…how exciting!

This whole language barrier thing works rather to your advantage when at the hair dresser. You don't have to obligingly answer the plethora of scripted questions from the very uninterested hairdresser " So are you going out tonight? Are you married? Do you have a boyfriend? Does he have any friends? What do you do for work? …" I always feel like saying 'Please, just concentrate on my hair, that's what I'm here for". Today I sit in silence and feel good that she's just concentrating on my hair. I calmly sit in silence, looking at the pretty pictures in magazines and I think to myself 'Whatever happens today , I will just have to accept it. Good or bad, although im hoping to walk out looking like an Italian movie star. Two years ago I got a really shocking hair cut just before I left for my first Italian holiday. I erupted like an of the Richter scale earthquake. The tremors and aftershocks carried on for the whole holiday with violent eruptions of swear words and hate for "that fucking BITCH…I cant believe what she did to me…".. I acted like she had cut of my left arm. Even though I do feel like my hair is a precious extension of me, my precious hair grew back rather quickly. I wasted a lot of precious energy and time that holiday obsessing over my hair and regret that. But with regrets come lessons to learn.

Today it's a 50/50…..electrocuted poodle or Italian film star. 'I will be happy whatever happens' I tell myself VERY sternly. I have no-one to blame. The cute little hairdresser was asked by me in broken Italian to "Just do what you think needs doing". I do deserve the 'bravery award 2010' for that one! And as for me, past regrets have taught me a lot. Why should I only be happy if my haircut turns out good? I should be happy either way, good or bad! Because my happiness is more important than my hair…yes I just said that!

The colour is washed out and I'm seated in front of the mirror for the elusive 'cut'. My eyes bawk as I notice a lovely orange tinge in my hair. I'm trying to think how I would try and say 'I need a toner, you need to fix this, I wanted blonde not orange' but I don't have a clue how to say that so instead I just try to think of all the famous film stars with orange hair, change IS GOOD… 'this is still good' it try to convince myself. It's time for the cut and I try to motion with my hands and slowly say "I WANT L-A-Y-E-R-S"…and then realise no matter how slow I say it , it won't translate. So I smile, sit back and let the games continue.

The cute little hairdresser guy is standing behind me, scissors poised. I notice he has a ridiculously similar resemblance to 'Edward Scissor Hands'. I have to hold in and 'out-loud' laugh as flashes from the film run through my mind of 'Edward Scissor Hands' frantically hacking at hedge bushes and heads of hair….and HES OFF, he flicks his scissors before he takes the first cut as if he were Zoro. He picks up a big chunk of my hair from the crown of my head…and ITS OFF. I can't believe my eyes. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I know for a fact what he just did is an unfixable cardinal sin for cutting curly hair! I decide to laugh, because what else can I do, and anyway this could all be worth it just watching him swinging his scissors around my head like Zoro. Only in Italy can someone look so good while cutting my hair so bad.

The cut is done and my hair is dry. I'm in front of the mirror again being pampered like a prize winning poodle which is only fitting because that's just what I look like. A lovely fluffy tuft on top of my head and then a longer layer that looks like my cute fluffy poodle ears. All with, shall we say, an 'apricot' tinge. So there it was, I had to give him some credit because I got more than what I was expecting. Instead of 'electrocuted poodle' I got 'prize winning pampered poodle'….and that's got to be worth something!

I paid my money and said a polite "Grazie" and then once outside I burst out laughing. At that moment I half expected a bounding 'pity-party' to jump out from around a corner or jump down from a window above, tackle me to the floor and pin me to the ground, slap me in the face and say "STOP SMILING, LOOK AT WHAT HE DID TO YOUR HAIR, WE SHOULD BE SO UPSET AND ANGRY RIGHT NOW"…but there was no 'pity-party', only laughter. I knew my hair would grow out, I knew being upset about this would not fix anything and I knew that next time I would go to a different hairdresser with a friend who speaks English & Italian to translate for me. I thought of something my nanna Rusty would say, something she says about everything thing that could possibly be tragic from a bad haircut to a diagnosis of cancer "Oh well, at least you don't have dandruff" she says! And I laughed all the way home with MY HAPPINESS FIRMLY IN MY HANDS…

Fair trade?

I'm at the airport saying good-bye to a fabulous, endearing adorable friend of mine, Pamela. She is from Australia but is living in London and she came to visit me for a whirlwind weekend here in Italy. Before she boarded the plane i thought it only proper to finish this overindulgent weekend of food wine talking and laughing with a nice glass of bubbly. As i swallowed the last drop of bubbly prosecco(aka 'pamelas water') from my glass, a sour taste came into my mouth. As i realised that once my fabulous bubbly friend gets on the plane, so to will our fabulous bubbly conversations in our native english.

We chatted frantically right up until she boarded the plane, Luca, the whole time watched in amazment at how fast our conversations changed topic from food, wine, food, travel, family, food and poo!

After she had boarded, we(Luca & I) took a little look around the ever fabulous 'airport shop'. I love airport shops, filled with nothing you need but everything you want. As i aimlessly wandered around i came across the magazine stand, about to just keep on walking because they are all printed in Italian then...i stopped dead in my tracks as my eyes focused on an entire stand dedicated to magazines in English print....I just stood there gobbling up all the glorious English words, just like i had gobbled up my delicious pizza the day before while nursing one fabulous hangover. I stood there staring at all the magazine cover and actually thought i saw a big glowing halo shinning around the entire stand, then i felt two strong, firm hands on my shoulders and i froze. I thought...'oh my god..its god!'. But it was just Luca, who slowly and kindly turned me around on the spot. Gently leading me away, reassuring me that it will not help me to learn Italian if i buy one of those magazines.

