Port of calls

After several days of unbroken good weather, we woke on Monday to something of a grey day. The morning shared a generous amount of rain with us and the cooler temperatures were a pleasant respite from the usual summer heat - so much so that we abandoned the habitual lunch of salad (with tomatoes, of course) in favour of pasta (with a fresh tomato sauce, of course). By mid-afternoon, however, the clouds were scattering and sunshine ruled for the rest of the week.

On Tuesday we made the acquaintance of the newest member of the Monte San Pietrangeli community when we called by Marco and Maddalena’s house to welcome their new puppy, an utterly adorable little bundle of Jack Russellness. Unfortunately for us, there were no cuddles or playtime to be had as the little mite was exhausted, having spent most of the afternoon with Maddalena at her parents’ house, running around with the family dogs, and slept through our entire visit on her bed. It was little wonder she was tired out for she is only 6 weeks old, but she had been taken away from her mother at an early stage as she was refusing to feed her.

Marco and Maddalena had collected the puppy at the weekend when they were staying with Marco’s parents in Rome, and when they sent us a picture on Saturday afternoon she was introduced to us as Remo, as they had been told ‘she’ was a ‘he’. However, someone in the family took a good look and noticed that ‘Remo’ was missing an essential piece of equipment requisite for such a name. There was a slight hiatus while a new name was sought, eventually settling on Mia. Mia is the Italian for mine – the feminine form, of course.

It was also on Tuesday that I received a WhatsApp message from Alessandra, one of the three ladies that I gave lessons to on Saturday afternoons a couple of years ago, and whose sons I taught during the following summer. She was asking if I was available during August to give some lessons to her older son, Michele – the only consideration on my part being that instead of a ten minute car journey to Magliano di Tenna it would be a thirty-five minute one to Porto San Giorgio where they were staying for the summer in her parents’ apartment. As someone who finds it hard to say no, I said that I was available and after a bit of toing and froing with messages on WhatsApp, we got together for a chat in PSG on Wednesday afternoon.

Stephen came along with me for the company and also to make a bit of an outing, something that was helped by Alessandra suggesting we meet up at Patrizio and Daniela. This, she later told us, was one of PSG’s longer established café-bars, located just off the main square, but it’s sleek urban chic décor suggested quite a recent refurbishment – and you know how much we like to find new places to fare una pausa. This was definitely one to add to our list of places to stop; its caffè freddo, served in an elegant cocktail glass, and delicious dainty pastries warrant a return visit at some time in the near future – not to mention that, to Stephen’s delight, it was handily situated for some equally delicious shopping opportunities.

When we got down to business, you won’t be surprised that Alessandra’s concern was the now familiar one: her son’s lack of progress due to the nature of the language teaching in the middle school he started last year. It would seem that the teacher, in her wisdom, had decided to pitch her lessons to the level of the ones fortunate enough to have come from their junior school with a good grounding in the basics of English, leaving the rest to shift for themselves as best they could. We agreed to two one-hour lessons a week, and whilst I hardly think that I can make up for a year’s language teaching in four weeks, hopefully I will be able to bolster his confidence a little. Before you think that I am some sort of saint (although, of course, I am) in travelling to PSG and back twice a week, Stephen and I had already decided that to make the journey worthwhile, he would come with me and walk on the beach or take a stroll round the town while I was giving the lesson and then afterwards we would do something for an hour or so before returning home for lunch, thereby making a morning of it – and as we settled on 9am for the lessons, that time fits in nicely with our plans.

It looked like we can’t get enough of Porto San Giorgio, though, as besides our usual Sunday morning beach walk, we were there again not many hours previously on Saturday night. On this occasion, we were very Italian, not arriving until 9pm, after we had eaten dinner – but even then, we were earlier than many others who were like us joining in with the town’s Notte Rosa. This is an evening in summer when they close the centre of town to traffic, decorate it with all things pink, and the shops, restaurants, bars and cafés stay open till one or two in the morning. As well, there are various stalls and mobile street food outlets stretched along the lungamare. There was a very happy atmosphere, helped not only by the various spots of live music but also by the restaurants taking their tables outside so even the less busy backstreets were buzzing with people enjoying themselves.

We did, though, have another reason for our trip other than savouring the atmosphere, which was a return visit to a menswear shop that Stephen had spotted on our Wednesday visit. I’d noticed that they had 20% discount on MC2 Saint Barth swim shorts (ask your personal stylist) and having done my research online I was out to buy a pair in the Prickly Plant design. They also stocked a good range of BoB polo shirts (ask him again), and Stephen said if we found one we liked that fitted me (not a given with fashion brands, which often seem to have a very strange concept of what constitutes an XL) it could be an early birthday present. I’m pleased to say that we were successful in both missions, doubly so as Stephen also emerged from the shop with a BoB polo and a new pair of trousers. The good news is that the shop was so busy and the manager in charge of the till so full of Notte Rosa bonhomie, that he gave me 30% off my shorts.

Anyone who knows us will think that that constituted a perfect evening, but anyone who really knows us will know that there is something missing – or, rather, be waiting for the metaphorical cherry on the top. Yes, being in PSG, we obviously had to stop, on our way back to the car with our purchases, at La Petite for a little something to fortify us for the journey home. The night being somewhat on the balmy side of life, we forwent a plate of cakey goodness in favour of two glasses of ice cream – I had been leaning towards a bowl but as that contained five scoops as opposed to three, good sense prevailed because while more is more, less can sometimes be better. Stephen, being the designated driver, stuck to caffè freddo (shaken, not stirred) whilst I had post-shopping gargle of something a tad stronger. And that’s not all –being familiar faces at La Petite, Marco, the owner, also gave us a hefty discount off the bill. Haven’t I always said how incredibly kind and generous the Italians are.