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