Once we got in the car and drove away from the airport i felt a tinge of sadness pinch me right in my chest. As i drove away from my near dear friend who, for three days delighted me with her effervescent, energetic, contagious zest for life. More delightful was the feeling of 'Self ' i got back over those three days being able to speak and interact with someone who is from Australia, who is a friend, who speaks and understands our cultural humour, who gets my aussie slang jokes first hit without awkward translations, who allowed me to speak with all the colourful details, thoughts and feelings i was needing so desperately to share.

I like to think of myself as a good conversationalist, the perfect dinner party guest. You can plonk me next to just about anybody and i will happily strike up a good, if not great conversation. Now although many of my friends here speak english, just like my basic italian, their english is basic. So... my basic italian + their basic english = a basic conversation. And after a while of these basic conversations you start to loose a bit of 'yourself'..well i found so anyway. Like when a conversation is in full-swing and all i want to is jump right in with my opinion, my thoughts, my feelings but my basic italian wont let me, i don't know the words to use...or really whats going on in the conversation. So i just have to sit back, totally out of the conversation and get on by with the basic italian i can handle. Once the overwhelming frustration of this truth wore of, i began to think 'hey, maybe iv just lost my 'great' conversation skills, maybe iv lost a bit of my personality. Maybe without realising i traded it in for the basic model'....



It only took me three seconds once Pamela arrived in Italy to realise that i hadn't lost anything, i hadn't lost me, I had been there the whole time. As i began to babble like a mad cow jumping from topic to topic in crazy colourful delightful conversation, right there at the arrival gate!



It only took me one whole day after Pamela arrived to realise, in fact i hadn't lost anything at all, i had actually gained something. As in between our colourful conversations i was able to order food & drinks for us, ask directions, opening times,...talk to friends in the street all in italian and even better i was translating from english to italian and vice-versa for her.

This is the law of the universe, of giving and receiving. In order to receive this language i had to give, or give-up, for a couple of months anyway, my motor mouth, my love of being the center of the conversational universe.



Once we arrived home from the airport there was still a little bit of melancholy hanging around so i began to tidy our room. As i was tidying i spotted a little black box in my hand-bag. It was a beautifully decorated box of 'Enghlish breakfast tea' that Pamela had brought from London as a gift for me. As i picked up the box with excitement, i realised that every side of this six sided box of English breakfast tea was covered in English writing. I smiled at the irony of this and then sat on the bed happily drinking in all the English words and sentences. I read the company name, the instructions on how to make the perfect cup of tea, the companies fair trade pledge and policies and even the recycling 'this product is bio-degradable' part. After i read the box 10 times, i didnt want to miss a word, i placed it on the dressing table right next to my perfume. I put it there as a cute little reminder that, just for the moment, i need to nicely& neatly fold all my descriptive, colourful English and put it in a little box, a box i can open at any time, if i want to. In return i can receive, if i want to, and i do, the beautiful gift of another language and i think thats a pretty fair trade!

'Here i am'

A couple of years ago i was sitting with my mum having 'wine time' and we were talking about what we want out of life, want we want to do and be in our life. I think mum said something along the lines of " I just want to be happy " ....when it was my turn i said "....well, i would like to move to Italy one day, i want to learn Italian, become a published writer, have a photograph published in national geographic, be a teacher, travel the entire world and write for lonely planet, open a small cute cafe...oh yeah and be happy! "

Peering at me over her wine glass, mouth slightly open, she said " Are you going to do ALL of this before... or after you move to Italy? " thinking i was joking. My reply was very serious and something along the lines of " Oh god no mum....i want to do all of this before i die...i have plenty of time ". She nodded her head slowly & silently, eyes wide and eyebrows raised with a look on her face of 'sure, yes plenty of time darling' as we sipped at our sav blanc.

Well, as luck would have it....I'm living in Italy. The perfect place to learn Italian right? To tick another box on the list. But alas it seems instead of trying to learn Italian i have been flitting about with the little, comfortable Italian i do know, not making much effort to learn more. While continuing on filling my days with a relentless pursuit to do and be everything on my very long list, all at the same time. I have five journals on the go for the five books I'm trying to write, i put time aside each day for illustrating those books, i research cute interior designs for the cute little cafe i want, i exercise, i eat, i meditate, I'm composing a cover letter to lonely planet, I'm thinking about what photos i would send to national geographic, I'm looking into a teaching course to teach english as a foreign language....im doing everything but learning Italian, everything but learning MY foreign language.

A couple of days ago this ravenous pursuit for everything came to an almighty tearfull holt in the bedroom, where between breathless sobs and snot, Luca calmly and carefully listened to my little pathetic pitty party( including hand gestures...im in Italy Eh!) because i have not learned Italian yet. Luca then calmly and carefully asked me a very powerful question "How hard have you been trying to learn?". I was instantly engulfed with hot anger at this question and looked at Luca in the eye like an angry bull ready to snap back my defence....but, when i looked at him i realised i wasn't angry at him, i felt no anger when i looked at him. In that instant i realised all that anger was directed directly at ME. I felt like there was another me, standing infront of me, pointing her finger at me and she said..."answer the question"... and so i whimpered out a coy "I haven't been trying at all". Then she said to me... "now ask yourself why"....I thought for a moment and sobbed out..."because im afraid i will fail, im afraid i cant do it, im afraid of sounding stupid ". Here i was, thinking i was just really damn good at multitasking all my goals simultaneously...instead a was just covering up the fear. I let fear stand infront of me like a big scary gate keeper and i didn't even try to pass him. I just ran in every other direction, trying to do everything else but look at him.

The realisation and clarification of this, plus Lucas next very powerful question " What was your goal once we moved to Italy?" along with my sheepish reply "Learn Italian!" brought an immediate calmness and stillness to my mind. I had just been pulled back into the present moment. I had confronted and understood my fear and was ready to walk past it. I knew then that there was no need for this relentless pursuit of all my goals right now, that their time will come. That my goal for this year was to learn Italian and here i am in Italy, here i am, ready to learn Italian....

