Bologna - The Sociable City

In case anyone was wondering, this week’s blog comes without the need of a warning. Whilst Stephen is still more than happy with himself after his recent visit to Venom Art Tattoo, there is no call for us to retrace what happened there. Instead, we will focus on the altogether more wholesome matter of my week in Bologna, one of culture and learning as opposed to bodily mutilation.

The train journey from Civitanova was a pleasantly uneventful one, and leaving just after midday, a pretty quiet one as well. The train arrived a few minutes early in Bologna, just before three in the afternoon and a twenty-minute walk up via dell’Indipendenza, then across Piazza Maggiore and onto via D’Azeglio delivered me to a pair of impressive wooden doors. I was none the worse for having to manoeuvre my case through the generous amount of tourists and locals milling around the shops and the historic centre of the city, which, as every Sunday, was closed to traffic. However, after hoiking my case up ten flights of stairs to the apartment where I was renting a room for the week (from a very pleasant if somewhat reclusive lady), not only was I perspiring somewhat noticeably, but I was also thinking that maybe some judicious pruning of the clothes Stephen had thoughtfully packed for me might have been a good idea.

Whilst the room could best be described as basic, it was impeccably clean and did have everything that a transient student might need. It was also fabulously centrally located, being a short step, as I mentioned, to Piazza Maggiore and less than five minutes on foot from the language school. I discovered this when I went out to orienteer myself after unpacking and freshening up a little, taking a stroll in the evening sunshine before sitting outside in the square, partaking of a spritz and doing a spot of people watching and reading. After a plate of bresaola and a pizza at a restaurant recommended by Stephen, it was back to my temporary home for an early-ish night.

Although lessons start at 9.30 at Madrelingua, the school opens at 9.00 and on the first day I was advised to arrive early to complete registration. Being used to rising early, this was no problem for me, and I was up and showered by 7.30, not wanting to appear to hog the bathroom at a more popular time. I duly presented myself for registration, though this just seemed to entail Stefania (the co-owner) confirming that I had paid the balance of my account and selling me a copy of the textbook used on the course. (These were available for hire, but I decided if I had my own copy then I could make my own notes in it.) There were ten people altogether in my group made up of a mixture of ages and nationalities. Apart from me, the more mature element included two ladies from Russia, one from Germany and another from Turkey as well as a Canadian man. The younger contingent comprised two Australians (a man and a woman), and two other men, one from Holland and the other from Brazil.

The first day set the pattern for the following days. The first two hours, from 9.30 to 11.30, we spent with Angela where we did a bit of talking followed by studying that lesson’s grammar point with some completion of exercises, some writing and a listening activity. We then decamped to Ca' Pelletti, local café, for a break and casual conversation (in stuttering Italian, of course) before returning to the classroom for speaking practice with Paola till 1.30. As I had booked myself on the intensive course, I returned after finding a spot of lunch for another 90 minutes of conversation, again with Paola but also with Patrizia, the German lady, who had also opted for this extra practice. After that it was back to my room to do my homework and freshen myself up before going out for a wander round Bologna and dinner.

I was saved from hunting for my own lunch on the first day as the school offered a trip to a local restaurant as a get to know each other event, and for once I thought it better not to be anti-social. This was most pleasant, and the chicken salad set me up for the afternoon. In this, I was luckier than Asle, the Turkish lady, who confused tagliere (the Italian word for a chopping board, but also the name for the arrangement of a selection of meats and cheese as an antipasto) with tagliatelle (pasta) and ended up with a plate of prosciutto and mozzarella – which would have been all right if she hadn’t have been vegetarian.

Asle fared little better during break the next day when she came off worse in an encounter with the niceties of Italian coffee. As I said, we took the break at a Ca' Pelletti just down the street from the school, and to try to make life a little easier for the staff there, Michele, the young teaching assistant, took everybody’s order before we left so he could just pass it over when we arrived. Asle had asked for what she thought was a long, milky coffee and was somewhat nonplussed when she was presented, on claiming her caffè macchiato, with an espresso-sized cup. This is where she had gone wrong for, as the Italians present explained to her, a caffè macchiato is an espresso (not that they used that word) with a spot (macchiato) of milk when what she wanted was a latte (a larger cup of milk) with a spot of coffee. Of course, she could have gone down the simpler route of ordering a caffè latte (milky coffee – what would be called simply a latte in the UK, but should you ask for that here you would just get milk) or the failsafe cappuccino, which is what I went for.

