A blog entry
Entry posted by sifi
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I'm actually going to write a proper bona-fide blog entry today.
I'm going on holiday on Tuesday - hoorah! I need a break really badly, it's been such a long while, and the wife and I have been busy busy working on the house, which we purchased in April. We are off to my relatives place in Italy, a beautiful, untouristy (well, apart from Italian tourists) place half way between Genoa and Pisa called the "Golfo di Poeti" or the bay of Poets.
It looks like this :
It's called the bay of poets because Lord Byron and Percey Shelley used to live there ; Shelley in fact died there - and my Grandma's old house is about three doors down from his old villa. I've been going over there my entire life, and I know lots of people and I always feel like I'm going home. The fish is fantastic ; I always take a boat ride out of the bay as it reminds me of when my Great Grandfather used to take me to get his nets when I was a child, we used to go to the bakers at four in the morning, grab a fresh loaf and a bottle of white wine ; he'd tie the white wine to the back of his little old boat and we'd go get muscles, open them up and squeeze lemon on them and knock them back with a bit of bread and a some wine. Sure I was plastered, because I was about three at the time, but with the heady mix of the wine made up at my Uncles vineyard and the sea air, and the freshly made focaccia breads it's a memory I'll never forget.
It's a beautifully romantic place too ; the mix of the scent of pines from the hill tops mixed with the sea creates an aura around it, and I can spend all day just sitting and watching the world go by, or walk around top of one of the castles that book-end the bay. We should be there for the Communist festival that goes on annually, and they always have a great time - laying out a good spread and some fun music too. I'll watch at least one film in the open air cinema round the back of the church too.
One day I will retire there and will buy myself a fishing boat and live simply ; that's the kind of place it is - it seems so far removed from the hurly burly of life over here ; and life seems to last a lot longer, my Zia Franca for example runs around like a whirling dervish and she's eighty five. She tells me it's because of the good wine, the good food and of course her favourite olive oil.
I'm starting to relax just thinking about it. It's probably my favourite place on earth ; even better than Glasto for me
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