After this realisation, i went out and sat on the terrace with a blank piece of paper and a pen...and this is what came out....

HERE I AM

The universe shifted & changed for me, i wanted with all my heart to be in Italy to learn this beautiful language

And now I am here....here I am

I must take this opportunity with both hands, with enthusiasm and energy. I must look at the fear in the eyes, smile and walk right on past

I must be a reflection of myself, inside and outside. The inside must be a reflection of all the beauty the universe has layed at my feet

I must always be in the present. The present is a gift we must carry always. Being delighted by it, excited by it, in it, wrapped up by it

I must drop the yarn that spins from the past and leads into the future. Let it go, and pick up the present that is at my feet

I must marvel at it, I must look at it, I must enjoy it because...

Here i am

The 'INSIDE' word

I squeeze into my now very tight jeans, put on a black t-shirt, slip on my black flats, pin my hair up and put on a bit of make-up. I do my last important checks...three favorite lipglosses, CHECK... wine knife, CHECK... pen, CHECK. I'm all ready for my first night of work in Italy. Now i have been working in restaurants and waitresing since i was 14 years old, i can do this job with my eyes closed. Or can I? My first month here in Italy has been spent by sleeping in, reading books, writing stories and sunning myself at the lake. Not a very good way to learn a new language!


Luckily for me I'm working with a friend,who speaks English, in his restaurant. An amazing place up in the green mountains behind Cannobio. This place has a grand old presence, a gentle cozy personality all of its own. Its a beautiful, rustic 300 year old stone cottage that has had a thousand different lives and tell its stories through its walls and the funny old trinkets that adorn its shelves and crevices.


So i take a deep breath at the front door, fluff my hair and walk inside. The night starts great and i feel totally at ease, the other waiter 'Genius' is also a friend of mine, and also speaks english. His delightful younger sister is working behind the bar, even though she cant speak english we understand each other.


I use the little but useful Italian i do know to greet people and order drinks for the tables. I'm feeling pretty cocky by now, thinking ' Shit I'm good! I'm working in another country that speaks another language and I'm doing OK! '. I hear the bell ring for the kitchen and run down the stairs to take the food. Before i leave the kitchen i ask one of the chef 's the Italian word for 'behind'. If you have ever worked in a restaurant you would know this is a pretty important word in a restaurant kitchen. You say it in the kitchen loudly if you walk behind someone to notify them you are there because the kitchen can be a very dangerous place, sharp knives, hot oily pans and boiling water. So chef gives me the Italian word for behind .... 'dietro'....then he tells me the names of the dishes i have just picked up. I leave the kitchen repeating my new word... dietro, dietro, dietro and head up the stairs to the candle lit dinning room. I arrive at the table with the 3 dishes in my hand. The customers look up and look at me, I look at them, they smile at me, I smile back at them...and i keep smiling. I don't know what to do, i have forgotten the names of the food in my hands. My brain is doing a Homer Simpson . I stand there asking my brain to do some thing, please a little help here? but my brain says ' Nope, i got nothin kid! '. By now I'm a deer in headlights, eyes wide and frozen. Luckily for me the woman at the table gets what is going on, smiles and tells me who ordered what food. So i place the food on the table and say "Grazie" and pull a stupid 'Sorry I'm new' face, walking away feeling like a total twat.


The bell dongs in the kitchen again and a little butterfly starts a party in my stomach. As i tap down the stairs thinking here we go again. I give myself a little confidence pep talk outside the kitchen...come on girl, you can do this, you can do this! So i bound into the kitchen confidently. I have to pass close behind one of the chefs to get to the food pass. So as i squeeze behind him i confidently yell out "DENTRO"....i catch my breath and freeze on the spot and the kitchen goes awkwardly quiet as i realise, standing bum to fanny, behind the chef that i just screamed out "INSIDE".....yes i just told the chef i was 'inside' him. Embarrassing moment number two, CHECK.



Mortified, i hurry past the chef, pick up the food and am only in the kitchen long enough to hear what number table the food is going to. As i head up the stairs I'm thinking ' how embarrassing was that?'. As i head toward the table I'm thinking ' Fuck i forgot to ask ask what the names of these dishes are...' That little butterfly in my stomach starts again and is having a rave party, glow sticks and all. My brain is like a dusty deserted street in an old Western movie, just a few tumbleweeds rolling past and the sound of wind. I'm begging my brain to occupy itself quickly with the names of the food, some words even, any words, english, italian, Mongolian....i don't care what...anything...please! I arrive at the table, they all look up and look at me, i just look at them......................OH Crap! deer in headlights syndrome again. I have to do something, so as i stand at the table holding the three plates smiling i shrug my shoulders and say a nervous "Non lo so in Italiano" which sort of means in english "I don't know what this is called in Italian". My bad italian doesn't work because the man at the table is German, double crap! Luckily 'Genius', the other waiter is behind me so i graciously lean back and ask (not so) subtly out of the side of my mouth "....WHATS....THE...NAME....OF....THEEEESE..." holing the plates up a little. He graciously helps me out and i put the food on the table, before i leave my face does the half cringe, half smirk 'Sorry im new' face again, i wish it wouldn't do that.



I head over to the bar where i dramatically slump on the counter, looking defeated. The gang ask me if I'm OK and i whinge back like a four year old " No. i cant remember any words in italian or english and i just told the chef i was inside him!" Everybody smirks, kind smirks, as they have all travelled before and surely been through the same and can see the funny side in it all. They all reassure me that im doing great and that maybe i can just say 'Occhi ' in the kitchen instead, which means a sort of ' watch out! '. With my new 'behind' word i carry on like a trooper. As the night passes my confidence comes back as i begin to proudly announce food at the tables, take orders for drinks and dessert (in italian!) and say a cheery "buona serata" as people leave. I go into automatic pilot clearing tables and cleaning and the night passes quickly.

