The Life Aquatic

After a fairly routine start to the week on Monday, things took an unexpectedly dramatic turn on Tuesday. It wasn’t the one-off lesson I gave to a very pleasant young woman called Elena, who wanted to practise her English in case she needed to demonstrate proficiency at up-coming job interviews. Nor was it the bowlful of our very own cherries Stephen had picked from our very own trees, making them our maiden harvesting at LCDDB. No, it was seeing a white van outside the house when I returned at lunchtime from ferrying Elena back to her car at the top of the hill and Luigi in conversation with Stephen, gesticulating wildly.

It was soon after this that the theme for the week became clear: water, in a variety of guises, when Stephen explained the reason for his animation. Luigi had wanted to know if our water supply was running effectively. Apparently, when he was checking the brothers’ potato crop that morning (which is planted in a strip running alongside one of their fields), he’d seen water bubbling up through the earth coming from the water pipe that runs down under their field from the mains at the top of the hill. Stephen hopped into our car, popped up to view the scene and returned to confirm that the potatoes were becoming a trifle waterlogged.

As he’d turned off the stopcock, we filled various pots with whatever remained in the pipes so we had a something to cook our pasta, the length of our self-imposed drought depending on when Loris, our go to man for things excavatory, could come to investigate the situation and take remedial action. We also spent a happy half-hour in the evening filling up all available watering cans and buckets with water from our well – which might have been a slightly easier operation if there had been some sort of braking system to stop the bucket from plummeting back down once Stephen had hauling it up. Oh, and having a leaking bucket didn’t help either.

Anyway, being better than his word, Loris and his brand new mini-digger, making its first appearance, turned up early on Wednesday morning, not long after Stephen had headed to Mario and Luigi’s to see how the pipe was bearing up. Seemingly, on investigation, it appears that the problem was at the joining of two sections of pipe that had come apart, requiring a new connecting piece. Stephen headed off to Giordano the Ferramenta to acquire one, but found himself returning not long after for a second as the first decided to split apart as soon as the water supply was turned back on. Fortunately, the second connector was made of sterner stuff and held in place. Loris wanted to leave it exposed to make sure that all was as it should be, but M&L said it should be filled in immediately as they were worried that Billy, their Labrador, would fall into the hole. Presumably, he would be attracted by the sound of the radio that Luigi has set up there as a cunning plan to scare off any hungry moles happening by of an evening and fancying a feast of potatoes. It was, though, understandable, as Luigi had already suffered trauma enough not only seeing his precious potatoes being tossed hither and thither by the digger but also having to cut the wires holding up his vines to give the said digger access.

Stephen returned in time for lunch and we discussed the possibility of installing a new pipe, one that went over ground following a line behind M&L’s house then down by the side of the road, so it would be much easier to access and deal with any future problem. Unfortunately for us, the problem reared its head sooner than we anticipated.

Now that the water supply was reconnected I thought it a good plan, after lunch, to catch up with my ablutions, that is until I turned on the bathroom sink and saw a stream of water the colour of mucky toffee spill out. Maybe some dirt had got into the water pipe, we thought, and it would clear given time. Wrong. What about the hosepipe downstairs, is that all right? Well yes and no, for while the water slowly cleared to a milky translucence, the pressure dropped right down. What if we turned of the water then opened it again to let the pressure build up and flush out anything that was lurking in the pipe? Again, very limited success, as the clarity of the water continued to improve but the pressure was very weak – too weak, in fact, to trigger the heating system in the boiler when the hot tap was turned on.

As it was now early evening there was no more to be done on Wednesday, and as Thursday was a national holiday (Republic Day) it would be Friday before we could get anyone (i.e. Loris) to have a further look at the pipe. Whilst we may not have been blessed with an abundance of water inside LCDDB, it was a different story outside. Thursday was a bit of a pale imitation of a British Bank Holiday, being a somewhat grey, miserable and drizzly. We did, though, have a visit from Nazareno and Mirco in the morning to check on the tomatoes, finding something to do to while away a morning unsuitable for a trip to the beach.

Despite our vain hopes that somehow the supposed blockage would have miraculously righted itself if left to its own devices, things were no better on Friday morning. Actually they were worse as the pressure was now woefully low. Stephen went up to check the stopcock, but there was little joy there. Nor was there any more delight in the shower where the best I could manage was a chilly dribble. Whilst there, though, I could hear voices outside, which turned out to be Luigi coming to give a hand again.

When I went down to join Stephen, Luigi had gone and he was knelt down over the stopcock outside our house, having disconnected the pipe and the filter. Seemingly, he and Luigi had thought it might be a good idea to check this and when Stephen had unfastened the connection a dollop of gritty sludge slopped out. With my help (ahem) he reconnected the filter and the pipe and then turned on the outside tap – whereupon crystal clear water gushed out. Inside was the same story; the supply was back to normal, if not even a little improved, and the water heater was kicking in with contented gusto.

