Tutti i Santi Ognissnati

Tonight we are holed up in an Agriturismo (farm-stay) in Campofilone, Le Marche. There is a thunderstorm raging outside, stretching its vast electric fingers of far out across the Adriatic. The rain has been heavy; sporadically we have to mop the tiles by the door to stop it from creeping into the bedroom.

We’ll head out in about an hour to hopefully find some dinner. The majority of our afternoon was spent driving along the coast road searching in vain for an open Supermarket. We couldn’t figure out why they were shut. We now know enough Italian to know the days of the week, times, open/closed etc and all signs (literally) suggested they should be open. Hungry and confused, we wondered whether they just have extreme lunch breaks locally. A “normal” lunch break for Italy is midday to four-ish, the stores close up shop- most inconvenient!

As it turns out, when we returned from our fruitless hunt, today is a national public holiday. All Saints Day or Tutti i Santi Ognissnati in Italian. Why didn’t anybody tell us? Hang on, they probably did, we just didn’t know what they were rattlin’ on about. Today is also the first of the new season, making the storm very befitting.

On Saturday we left the West Coast and the region of Campania and drove north east to the East Coast and Le Marche. We started out early (painfully), to avoid the traffic and to cram in a four hour stopover in Pompeii before the five hour drive.

Pompeii was magical; it was like someone picked us up, shrunk us down and matrix-ed us into Age of Empires or Civilization. Not wanting to tackle the crowds we didn’t join a recommended tour group but chose to semi-wing it. Map and iphone in hand we had a wonderful morning adventuring through the roman ruins. Roman history, Pompeii included, falls into the category of things I don’t seem to know enough about. I am hungry for information!

The city is so well preserved by the volcanic ash that it isn’t at all difficult to imagine it in all of its glory. There are still many layers unexcavated, we even saw archaeologists on active digs at the site; one scrubbing down a clay vase in a city fountain. Fascinating.

A note to the squeamish: stop reading now.

Before leaving Atrani we ferried and walked our way to a few other destinations; Capri, Positano and Amalfi. In Positano we had a wonderful meal at a beachside seafood restaurant. One of us ordered the squid ink risotto, jet black, gloriously flavoured with Parmagiano and threaded with squid meat, it was devilishly good. Frighteningly though, it had a similar effect on ones digestive system, that eating too much beetroot at a summer BBQ might. 

Always look on the bright side of life.

We are just back to the cottage after spending the afternoon in Troyes. A picturesque town (aren’t they all?) that claims in all of its tourist hype to be shaped like a Champagne cork. To both Mick and I it had a more phallic silhouette.

It was the birthplace of two popes (maybe that’s why they went with the cork) and in 13.2 square kilometers it has one Cathedral, one Basilica and seven churches. "He's not the messiah. He's a very naughty boy!"

Slim alleys and roads are bordered by wooden framed buildings, three and four storeys high and painted in beautiful sundrenched hues. Très magnifique!

Now that we are in self-catering mode we set out yesterday to create a portable pantry or Movable Feast, if you will. Our local supermarché is Carrefours in a neighbouring town. Carrefour’s is like a blend of a K-mart, Coles and Liquorland all in together. It’s a shame our GPS couldn't help us out inside, we found it far more difficult to navigate in the store than on the local roads.

After we had loaded up a sizeable trolley of essentials, we made our way to the busy registers. We could feel a sense of dread coming on. It’s a certain type of dread reserved for those attempting to communicate with someone in a language that is different from their own. The feeling mounted as we got closer to the cashier, though we were still halfway to the front of the queue.

Just then, a woman sidles up to the line and joins it two spaces in front of us. She just joined the line! With no-one else looking like they had any concerns with this outrageous behaviour I spoke up (in broken French) “excusé moi madame” gesturing to the growing queue behind me. She looked at me in surprise (and a hint of hostility) and spoke quickly in French. I still have no idea what she said, but as my cheeks went red and the other shoppers tuned into listen, she placed her hands on her pregnant belly and gestured to a sign above the register.

Yes folks, I had tried to boot a pregnant woman out of a “priority lane”. My shame and embarrassment scale went through the roof. Merde!

At least she wasn't blind.

Pinch me!

Allo!

Picture this, one happy camper on a two seater, chilled Lillet Blanc in hand, Gillian Welch singing The Revelator in the background and quiche Lorraine warming in the oven.

“Pinch me?” I said to Michael as he stoked the wood heater in our cottage in Mairy sur Marne.

Argh. I got a head of myself. I haven’t even spoken to you about Paris yet.