By the end of the night i am past tired and just excited that i just worked my first shift in a foreign country and i did good, more than good, GREAT! As i stand in the bar polishing the last load of glasses looking around, i think to myself maybe 'Inside' was the right word after all, because something inside of me changed that night. A powerful sense of confidence, achievement and excitement had moved inside of me and i had a feeling they were there to stay!

Lifes a ' BEACH '

The first time i saw a 'beach' in Italy two years ago, i imagine that i looked like ' Veruca Salt ' from the movie Willy Wonka and the chocolate factory. Shes the spoilt little girl character who screams and shouts..." I WANT A GOLDEN GOOSE NOW DADDY...NOW! " but instead i was screaming..." I WANT WHITE SAND NOW LUCA...NOW! "

In the inland lakes district in northern Italy, there are no beaches, there are lakes...and the term 'beach' is used rather broadly for the patch of dusty grey pebbles in front of the lake! Within seconds of my first sighting of this 'beach' i quickly informed Luca of my disbelief, disheatenment and dismay that there was no sand here. The saga continued and the worst was yet to come( for Luca) as the small grey sharp pebbles my feet had just become accustomed to on the shore turned into large, slimy moss covered rocks once we were in the lake. As my feet fumbled over the slippery rocks i desperately wanted to scream " What the hell is this..where is the sand...I WANT SAND...THERE SHOULD BE SAND....". Instead of screaming this i just repeated those four phrases to Luca for the next 20 minutes.

After we left the lake that day, for the remainder of our holiday people would ask me to the 'beach' and i would reply "That's not a beach, its just dirty grey pebbles and slimy rocks...there's not even any sand..you cant call that a beach"...
Veruca Salt's character in the movie ' Willy Wonka & the Chocolate factory' meets a sad fate. She ends up falling down the rubbish shoot. My first northern Italian 'beach' visit also ended with me meeting a sad fate. I did not end up in the rubbish bin( though I'm sure that's where Luca wanted to put me) , my sad ending was that i arrived at the beach and instantly created a negative, obscure attitude and failed to see the beauty all around me...very sad!

This time around, two years later, its a different story. I'm a tiny teensy bit older, more mature and alot wiser. With this wisdom i have learnt and understood that in life there really is no GOOD or BAD. Life just IS! A thing just IS, a person just IS, an event just IS. It is neither good or bad, it just IS. It is our personal perception of this thing, person, beach or event that puts a 'good' or 'bad' stamp on it. Once you are able to fully understand this you are able to see, or experience something without instinctively putting a good/bad label on it. You are able to see something without judgment, just as it is. And with this my relationship with this 'beach' has become one of beauty!

The 'beach' here is no ordinary beach as the ones I'm used to in Australia, with white sand, blue water and nobody as far as the eye can see. The Italian(northern) version of a beach is a patch of pebbles in front of this glistening green lake that is surrounded by majestic green mountains all painted with historic old towns. Its packed full of outrageously brown bodies of all shapes and sizes, all with colourful BYO floatation device, men in bright orange 'speedos' eating bright pink icypoles walking( actually more like strutting) back to their bright green towel that is under their bright yellow umbrella. There are boats cruising past, bars with music & food, a lush grassy park just behind where there are people playing volleyball, doing tai-chi and cute little naked European kids running around playing chasey.....So beautiful.

The music plays, the church bells chime and the children splash & play. The sun is warm & bright, the sky is blue and the water is cool & fresh....and the pebbles...well i just wear my thongs, even in the water...because LIFES A BEAUTIFUL BEACH & I LIKE IT JUST THE WAY IT IS!

How to kill a 'Mockingbird'

Well I'm not actually going to kill a real mockingbird, Iv never seen a mocking bird, I'm not sure what a mockingbird looks like. I assume how it got its name though is because it carefully chooses a weak victim, perches itself at its victims window each night and mercilessly mocks its victim with nasty hurtful comments. Taunting him in his sleep, infiltrating his victims subconscious. A very dangerous bird!

My mocking bird is more a metaphorical name for the (f**king) rooster next door. I'm sure this rooster has stood at my bedroom window with a little notepad, peering inside noting and recording my sleeping habits. The chickens in his coop must be really old, boring and bad roots because he has nothing better to do and finds it quite funny to f**k with my mind when I'm trying to sleep.

He has noted that Luca gets up at 7am to get ready for work, he has also noted that i like to sleep, also noting that i am woken up every morning by Luca, noting also that after Luca leaves for work i like to go back to sleep for a couple of hours because i read late into the night.....This is one clever bird. He pays attention and is very precise.

He starts his noise assault pretty early, around 4am. He warms up for a couple of hours before the games begin. Just before i am woken up by Luca....he stops. Luring me into this false sense of peace and quiet. The precise moment Luca leaves the bedroom and i lay my head back on the pillow to commence my beloved sleep....COCK - A -F**KING - DOODLE - DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. And this is no normal rooster sound. His voice is like the sound of rusty old brakes of a semitrailer being slammed on to miss hitting a cat, but they don't stop in time and run over the cat and then the sound of the screeching rusty old brakes and the screeching cat combine together to make this god awful sound!

