Somewhere under the rainbow

5th February 2023

Whilst most of the week was the same old same old as far as I was concerned, it was a bit more action-packed for Stephen, and for young Orlando, who, having enjoyed the ballet or Bally, depending on how you view these things, found out what life is really like in Italy when he arrived in Le Marche on Monday afternoon.

It would seem that money was no object, having been driven down from Milan in the luxury of a large Mercedes. That, though, is where his big city lifestyle came to a bit of an end. The driver had deposited him at Hotel Horizon on the outskirts of Montegranaro, handy for the autostrada, which is the nearest thing to a luxury hotel to be found in the hinterlands of Civitanova. He then had to cover the few kilometres from the hotel to the office, which should theoretically have been easy but when he asked at reception for a taxi, there was a vaguely puzzled response that there wasn’t really such a thing. It might be possible to phone for one from Civitanova, but they couldn’t really take responsibility for when, or indeed if, it would arrive.

Undaunted, in his charming naivety, he proposed what he thought would be the next best thing, an Uber, but this also proved fruitless. To paraphrase what someone else famously said when faced with a new and arcane world, Orlando, I don’t think we’re in New York anymore… He did eventually make it to the office thanks to Stephen, when he had a spare moment, going to pick him up. Even then he caused some concern for Bertrando’s assistant who, worried that Orlando shouldn’t be travelling without at least one responsible adult, asked Stephen if he was ok on his own.

She may have been right in this, for when they reconvened the following day he said that he had eaten in the hotel the previous night, but that while he thought he had ordered tuna, a plate of octopus appeared. He was, therefore, very excited when Stephen, to whom the duty had fallen, took him for lunch at Pina. They were a little late, arriving at 1 just as all the workers were downing their coffee, but Stephen went into the kitchen and asked if they could get something and the answer was, of course, of course. A table was cleared and they sat down, where Stephen had to explain when Orlando asked about the menu that there wasn’t one; Bianca would come and tell you what there was. Needless to say, he found it all very exciting, and you can imagine how he is going to regale his metropolitan chums with tales about the quaintness of life in the real Italy.

He left for the airport in Rome later that afternoon, again in the large Mercedes complete with driver and with forty-two samples, but not, unfortunately, with the necessary documentation to get them through customs. This was because the parent company in Milan knew nothing about the order or Orlando’s presence so had not prepared it. How he managed at the airport and how he got the shoes to America is anybody’s guess. Perhaps he clicked his heels together and thought of home.

The next couple of days were pretty uneventful, if you don’t count Stephen’s visit to Claudia in her professional dental capacity (all ok, he doesn’t have to go back till July) and then getting locked in Manuel’s office upstairs in the family home when the battery on the automatic lock ran out of power. No I don’t know either, but eventually he was released when Manuel’s brother eventually managed to find the instructions and read them out over the phone to him, and he was able to press a combination of buttons to override the lock manually.

Friday was festa in MSP as, being 3rd February, it was the feast day of St Biagio, the town’s patron saint. This had very little effect on us as working in Montegranaro Stephen was not blessed with a day off, but it did mean that Bar del Borgo was heaving with people enjoying breakfast before going to church for the mass. The plus side of this was that I was able to whip round the supermarket as that was virtually deserted. Unfortunately, we forgot to collect (or be given) any of the bread blessed in the saint’s name, so are leaving ourselves open to a bad sore throat, the protection from which being his speciality.

We thought we might as well make the most of being in forma and yesterday made it two Saturday evenings in a row that we hit the big city – an unprecedented phenomenon… maybe. Before we made it to Civitanova, however, we made a slight detour to the Fabi shop and outlet as it is that time of year again when Stephen’s thoughts turn to how to cut a dash at the fairs in Milan. He was in need of some footwear to help tie his outfits together, and he wasn’t disappointed, leaving with a pair of chunky black boots and a pair of trainers in a woven design vaguely reminiscent of something you would see hanging by a tepee in a Hollywood western just before John Wayne and his men carry out sanctioned genocide.

Once in Civitanova we did a spot of shopping for Marco’s birthday present and card before repairing to Thirteen for a cocktail and a plate of Marche goodies each. Wanting a longer drink we both plumped for il misterio di Giulio. What it contained wasn’t such a mystery, being bourbon, pear juice, homemade syrup of sage and ginger beer. What is a mystery, though, is what the average Italian will make of the words “ginger beer”, especially as they were written in English on the menu. As for who Giulio is and what he is puzzled about, that will remain an imponderable, as in our excitement we forgot to ask.

With Friday being la festa del patrono, for the first time since before Covid, it was followed today by the street market, which seemed a reasonable destination for a Sunday morning. We were a little taken aback because four years ago the stalls stretched right along the Mura da Sole but this year there were maybe a third of that number. Let’s hope it is because the momentum needs building up again and not because a number of stall holders are no longer in business. Still, we did manage to purchase, with Stephen buying a new tape measure for work and me buying a pair of pyjamas at a bargain price.

It was also the Sagra de “Li caciù”, those half-moon delicacies made by a cohort of mostly women in a room, we think, in the scuola media and sold by the Pro Loco to raise funds for their various activities. We treated ourselves to seven, which yes, is an odd number for two people, but following that arcane approach to batch selling in Italy, they were €1.50 each or seven for €10. Well, ten was a convenient number even if seven wasn’t, and there is such a thing as a knife. Mind you, if you are anything like me when it comes to divvying up, you will also need a slide rule, accurate weighing scales, a pair of compasses and a protractor to ensure fair shares. Either that or leave it to Stephen, because he is much more cavalier about these things, and he always gives me the larger half. I may be anal, but I’m not stupid.