My usual frequent trips to Italy have been cancelled because of my mother’s increasing frailty, physically and mentally. I realised that she could not longer live independently, mainly because she was forgetting to eat, and found what I thought was the ideal place, with lovely views and meals provided. She went there for a week’s respite to see whether it would work, but away from her own environment she became confused and upset, so after 4 days she returned and we were back to square one.
At last the solution has presented itself with a care home in Hexham, not ideally placed for me, but it will mean she can have friends visit, and keep her own doctor. She moves there in 2 weeks. Meanwhile, there are the headaches of managing her time left in her flat. On Monday she took 3 days’ worth of medication so I had to stay with her to monitor the effects for 8 hours. I have now hidden her tablets! I had arranged for carers to come in each day but she didn’t like them and became angry, so they were cancelled. There have been many other confusions, but I am making her lunch every day, and my son takes her an evening meal, so in the short term it will be OK.
I hope my experience could help anyone with similar problems. Please get in touch if so.
Back in Newcastle I’ve been wondering about the yearly bills for the Italian apartment, and whether some minor member of the mafia has run off with our money.
Asking around, it seems that the woman (shall we call her the embezzler) is quite well known as the administrator of other apartment blocks in the town. As far as I can gather, she has been shifting payment from one building to pay for another, so we’re on a kind of merry-go-round where, I suppose, as long as my money has been paid to the gardener, the electricity and water companies, I can feel reassured.
The embezzler meanwhile has got herself a lawyer to answer the carabinieri’s questions, and we have to find ourselves a new administrator.
Living so far away is quite a relief. I think it will all be sorted out by the time I return in 3 weeks.
Here we are, back in Italy where it is extremely cold but with clear blue skies and lovely views over frosty hills.
The main reason for going was to check on how the flat is surviving in the grip of a severe winter. Several friends had stayed there since we left in early November, and I needed to deal with the laundry, as well as any bills which had arrived. And of course there was a problem. As I was carrying a basket of washing to the washing machine in the garage, I was stopped by a neighbour.
“Have you had any mail from the administrators?” ( Every block of flats in Italy must have an administrator and have an annual meeting to arrange gardening, electricity, stair cleaning etc.)
It seems that the gardeners have not been paid and our administrator has run off with our money from last year! (Well, this is Italy, after all.) It is now in the hands of the carabinieri.
My birthday, as readers and friends know, was something of a disaster, but then all was not lost when Bill spotted a “shopping trip” to New York for 4 days flying from Newcastle.
It was a whirlwind visit, not helped by being wide awake at 3 am and too tired to eat in the evenings. I had forgotten some of the annoying things, like the marked price not being the one you end up paying when all the taxes are added on, and the subway which is certainly not designed to help anyone who isn’t a native of New York.
But…we went to fantastic places (Morgan Library, Neue Gallery, The High Line,The Met…) and enjoyed wandering around, picking up the great Christmas atmosphere (though you’re not supposed to mention Christmas. It’s all politically correct Happy Holidays) The interiors of Art Deco buildings were impressive, and if the over-rated Oyster Bar in Grand Central Station was a disappointment, the diner across the road was a delight.
The shopping was fun, not buying anything expensive, but unlikely things as strange Christmas presents. It didn’t really matter that the return flight was delayed as it was overnight anyway. All in all, a great little adventure!
After the previous weather disasters when I couldn’t have my Cose Inglesi stall either because it was pouring down (May) or too hot(July), finally I managed to clear the garage of most of my boxes with a wonderful day at the Apple Festival in San Pietro. Friends lent a gazebo, tables and other useful display items, and the stall was as usual decorated with flags, to make, they said, the best and most unusual display at the market. There was lots of interest, including a man who grumbled that my prices were cheaper than he had paid at a similar antiques stall in Padua that morning, and another man who insisted on buying me a coffee to tell me that he was one of Italy’s best photographers and would like to be in partnership with me for future articles. (Later, people said to avoid him: he’s an odd character.)
There was one of those curious mobile wood fired ovens (built of stone, but with hidden wheels underneath) making bread for hot panini which we enjoyed for lunch, and we were charmingly entertained by a choir of folk singers and dancers, but at about 6 o’clock the mood changed and an elderly Peter Pan figure arrived with pounding “music” which caused me to begin packing up. This caused a last-minute rush on my goods, but I was very glad to sell the last china tea set, and a few more bits of cutlery. Kind friends came to the rescue to help with urgent packing before I was driven mad, and we enjoyed a lovely dinner together at their house across the road.