Early one morning his constant noise actually infiltrated my dream. In my dream i was watching this weird looking woman (who i didnt know) and she was just standing there screaming the same god awful blood curdling sound.....disturbing enough to wake me up. As i began to wake up i realised the woman in my dream was making the same sound of the rooster or the rooster was making the same sound as the woman...Confusing for so early in the morning.
I had been clever enough to get myself some back-up...EARPLUGS! but i couldn't find my earplugs this particular morning. They were not in there normal spot on the bed side table behind the photo frame. So i got up and fumbled around the room in the dark like a drunk, blind seal trying to find them....but alas...it was to late, i was starting to wake up, and then....i was awake! DAMN IT! It was at this very moment, as i stood in the dark bedroom with a scowl on my pillow lined, scrunched up face, totally defeated as the rooster continued calling...HA HA.... I FREAKEN GOT YOU AGAIN...I ROCK...HA HA....that i decided i want to kill this merciless bird that continues to mock me.....

Well mock me all you like little bird because even though i don't know how to kill a 'mocking bird', I'm bigger and smarter than you. I have ten digits and opposable thumbs, can use a keyboard and know that if i type in 'HOW TO KILL A ROOSTER' into google that it will give me a long list of very precise instructions.....

My big `PHAT´ italian wedding

Last Saturday was my first experience of an Italian wedding. Now, think of your typical Aussie wedding, get that picture in your mind and....an Italian wedding is nothing like that...its so much better( sorry). Now don't get me wrong, all(most) weddings are lovely but this Italian wedding i have just experienced had all the charm, colour and charisma that only the Italians have!

Friends and family gathered outside the small church which is perched beside a glorious rapid, rocky river named L'Orrido di Sant' Anna, it was built in 1665 and sits like a pretty white dove on the hillside. The crowd of people looked really 'specky'(spectacular). Girls looking cute and classy in gorgeous feminine dresses and the guys...well the guys were totally Italian cool! One guy had on a purple suit with red shoes, red tie and red sunnies, another with a grey suit with a crisp pink shirt and pink tie, another with classic blue&white striped jacket with jeans (slightly rolled up at the bottom) and pink suede shoes!!! It was like ' Oceans eleven' meets ' Queer eye for the straight guy '....Only in Italy!

When we walked into the church i remembered my Auntie Mel telling me once " don't forget to look up(at the ceiling) in the churches in Italy"....i looked up and the ceiling was adorned with opulent, spectacular paintings that were glowing in the candle light. All were seated and the organ player began ( i think the organ player had a little to much whisky before the ceremony! He was never quite on cue or the right note).

The wedding began and tears flowed like wine, the bride and groom were beautiful, actually the most beautiful i have ever seen. The entire ceremony was spoken in Italian which only added to the beauty of it all.

After the ceremony the crowd gathered outside the church, each holding a white helium balloon and a handful of white rice to throw on the newlyweds. Sound cliche but it was totally cute.

A cute little colourful train that normally cruises the piazza at night for tourists and kids came tooting down the road and was our ' pimped- up ' ride back into town.

The reception was held at the grooms family property in town. A glorious property surrounded by high stone walls. Inside these walls is rolling green grass, lush colourful gardens, a pretty pink house and an exotic aqua swimming pool ( yes, many a wedding guest ended up in the pool) . The property was decorated with a grand white marquee adorned with white lanterns, where we would later eat a 7 yes 7 course meal...eat amore eat. In the garden next to the pool a long white table was laden with food and drinks galore...vino, champagne in silver ice buckets and pretty pink cocktails all in a row!

The waiters were in perfect white shirts, long black aprons and ties and zoomed around confidently serving with a smile while giving you anything you desire. The funky music played into the night as the happy crowd partied and danced around the pool...

Somewhere into the night i realised one of the bar waiters was making 'MOJITOS' ( that poor guy! ). After my 5th or 6th MOJITO (this is after vino, champagne and those pretty pink cocktails...) the wedding ended in true Aussie style, well for me anyway. With me passed out on the bathroom floor of Lucas house hugging the toilet bowl and still in my pretty party dress...AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE !!!!!

Before this tragic ending, a ' PHAT ' time was had by all at this colourful, charming, charismatic, cool Italian wedding!

Conspiracy theory

So does everyone remember that movie named Conspiracy theory....ok...well i don't remember exactly how it goes or who was in it (actually maybe tom cruise was in it, tom cruise is in everything unmemorable) but i do remember there was a conspiracy and there was a theory. At this very moment i feel as if i am the target in an intricate, clever, subtle conspiracy theory. The aim of this conspiracy is to feed me until i cant fit into my new favorite skinny jeans any more!

For a woman this is possibly one of the worst things that could happen to her, apart maybe from loosing a leg so your skinny jeans don't look so good either. Now, before you think I'm going a little crazy or have consumed to much good wine & carbs that have gone to my head i will give you just one of many examples of this sneaky, scary conspiracy(well im not that scared but my jeans are because I'm going to keep squeezing into them no matter how tight they get!)



At Lucas house i have noticed this peculiar ritual like dance that happens every lunch & dinner that i think is part of this crazy conspiracy. This dance begins around the dinning table, it instantly sends me into this weird sort of trance with a sequence of steps as follows....( while reading think of a slow song beat, like if you were learning to dance...Back step 1&2 and 3&4)



Back step, table cloth on, napkins down, knife & folk next and glasses to the left, forward step, water wine and drinks on the table, with a clap in the air and turn around, take a step to the fridge grab cheese & salami, take a step to the left, slide a loaf of bread under your arm...Pause and face your partner.



By now I'm completely in a trance like state, pupils dilated, eyes wide as i move to take my seat at the table. The main meal is passed around the table in a clockwise rotation which keeps me in my trance. This ritual dance continues on as the table is cleared and quickly reset for dessert and then again for coffee.....then into the kitchen where all is rinsed, stacked, washed and shaken.



It is not until i am outside in the garden shaking the table cloth after dinner when the rooster next door gives a "cock-a-doodle-doo" .....and snaps me out of my trance, like i had been hypnotised by the rhythm of it all and i stand there wondering what just happened to me, what happened to my stomach and "WHY ARE MY JEANS SO TIGHT......."