This did leave us with, potentially, a new problem. Stephen had phoned Loris earlier and he was due to arrive at Mario and Luigi’s imminently – maybe with a truck load of materials to start laying the new pipe that had been discussed on Wednesday. Oh well, we thought, if it has to be done it has to be done, it was just not part of our budget for this phase of work at LCDDB. Fortunately, however, when Loris arrived there was no sign of any pipe of any description. Being a sensible sort of chap, he had come to see how the land lay before starting any work. Nor, in that phlegmatic way that Italians have when faced with eventualities (as opposed to the volcanic way they have when faced with other Italians) he said that he was passing that way anyway and yes, we should still think about changing the pipe, but he would come and see us again about that, there no longer being a mad rush.

And that, we thought, was the end for the time being of our aquatic troubles – apart from when Stephen started the washing machine on Saturday morning and the water pipe flew off due to the increased pressure. We had not, however, reckoned with the prospect of freak weather hitting a somewhat localised area of Le Marche.

Over breakfast this morning I carried out some extensive research – i.e. Google – to investigate places to visit in Le Marche. With having to first look for a house and then to bring it up to habitable conditions, we didn’t really have time last year to explore the region. This summer, I determined, would be different. And so, from my somewhat extensive shortlist, we decided that this afternoon we’d go to Recanati and visit the house of Giacomo Leopardi, its most famous son and one of Italy’s foremost men of letters. The choice was governed by two key considerations: one that Recanati is only 45 minutes away, therefore manageable for an afternoon jaunt, and the other that not only is the house open on a Sunday but it doesn’t close over the midday period. It never occurred to us that it might close for other reasons.

We became aware of this reason, though not its significance, when we were about ten kilometres away and saw across the wide valley that the sky over the town was a menacing black. Indeed, not only over the town but stretching down to the ground in grainy sheets like some old Pathé newsreel. “Well, I’ve never seen that before,” said Stephen, which should really have been our cue to turn around and head home as fast as our wheels could carry us. Instead, we blithely carried on, that is until we hit the outskirts of Recanati and became embroiled in the worst hailstorm either of us has ever encountered. It battered the roof of the car whilst the wipers failed valiantly to keep the windscreen clear. Water was gushing up from the drains and cascading down the roads (Recanati being, like all other towns in the area, built on top of a hill), making driving near impossible. Stephen managed, after several minutes, to find a spot to stop under some trees – not the wisest place, maybe, in a storm but we wanted some protection for the car roof from the battering it was taking.

Five minutes or so later, with some slight let up in the downpour, and being slightly concerned that the car was shifting every so gently with the movement of the water down the road, Stephen set off again and we found a car park a few hundred metres further on. We stayed in the car for several minutes more until the deluge finally abated, whereon I got out to check the tariff board for the car park, and stepped straight into a virtual paddling pool. Well, what’s a day out without wet ankles, though the good news is that being a Sunday we didn’t have to pay.

By this time the sky had cleared to a crystal blue and the sun was shining as if nothing at all had happened, but our journey through the old narrow streets told a decidedly different story. Being shaded by the tall buildings on either side, the remnants of the hailstorm still sprawled insouciantly, looking like the remnants of some giant’s Slush Puppie after all the syrup has been sucked out. We managed to navigate these fairly safely and were within striking distance of Leopardi’s house when a fire engine passed us. “The house must be flooded,” I joked. Not much of a joke as it happens for when we turned the corner, Italian firemen were hurrying into Casa Leopardi while various attendants were doing their best to sweep water out of the doors and down the steps. Another attendant was stationed at the door to the ticket office, apologising that the house was closed due to flooding and that it may be open again in an hour or so but he couldn’t promise.

There seemed little point in hanging around on the off chance so we headed back up the streets, past more sweeping of water and lingering ice, and eventually happened upon a second hand market in the main square. While those stall holders who were lucky enough to be under the colonnaded front of the town hall were all business as usual, the unfortunates out in the piazza showed all the signs of re-displaying goods that had been hastily grabbed at the onset of the torrent. A quick wander and a quicker coffee and it was time to head home, now in blazing sunshine.

It does seem odd that at the beginning of summer with temperatures in the high 20s that there should be such a sudden and jarringly violent blast. But that is how it goes here; with very little warning sunshine can give way to transient storms of almost biblical proportions before peace and calm are restored once again. Rather like the people themselves, really, so maybe it is the climate that gives the Italians not only their seductive charm and warmth and also their explosively fiery tantrums.