I’m so lucky to have so many amazing friends here!(Thanks especially to Paola.)
October is almost a whole month of celebrating my birthday, but it got off to a very bad start when our train to King’s Cross was delayed by 3/4 hour, with a knock-on effect. To make matters worse, the Gatwick Express had no driver so we had to get off, and on the next train. We caught the flight to Olbia by the skin of our teeth. (Do teeth have skins?)
All much better once in sunny Sardinia with walks along deserted beaches and reading books on balcony. The drive into the interior was amazingly easy despite looming mountains and warnings about bandits. Nuoro is fascinating, but I can’t imagine why it’s such a large town. What do they all do for a living?
Celebrations will continue next week in Battaglia with a grand fancy dress feast for all my conversation group then the following week in London with all the family, sailing down the Thames to Greenwich.
There’s a row of wheelbarrows and baskets waiting when we arrive at 8am, together with boxes of disposable gloves and secateurs. We march out past the Friularo grapes, which will be picked later, to the yellow moscato grapes hanging in … Continue reading
The way they run things in Italy is often infuriating. As I write I can hear chainsaws at work cutting down the beautiful umbrella pines on one of the main streets in Battaglia. Apparently some inhabitants have complained through social media about the roots coming up through the road surface, the nuisance of their needles, and the danger of weak branches falling with the weight of snow in winter. (This has never happened here.) It is a one way street so cars could easily avoid any bumps, which are at the sides of the road and generally covered by parked cars in any case.
Without consultation they are now cutting down all these fine old trees. Apparently if we wanted to do something about it we should have checked the Council minutes last year when the decision was made. It’s too late to object. The only consolation is that the trees will be replaced -they say- with lime trees.
I thought, having lived in this part of Italy on and off for 8 years that I knew all the local interesting places, but this afternoon I discovered another. The Santuario at Monteortone, only about five miles away, is half hidden in the hills near Abano. It has a very tall campanile and a lovely former convent with Venetian Gothic windows, a cloister and frescoes.
We parked near the church and went in: a lovely cool building after 30 degrees outside. Then we followed the path to the convent next door and were rather surprised to hear a jazzed up version of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons coming from inside. There was a wedding reception in the cloister, with lots of tables and people eating and drinking, children running about, and the head waiter wearing a captain’s cap which he changed for each course, next a red sequinned trilby and finally a top hat. We chatted to the guests for a while, then strolled into the gardens following a home made sign that said to the ‘ mostra presepe’.
Round the back of the convent, up some crumbling stone steps, was a strange sight. Six guinea pigs on a triangle of lawn were nibbling away against a miniature backdrop of mountains and chalets with tiny people and animals going about their lives. As we stopped to look more closely, an old man approached and started to explain that it represented life in the Dolomites. But there was more to come.
He produced a key and unlocked a door into the hillside. He let us into an air raid shelter used in the last war when the convent was turned into a military hospital. But this long tunnel was full of nativity scenes made by local people. They were all lit up, many with moving parts, and it was quite magical.
Italy never fails to surprise and delight!
On the fringes of my Italian village is the enormous Catajo castle which has almost sleeping beauty status, having been neglected for 100 years. It went up for auction recently but there were no takers, presumably because however cheap it was, the repair bill would be 10 times more.
And then along came the prince in the form of Sergio Cervellin, a multi-millionaire and the Italian equivalent of Sir James Dyson. He was driving past in his Rolls Royce and was struck by the castle, coming back later for another look. Reader, he bought it.
I went to meet him last week to talk about his plans to restore it and open many more of its 365 rooms to the public. The gardens have been cleared and fountains are working again, the inner courtyard has stone masons at work, and two blocks of toilets are being installed inside large raised boxes so that they don’t damage floors, walls or ceilings. He reckons that the full restoration will take 10 years, and it will surely attract masses of tourists with its important frescoes, only half an hour from Venice.
Mr Cervellin doesn’t intend to live there. When I asked why he bought it, he simply replied,” To return it to its former beauty.”
It is a wonderful act of philanthropy: in England he’d surely get a knighthood.