Tuesday morning also saw me cause a bit of surprise on two occasions. Firstly, when we were practising using the conditional tense and I used the word così in an answer. “What does that mean?” they asked, to which I looked blank and let the teacher explain, it being one of those words that I hear Italians use a lot but which is hard to translate. The other was during the conversation session when I was paired with the young Australian lady, taking turns asking each other questions from prepared cards. When she asked me if I’d read a good book this year and I replied that I had, and that I’d actually read 28, her mouth dropped open and seemed to struggle to find anything to say. Can I help it if I was born to be a teacher’s pet?

The rest of the day panned out much the same as the day before as far as I was concerned, though getting to sleep proved a little more problematical as there was a free concert in Piazza Maggiore to celebrate the rise and rise of a local group, Lo Stato Sociale. They were runners-up in this year’s Sanremo, thanks partly to an accompanying dance where an acrobatic British octogenarian was flung about by her younger partner. Being second meant they missed out on the trophy and representing Italy at Eurovision, but they seem to have had a moral victory as their song has been heard all over the radio stations and is still going strong for the summer, hence Bologna welcoming home its own. Unfortunately for me, the way my room faced and the distance from the piazza meant I could hear the thumping bass sounds but not the actual music. Still, they finished at a very circumspect 11.45, proving themselves to be, indeed, quite social.

Whilst the extra lessons in the afternoon were more than useful, they did limit my ability to join in one or two of the extra activities offered by Madrelingua, such as the visit on Tuesday (by bus – what excitement that would have been) to a local park and gardens. I was, however, able to sign up for Wednesday’s offering, as we didn’t need to meet back at the school till 5.30. This gave me time to pop back to my room, freshen up and change and be back in good time for a spot of wine tasting at Mia Cantina, a small enoteca about 20 minutes walk away on via Saragozza, in the south-west area of the old city. We sampled three wines of the area, two whites (a Pignoletto frizzante and an Albana) and a red (Sangiovese, of course), accompanied by a small tagliere of local salumi (and not a strand of pasta in sight).

The two owners explained everything in very clear Italian and I managed to add a few things to my admittedly limited oenological knowledge, as well as discovering Pignoletto frizzante (frizzante because the bubbles are smaller and feel lighter in the mouth than a spumante). This, if it were available on demand in the UK, as is Prosecco, would give its brasher cousin a real run for its money. We also had, as part of our tagliere, a couple of slices of salume rosa, which, like Pignoletto, seems to be a jealously guarded secret of the Emilia-Romagna region. This meat, we were told, is an antecedent of mortadella, with a less compact texture, less fat and a more pleasing taste (if you ask me).

The next morning, there was something of a surprise for us all when I woke to grey skies. These turned, shortly before I was due to leave for Madrelingua, into thundering rain. Fortunately, Martina, my landlady, was pottering about and leant me an umbrella for my short journey, commenting that when you live in a city prone to sweltering temperatures, such as Bologna, you appreciate the rain now and again. Certainly, by the time morning break rolled round, the downpour had stopped, the sky was clearing and the air was a deal fresher than it had been the night before.

This may have been one of the reasons that prompted Paola to suggest, for that afternoon’s lesson, that we should take a little walking tour of the old centre to look at some of the many towers for which Bologna is known. These were built in the 12th and 13th centuries by the rich families of the city – maybe as defensive strongholds or maybe just because they could and wanted to outdo their neighbours. There are considerably fewer remaining than the 180 existent 800 years ago but they help to give Bologna its distinctive air. Paola proved to be well versed in the history of the city, giving us much information about both the towers and the development of the university from its original buildings near Piazza Maggiore.

One part of these buildings houses the teatro anatomico, built in 1636, which has a completely wooden interior and which suffered catastrophic damage when it was hit by bombing during World War II. According to Paola (if I understood properly) Allied planes had been unable to bomb Milan, their intended target, due to fog so thought they might as well get rid of three of their bombs over the historic heart of Bologna for good measure. One caused extensive damage to the teatro, not that you could tell, so expertly has it been reconstructed using as much of the original material as could be salvaged. You can spot which this is as it is darker in hue than the newer wood they used. Fortunately, the many statues and large carved figures decorating the walls and ceiling had been removed to a safe place so these escaped unscathed.