My First Raspberry

No I'm not about to tell you a story about my fond memories of the first time i did a cute little pop-off infront of a guy that smelled like roses and made me giggle!

One night last week at the family dinner table i was delighted to see fresh fruit was being served for dessert. Don't get me wrong, i have become accustomed to, and enjoy the creamy cakes and tarts that get put in front of me after every lunch and dinner....i actually get a bit miffed when only biscotti (biscuits) comes to the table for dessert...ANYWAY fruit was good, my body needed ,wanted fruit. The plate was full of the most amazing fruit i have ever tasted. Delicate rockmelon, juicy divine peaches, sweet strawberries and fabulous fresh raspberries. This was to be my first real fresh raspberry(yes! do you believe it, the natural confectionery company arnt the only ones who do a good raspberry!)

I closed my eyes as i tasted this raspberry, it was like an orgasmic, euphoric, spine tingling sensation......as i opened my eyes Lucas(lovely) mum was holding a small white tub of something infront of my face with a spoon in it. My eyes focused on the tub and i saw `doppio panna´ written on the side SHIT! that means double cream!
Now something i have recently begun to fully comprehend is that you can NEVER say NO to an Italian mama. Especially if she is offering you food. Saying no is like you are cursing god while spitting on the steps of the Vatican while flipping the bird to the pope! Probably worse.
So as my head was screaming NO just say NO my hand was reaching for the doubley creamy, doubley fattening double cream that was being offered.
I cringed inside as my fabulous fresh, healthy fruit was smothered in sweet double cream. Needless to say i ate the whole lot and went back for seconds....

My two saving graces at the moment are :

1. I did not offend mama, i was a good girl and took what was offered
2. My only mode of transport at the moment is a bicycle, its 35° and humid and there are lots of nice big hills to ride up....

......So i can have my raspberries and eat my cream to!

Hells Bells

My newest favoritest sound in the whole world is the sound of church bells. They echo through the air in Italy like the voices from the divine high gods themselves. Like they are saying " hey Jess, stop for a moment, are you in the present moment, are you looking around you, taking in all this beauty, you lucky girl? " ( yes they say all of that ).
The bells chime and chant from dawn till dusk and into the night like a beautiful deep, husky lullaby. I mentioned my love of the sound of the the bells to Luca the other night over dinner and i jokingly said " I bet the guy who has to ding all them bells is pretty tired by the end of the day! ". He(Luca) halfed laughed at my half joke, but it got me thinking so i asked " Do people actually physically ring the bells still or is it all computerised and automated these days? "
His answer was disturbing.....he said " most of them are automated now but some of them just play a CD ". I chocked on my water and nearly fell of my chair..... a CD....a CD.....a CD....! I felt so wronged, i felt so `had´, i felt so used!
Here i had been imagining these beautiful old grand bells swinging back and forth as they sing. Instead its probably just a CD blasting through Bose speakers, with the words `bells 4.oopm´typed on the front of the CD. Well if i do find any of these bell towers with only a dusty little old CD player sitting up there, I'm going to take out the CD, snap the CD in half and throw it over the side and hope that a little black hole in the ground opens up to send that little devil straight back where it came from!

PART TWO : On top of a mountain......continued

OK I can do this, I'm no sissy chick. Hey i spent my entire childhood holidays in Nanga( south of Perth ) in the bush climbing hills, wading through rivers and climbing trees. The fact that i have never seen or walked on snow before ....ffft how hard can it be! NEVER UNDERESTIMATE SNOW it looks so pure, lovely, fluffy and nice but makes you look like an absolute muppet when you walk across it. You have to do this sort of `angry duck´walk, slamming your heel into the snow with your feet pointed out slightly.
So there i am , squinty faced, covered in 30+ suncream( looking like a weird, blonde mountain geisha girl ) and walking like a drunk angry duck. NEVER UNDERESTIMATE ME!

After an amazing, grueling, exhilarating two and a half hours, with a couple of `holy f**k my life just flashed before my eyes´ moments were at the base of Monte Rosa. Well I'm at the base of Monte Rosa, the other five guys have been down for ages and are sitting in a green flower filled field next to a river. I'm sure i could see a collective thought bubble above their heads " who brought the girl! ". I stumble towards the green Field like its an oasis in the middle of the dessert. I sit down to rest my wiery legs and eat a sandwich...most deserved meal iv ever eaten.
Leaning against my bag and looking back up at Monte Rosa to see what i had just accomplished brings an immediate smile to my face. A sense of pride and gratitude rises up and fills my entire body. I nearly do a Julie Andrews from the movie the sound of music and start waltzing and singing through the fields...luckily for everybody else my legs are to tired.

A piece of information that I'm still blissfully unaware of is that there is still a 4 hour walk along a rocky hill side path ahead of us that will take us to a small bus port. I think i need to change my strategy of `Go with the flow and ask questions later´. The pitty party went into full swing about 2 hours into the 4 hour walk. It was all inclusive with pursed lips, dramatic dragging of the feet and whispering F´s & C´s to myself. Not even the cute cows with big donging bells around their necks grazing on the hillside could lift the little black rain cloud from above my head....hang on...i look up...that's not my very own personal pitty party rain cloud....there real rain clouds...YEP 3 hours in and it starts raining. This is where i stopped for a moment, looked around at my glorious surroundings, putting my arms out and and my head back . As the fresh, cool rain splashed all over me a song came into my head " Always look on the bright side of life...da..da..da..da..da..da.." and i kept on walking with a smile.

GLORIOUS indeed was the beer i had at the bar at the bus port. A short, much enjoyed bus ride we arrive in Sass-Fee, Switzerland. The most picturesque quaint ski resort town i have ever seen( OK only one iv ever seen) Its picture perfect. Wooden chalets and cobble stone streets are the fore ground and wrapped around us like a beautifully painted backdrop from a stage production are snow covered alps, the orchestra is made up of church bells, delicate music and singing that floats through the air.

