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.....