The walk wasn’t my only cultural first of the day, the other one being something that caused Stephen no end of amusement when he found out that, in the spirit of classroom bonhomie, I popped into an Irish pub on via Zamboni to join some of my classmates in watching the opening match of the World Cup. In my defence, I have to say that I didn’t really break my record of never watching a football match on TV, let alone a World Cup one, as I timed my arrival for half-time, settled down with a spritz and positioned myself so I only had to cast the occasional glance at the screen when it sounded like things were getting exciting. From what I could tell, at least I was showing more interest in the game the Vladimir Putin, whose surprised face when his attention was drawn to the fact that Russia had just scored brought a wave of ironic laughter in the pub.

And then it was the last day, which was remarkably affecting considering I had only been there for five days. Strange, really, how you can build positive relationships in such a short time. I suppose being thrown together and knowing that you depend on each other to succeed helps, but I think I was also very fortunate in being with a group of just nice people supported by an enthusiastic, professional and generous staff. I was presented with my certificate at morning break, amidst much clapping and hugging, then after the afternoon intensive lesson it was time to say a final goodbye – though by then the school was almost deserted.

Friday evening was spent in a spot of shopping (Stephen would not have let me back in the house if I hadn’t visited Scout), an aperitivo at Caffè Zanarini (a molto chic café in Piazza Galvani) and pizza at Scrambler Ducati Food Factory, whose name is as much as a mouthful as its food. This is a relatively new place to eat, just up from my lodgings, and as it was busy I ended up dining off the main area in one of the towers I had seen the day before with Paola, which seemed more than apt. There were only two tables and I sat across from a couple of more than a certain age who were obviously part of the great and the good of old Bologna, the man in casual shirt and trousers and blue Nike trainers and the woman in a black linen shift dress - who summarily dismissed the suggestion by the waitress that she might like some water, saying that her gin and tonic was more than adequate. Jenny Jones may have wanted to wear purple when she was old, but I’ll settle for drinking a g&t with my pizza.

The next morning I was up, packed (yes, I had to do it myself with no Stephen on hand), breakfasted and ready to catch the 9.52 Frecciabianca at Bologna station. The Frecciabianca service comprises express, intercity trains that run the length of Italy connecting major cities speedily and at a more than fair price – something that has yet to happen in the UK. This particular one had started in Milan and was heading all the way down the east coast to the heel of Italy and when I boarded it, my carriage was full. Being the middle of June, however, and following closely on from the end of the school year, once we arrived at Rimini the carriage emptied significantly as extended families lugging oversized suitcases left the train to start their couple of months by the sea. Noticeably absent were the fathers, who were, presumably, back in Milan working away.

After a very comfortable journey, I arrived only a few minutes late at Civitanova, where Stephen was waiting to whisk me back to LCDDB and a return to normality after my great adventure. A quiet Saturday was followed today by our Sunday morning walk on Porto San Giorgio beach and a visit this evening to Bar Corradini so I could show off my newly honed language skills by asking for a couple of glasses of Prosecco. Well, can you think of a better use for them?

And that would have been it, if it hadn’t been for the dreaded shadow of TIM once again loomed over us when I found, last Monday evening, that I had run out of credit on my mobile phone. This came as a bit of a surprise, seeing as I had recently begun the new tariff with a flat monthly charge and enough time to supply my needs. Further investigation online by Stephen showed that on two consecutive Monday mornings within the space of a few minutes three separate connections, totalling some ten euros, had been made to a website that I had never seen before or visited.

I spent the next day practising in my head the conversation for when I found a TIM shop to try to discover what was happening. In the meantime, however, Stephen had been speaking to Computer Luca who shrieked then immediately took control as the same thing had happened to him. Apparently, it’s a fraud which TIM are more than aware of but have not (in their wisdom) deemed it necessary to warn their customers about as they don’t want to damage their credibility (or cause unnecessary worry as they would say). As ever, Luca proved invaluable in these situations and not only was he able to have a block put on the number but he also arranged for a reimbursement of my lost credit. This was just as well, for I tend to think that even with my new found confidence and improved language abilities I would still find the monolith that is TIM too labyrinthine to conquer.