Friday – 15 June 2018 to Sunday, 30 June 2018
The last two weeks of our stay in Ponzano Superiore would prove to be as wonderful as the first two, as per the post titled Living in a medieval Italian hilltop village is as idyllic as it sounds. We went about our lives as if we had always lived here.

Friday evening I was sipping the remnants of my birra Moretti while watching the remains of the day out on the terrace, I stared into the nothingness in front of me. There was no sound around other than the distant bark of a valley dog or the occasional braying of a far-off donkey somewhere.

A peaceful silence had descended upon the valley, just amazing. And then I heard it, a lone owl owling, or hooting, once, then silence, then once more. Being in the presence of an owl, no matter how distant, always brings a smile to my face… but let me explain.

While doing national service in the 70s there was a little guy that went by the surname of De Bruin, but nicknamed Uiltjie (little owl). I once asked him about that nickname and he looked at me in disbelief, could I not see the similarity between him and an owl?

He did have rather owl-like eyes, and face, when I studied his features again in that fading midsummer afternoon light. Perfectly nice guy, don’t get me wrong. I also remember that he lived in a tiny town in SA called Reivilo and this I only remember because he told me he lived in the town that is Olivier (a common SA surname) spelt backwards. A bit of useless information never hurt anyone, I guess. I wonder whatever happened to Uiltjie?

It was Saturday and there was too much sport to watch on TV. There were a number of test rugby games on and of course world cup soccer matches aplenty. I had a feast of sport channel hopping, beer and snacks and all. Not sure what Adri did now that I come to think of it.

Now I tend to read a lot of news during the course of my days; one has to be aware of what’s going on in the world, however depressing that may prove to be. Anyhow, this weekend I was reading a book, not a terribly good one at that, but decided anyway to refrain from reading the news during my book reading stint. I gave news the cold shoulder as from Friday, and what a revelation that was… On Sunday I found that the world had continued just fine without my involvement and intervention, which came as a welcome surprise.

And, truth be told, I did not really miss it, in fact, it was like a breath of fresh air not having to carry the world’s ills on my shoulders all by my lonesome self. The news nowadays has become so sensationalised that it had become difficult to find coverage of any real substance, i.e. to differentiate between fact and fiction is becoming rather difficult. The more sensationalised bad news they can spread, the better it seems… it damages the soul. Maybe, just maybe, one should be more selective as to the web sites one accesses to get a news fix. Maybe I should concentrate on reading Reuters for the real world news, definitely cut out Huffington Post, maybe even CNN, and BBC is just drab…

We had a wonderfully relaxing weekend, watching sport, reading, doing not much of anything, it was weekend you know. And so we decided to take a long weekend; we did the same all over again on Monday!

I was thankful for the relaxing long weekend as Tuesday would prove to be anything but, as captured in my post How to do the Cinque Terre… or how not to… depending on your politics.

Wednesday we took it easy trying to recover from the rigours of our Cinque Terre visit, we slowly but surely emerged from stiff legs and brains.

By Thursday we had recovered sufficiently to tackle some more serious admin related tasks. As I mentioned in a previous post titled Living in a medieval Italian hilltop village is as idyllic as it sounds, I had to have a tooth extracted and today was that day. With much trepidation I reluctantly albeit willingly checked myself into the dentist’s chair. Man, I dreaded this but as you may recall, everything went klopdisselboom (very well).

It was only while driving home afterwards that I realized things were not so klopdisselboom. Adri was intent on going shopping notwithstanding the delirious state I was in from the anaesthetics. And by the way, I was driving, I then realized. Nope, no shopping today, I put my foot down, on the accelerator, and sped home for some sorely needed recovery time.

Friday morning I woke up feeling dandy with no possible scheme at the ready to further retard Adri’s shopping trip. It was early afternoon that we rolled into the La Terrazze shopping centre in La Spezia, thus far still my least favourite town in Italy. Truth be told, it was actually I who required the shopping trip, it was just Adri’s timing that was a tad off. I’ve been toying with the idea of getting a Google Chromecast from Media World to enable me to cast video from my Samsung phone to the TV.

Casting from my Samsung via my AppleTV is impossible, Apple does not allow casting from anything other than Apple products, this being one of the reasons I wish to totally move away from Apple. I have already slowly started moving in that direction having replaced our Iphones with Samsungs late last year. Next in the firing line are the Ipads.

Anyways, as I walked into the shopping centre I sneaked a peek to my left and noticed the Deichmann shoe shop. I have been on the lookout for new plakkas (sandals) since the thongs on my current plakkas broke off; the first time was many months ago.

 

 

 

 

Since then they had broken off many more times, but they were deftly super-glued back in place, it became a labour of love, but that love was wearing thin. Plakkas are like a pair of underpants, they either fit 100% comfortably, or not at all. And those that fit comfortably you can never get rid of – no matter their tattered condition – as you may never find that same comfort again. It’s just the way it is.