Paris was... superb. We stayed in the 18^th, close to the Cimetiere Montmatre where Edgar Degas is buried. We didn’t visit, but I sent them my regards through the ether. We did the usual traipsing of the city. The Louvre, Jardin du Luxembourg, Champs Elysee, Le Marais (felafel is still to die for (TDF)) and Musee d’Orsay. I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice to say Ingres and his friends are all safe and well.

For me, Paris is a city I will keep coming back to. It’s not for everyone, but I find the mix of culture, history and joie de vivre, bracing and mesmerizing.

One story I will share with you took place at our local bar, La Fourmi. On our second visit to this tremendously trendy bar we found ourselves a table for two on a crowded Friday evening. As it turns out, our quiet couple of beers coincided with a local celebration. Bloc Party were had a gig locally that night and somehow this resulted in free Bingo at all of the coolest venues across town.

Our neighbour introduced himself and his companion to us. In French at first then practically flawless English (he had spent a year in Sydney) “My name is Jerry and this Sara”, she corrected him “MAGGIE!!” Laughter and bonding ensued.

Jerry and Maggie guided us throughout the evening, translating the Jason Schwartzman (in his I Heart Huckabees days) lookalike host and his Barbie-esque assistant as they animatedly called the bingo numbers and side competitions throughout the evening. It felt like we were foreigners who had stumbled backstage at a Eurovision song contest. Totally surreal.

Ok. Back to currents events.

We left Paris this morning and drove ourselves (in the most luxurious Citroen you’ve ever seen, two tier upgrade!) towards Reims. Our village is on the outskirts of Chalon en Champagne. At this point we don’t even know where we are located in the greater “Champagne” scheme of things (not a vine in sight) but that is not dampening our mood.

We are bunking for the week in a caretakers cottage come gite at Domaine du Chateau de Mairy. A bee-ute-ti-full Chateau complete with orchard, lake and chickens etc. It looks like it was quite run down before the current owners moved in, which only adds to its charm. It’s the kind of place that one can only dream of. White washed walls, vintage glass chandeliers, quasi-vintage eclectic furniture (my favourite) and a claw foot tub.

I just did some maths; I was a little concerned that we were splurging with this place. We’re not. It works out at AU$86, which is expensive as far as gites go in this area but compared to what we were paying in London and Paris (approx AU$115 for a miniscule hovel), a steal.

We don’t have many plans past this evening’s meal. Tomorrow morning we will visit the Chateau after breakfast in the gardens and use the internet to plan our week.

Missing you.

Sittin' in the mornin' sun.

We woke this morning to a beautiful sunny day. We started out indulging ourselves with a late breakfast of Chili Cheese Dogs. Delicious. A word to the wise, don't inspect the cheese too closely...

Again we headed SOMA, this time to MOMA (Museum of Modern Art). Their main exhibition was titled Calder to Warhol. A private collection from the Fisher family (founders of The Gap). It was a great mixed collection, including one of my favourite Warhol prints featuring the King.

The exhibition that really caught my eye however, was titled New Topographics. It is a complete restaging of a 1975 exhibition of the same name. It featured photographs of industrial and suburban landscapes; often stark or desolate. Un-traditional beauty highlighted by the artists use of composition and lighting.

We walked north from MOMA along the docks. I sung the song while Mick elbowed me to shut-it.

We lusted our way through the Marketplace. A collection of local stalls selling free range this and local organic that. As we walked north, the famous fog rolled in through the Golden Gates. Fresh off the Pacific Ocean it rapidly chilled the sea breeze. Sweet relief from the hot sun.

We caught the last boat tour of the bay which took us underneath the Golden Gate Bridge, through thick fog, via pods of bay dolphins, around the island home of Alcatraz and back to the docks past a colony of seals being oogled by a thousand tourists.

An observation for you: in Australian English we pronounce Hyundai "Hee-un-day" or "Hi-yun-die" in American it's simply "Hun-day". This is apparently, the official pronunciation they chose when the car company was introduced to the states in 80's. Too many syllables?

We cheerily took our windswept selves towards Fisherman's Wharf for dinner. Fresh Dungeness Crab served in shell with chili, garlic and scallions (trans. Spring Onions) marinade. We resisted the promenade corn-dog stands and the not-so-legal looking churros vendor (man standing on footpath with foil wrapped churros) and headed back into town on Powell-Mason Cable Car.

We are looking forward to tomorrow. We pick up the car and head north to Mendocino.

Open road here we come.