We all stay the the night here where we are checked into an adorable tilted chalet that looks like it was from the original Alice in Wonderland. Its completely crooked, every room gets smalled and smaller and its walls are made out of old doors.
We enjoy the night altogether in a restaurant eating fondue and drinking as many bottles of wine as there are people at the table( probably more!) BELLISSIMA!!!!
We arrive back to Cannobio the next day by sequence of bus, train and car. Totally exhausted but happy. It is here that i would like to thank Pietro for organising the entire weekend, to the six other beautiful people who were there for making it such a memorable weekend...and to Luca for ever so patiently and gently helping me down the mountain( not that i needed much help! )

So girls, a word of warning. If your beautiful European boyfriend ever says to you " Hunny were going walking on the weekend". You will need a pair of serious climbing boots, a packed lunch and maybe ask a few questions first because he ain't taking you walking......hes taking you ON TOP OF A MOUNTAIN!!!!!

" On top of a Mountain "

To keep you utterly enthralled and so you don't loose interest this will have to be a two part, to be continued story. As the weekend i just had was out of this world...actually just out of the country in Switzerland.



Now the beginning of this story(non-fiction) sounds like an excert from a smutty mills&boon novel but i assure you that this story is as clean as the fresh mountain air...and i should know!



PART ONE :



Its four o'clock in the morning on an already hot Italian day. I'm in the car park with five( yes five) strapping Italian men (yes one of them is my darling Luca). Here's where i ask you to get your mind out of the gutter. This is not the end of a crazy, wild night....its only the beginning of my day.



Somehow Luca has successfully managed to get me out of bed at four a.m. BRAVO! Luca and his mates have organised a `hiking´ weekend in Switzerland( i will explain the inverted comas around hiking later in the story).

No coffee or breakfast, I'm dazed and confused. A one hour car ride to a bus station. Here i have my coffee and croissant...but what i wouldn't give for a big breakfast of scrambled eggs, mushrooms, beans and cute little fat juicy chipolatas. How is any one supposed to start the day in a good mood with a dry piece of pastry. Italy if your listening please for my sake introduce a good old fashioned `big breakkie´ into your breakfast culture.



On the bus we start winding through small Italian towns and up the hillside. Dotted along the roadside are beautifully painted shrines of Mary and even though I'm not a religious person i crossed myself every time we passed one. We zoomed and zig-zagged up the hillside with only what looked like a toy fence stopping us from plunging over the edge. A couple of times i thought i had bought a bus ticket to my own funeral.



DETOUR...Question & Answer time



QUESTION: How do you fart on a bus that has no windows without anyone noticing?



ANSWER: YOU CANT!....
especially when you know its going to be a `rip-snorta´, a `craka´... a small atomic explosion



So i sit there on the bus in between faces of `oh my god im going to die´and `oh my god i dont think i can hold this thing in´ ......hoping that the other people on the bus just think I'm a person with motion sickness and not a `special´ person.

The bus arrives at a cute little Italian town called Macugnaga. High up at the base of elegant, grand and graceful Swiss alps. With back packs on and hiking boots, not just any hiking boots these are some serious boots. There the type of boots that make the boys look all sexy and tough but makes even the most feminine girl look like a dike. So i plod along behind the boys where we make route for a sky rail....FUN. You see i still have no idea really what the real plan is for the day. I assume (never assume) that we are catching the sky rail to take a couple of pictures from a good view point on the mountain. Not one but two scary sky rails later we are at the summit of a three thousand meter(3,000mtr) snow capped mountain named Monte Rosa.

To try and explain the vista(that one was for you dad) would not do it justice but I'm going to try. I'm standing on this perfect almost iridescent white snow, the sky is brilliant blue and all around me are tall, jutting yet elegant white peaks( like on the evian bottles ). The air is fresh but sparse and it is hard to breath(thinking should not have had those cigarettes last night). At the summit of the mountain is a glorious ten meter gold statue of Mary looking ever so peaceful and watchful. The entire site brings tears to my eyes...or maybe i just got why were at the summit.

It is here that the leisurely day of `hiking´ through the valley of a small green mountain that i invisioned turned into extreme mountain climbing. As i looked back to the sky rail thinking that's how we would get back down to then commence our walk....the boys started the other way with maps and binoculars in hand. It was then that i realised with fret and excitement but mainly fret(because i was wearing my favorite going out jeans) that i had to climb down the face of this sheer, snow capped mountain....ALL THREE THOUSAND METERS OF IT!

....to be continued

The sun dance kid

For the past week in Italy, every afternoon i have a fight. Not with Luca but with a sun-lounge. Each day i don my bathers after lunch and open the two wood framed glass doors from my bedroom that leads onto a rooftop terrace where there is a cute and beckoning blue above-ground pool and plenty of space to sun myself.

In the corner under the white plastic outdoor table is the sun lounge in question. Its stripped blue, green, yellow and white and screams..."come lay on me...sun your self on me"...

So i take it from under the table folded up and take it over into the sun where i quickly remember that the ground is bloody hot and retreat back to the shade. The funny thing about that is iv forgot how hot the ground is every day and do my silly little dance with sun lounge in hand from sun to shade like a stupid dog.

I lay it on the ground, it should be easy. All i have to do is flip the leg part down and push the head part up. So i repeat the plan in my head " OK...FLIP LEG PART DOWN, STRAIGHTEN LEG, PUSH HEAD PART UP, STRAIGHTEN LEG.." EASY!

As i start its all a bit stiff, nothing wants to budge. I finally flip the leg part down and straighten the leg... GOING GOOD...with one knee in the middle of this thing I'm pushing with all my might to push the head part back when the leg part flips back and hits me in the back of the legs making me go ass up....hang on this was not in the plan!

This would all be so much easier if i could just sun myself on the blow up floating sun-lounge in the pool but i cant. Because wasps keep dive bombing the pool and every time i hear a noise i freak out, flip of the floatie , splash into the pool screaming and cursing. Making me look like a even bigger idiot and not really helping my tan.

So i persevere and in a fit of frustration with some frantic pushing, flipping and cursing its ready...I DID IT!
but i wasn't concentrating so i don't really know how i got the bloody thing up....Anyway i take the bed over into the sun( with my thongs on my feet this time...who's a clever girl then)
I position myself full frontal to the sun as a little diddy..."burn baby burn" cruises through my head making my foot tap.

You see i do this little sun dance every day because i dare not go down to the lake where all the beautiful brown Italian bodies lay in their incy teeny weeeeeny bikinis until i am as brown as one of my auntie Susan's chocolate brownies.
Two years ago when i was here on holidays( coming straight from a Aussie winter to a european summer...you get where in going with how white i was...it wasn't pretty) i underestimated the power of a great tan. Ignorantly going to the lake side, putting down my towel, taking of my dress down to my bathers, sitting on my towel only to see all around me...ALL...THE...TAUGHT...TIGHT...BROWN...BEAUTIFUL...BODIES...it was like a horror movie. As the camera panned frantically around me and then zoomed in on me on my towel i realised i looked like a really white princess Fiona ( from Shrek, not the Swedish royal family) with my green bathers and not so taught tanned body. The resemblance was uncanny.

I layed there at the lake for a good hour and even made a walk to the lake for a swim, to save face, to pretend to be all brave and comfortable in my skin, until i put my dress back on vowing right then and there to never come down to the lake( lago Maggiore ) if i was not tanned to the s**t house!

So here i am on the terrace sunning myself so i can look like all the others. I know that's a terrible moral to the story. To conform to insecurity to " look like them, to fit in ". Maybe i should just strut down to that lake in my new black ( not so green ) bikini and be comfortable in my skin......but it took me so long to put that bloody chair up and I'm looking more like a milk dud rather than a chocolate brownie...so I'm just going to stay here OK?

The devil in the red & yellow disguise

Please don't judge me but its my third day in Italy and i have already had....McDonalds...ahhh
It was a rash decision in an overwhelming food court. OK OK overwhelming might be an over exaggeration in order to justify this disgraceful effort.
The easy order menu and the fact that the girl behind the counter spoke English led me to the devil in the red & yellow disguise.
So i beg of you please don't judge me. I am not proud of my actions....I'm even ashamed that in this land of beautiful food, fear of speaking led me to 'Maccas'


Today i traded my soul to 'Maccas' for the sake of not speaking. As a tax for this behavior there was something printed in the small print of this deal that i did not see. I got to eat my hamburger but i had to trade one whole day of my life and give it to the Italian bureaucratic bastards

I had often asked my Italian friends why they come to live in Australia in droves. Their answer was always the same " Why the life in Italy is hard, the government is corrupt and unfair yada yada yada "
I would think to myself 'Gee Italian's are wingy bunch' they come from this magical land full of beautiful women, food and wine...Whats wrong with you all.....? but after today the sheen of Italy is a little duller in my eyes. Don't get me wrong, Italy is still very shiny and beautiful but today i saw Italy through the eyes of an Italian as i tried to get my ' permesso di soggiorno' a sort of ' Permission to stay in the country' even though i already have my lovely new working holiday visa stamped in my passport!

For one entire day being told to 'come back later this office is not open until we say so', being pushed to this window, that window, through that door, eagerly holding a ticket for our turn in stuffy waiting rooms...only to be told we don't have the correct documents.... "NEXT" .......

Everybody in these government offices seemed to be doing not much else but keeping everybody waiting. All the time with this collective smug smirk that said " lets see who cracks the shits first...and when they do we will just tell them to get out...COZ WE GOT THE POWA "

If it was not for Luca that person would have been me. I was so close to chucking my hands in the air, saying something in dirty Aussie slang and then a VAFFANCULO just to stick it to them....and as i walked out watch their collective smirks turn into collective grin as they say a slow and victorious " ...We won...."

Well they did not win today. We played the game and after 9 hours came away with a receipt to say that i can come back and do this all again next week for my ' formal certificate of permission '...VAFFANCULO!

I'm never eating 'Maccas' again!

When in Rome...or Cannobio

This is my first week in Cannobio (Italy) my new home town. The jet lag is still lingering so we are rising early..but here that is a good thing. Here the fresh morning mountain air is adorned with the sound of glorious old church bell (and the old rooster next door).

We (Luca & I) pat down the stairs of our new home, Lucas family home. The place is full of warmth and strange but welcome familiarity.
The coffee machine clunks and grinds as it pours much needed fresh coffee....the front gate clicks open and we hop on our bicycles heading for town( i haven't ridden a bike for two years so I'm hilariously wobbly).

The streets are lined with plooms of colourful flowers that fragrant the air like incense. Each house we pass has its own character, its own story. Painted in red, blue, apricot or pink. Detailed with alfresco paintings and a 'nonna' gazing watchfully on the front porch.

The collective song of ' ciao ' sings through the towns cobblestone streets ' ciao ciao ciao ciao '....everybody knows everybody and its hard not to start singing the song saying ciao even to strangers.
This town is full of old friends and new family which makes me feel like a local....until i have to speak which is a shy, clumsy mix of English and bad Italian.

I wonder how long it will take me to feel like a local. A few weeks, a month, a year...? However long it takes I'm just happy enjoying the new and the old, eating while thinking about my next yummy meal, lazy sunny days by the lake and bumpy bicycle rides through town.....even if i do have to swallow a few bugs along the way!

Ciao Ciao