I was rather impressed with the extensive selection of the plakka section. And by the way, all shoe shops should operate on the Deichmann principle. All shoe/sandal models are displayed with all the boxes of the available sizes stored right behind it. You can try on every model and size to your heart’s content without that pesky salesperson giving you skewed looks after the umpteenth time you send him/her back to the storeroom to find the next model/size.

After having walked furrows into the aisles with all my test runs I finally settled on a blue pair of Crocs. Now I’ve never been a fan of Crocs but there was no denying it, these were the most comfortable plakkas I have ever had the pleasure of taking for a walk. My seemingly irreplaceable – and very comfortable – Bata plakkas I was now quite happy to relegate to the rubbish heap. I was plakka happy.

I also ended up purchasing the Google Chromecast and it works just fine, only it does not work with the specific application I had in mind. Oh well, as they say in the movies, some you win…

Saturday was another day squandered on rugby and soccer but by Sunday we realized that we had not secured a place of accommodation for July yet, which by the way was just a week away. It was a difficult decision as to where we would lay our hats and numerous options were under discussion. We could return to the lake districts, go to the Abruzzo or Tuscany regions, but Adri dearly wanted to go to Sicily. “But have you seen how far it is to drive!” I countered. That seemingly made no impression on her as she sat me down and showed me our available accommodation options there.

The island is rather large, roughly 200 by 100km, but we finally decided to stay near the capitol of Sicily, Palermo, which would probably be a wise move. We finally found an apartment in Aspra, a small fishing village some 25km east of Palermo. It was only after we had booked the apartment that I saw the video below and knew we had made the right choice.

With our July accommodation sorted we needed some beach time and 30 minutes later we were all sprawled out on the Azzurra beach near Lericci. The sun’s rays were just settling in on my skin when Poppa Joe came to town. This man was traipsing along the beach – careful not to tread on unsuspecting bronzed bodies – selling chunks of cold fresh coconut pieces.

 

 

 

Even though there was no rum in them coconut husks it still brought a silly smile to my face, just like the rum would have. I remembered that old 70s pop song called Poppa Joe, performed by The Sweet, which increased the curvature of my smile when I thought back on all those old school parties where this song was such a hit. Man, those were good days.

 

In the midday sun
They beat on their drums
When Poppa Joe comes to town
With his coconut-rum
They can all have fun
They can drink it
‘Till the sun goes down…

After having taken another long weekend it was only on Tuesday that we did anything of significance, and was it to be significant. We finally plucked up the courage to walk one leg of the Francigena pilgrim’s route, as described in my post titled How to do the Via Francigena… or how not to, depending on your politics. It was of course a most enjoyable experience; we’ll definitely try and fit in more such walks in the future.

Adri has this thing for churches and cemeteries… Should I be getting worried here? Be as it may, she had identified the Staglieno Cimitero Monumentale in Genoa, a cemetery we just had to see. It is some 100km north of Ponzano and so it was that we tried to get an early start on Thursday morning; we did not, no surprises there.

We arrived at the cemetery around noon and approached the ticket office which ended up being just an office, no tickets required for this excursion. The two gentlemen behind the counter handed us maps and brochures for the cemetery and showed us the best way to approach our walk, the cemetery is huge.

As we entered through the large archway it immediately became apparent that this was no ordinary cemetery, it was a work of art, literally. Each gravestone embedded within the walls is a sculpture of beauty, a true work of art, which would not look out of place in any of the world’s greatest museums or art galleries. This truly is a must-see.

 

 

 

We strolled amongst the dead and even crossed paths with a few of the living. We spent nearly two hours there but now it was time to move on to my must-see. I have forever wanted to visit Portofino and today was to be that day.

 

 

 

 

 

We drove into Portofino via a precariously narrow and busy road that hugs the coastline on the one side and the mountain on the other. And of course Portofino is as beautiful as depicted in the pictures which you’ve no doubt seen in many glossy travel brochures or travel sites, there’s no denying that.

 

 

 

But, there seems to be just a hint of arrogance, a hint of self-importance in the air, not sure how to describe it, it’s just a feeling that creeps up on you. We walked along the promenade packed with restaurants, then up to the Chiesa San Giorgio, then further up towards and around the Castello Brown. The views towards Portofino from up there are simply stupendous, there’s no question.

 

 

 

Back on the promenade we were thirsty, we needed some alcoholic sustenance. We sat down at a restaurant but were promptly chased away, they had finished serving lunch and were not serving drinks, effectively they were closed until the evening.

 

 

 

 

Our search continued but just a few restaurants up we found another picture perfect spot, like so many other spots I might add. I ordered a large Nastro Azzurro, Adri the Campari and soda. These were great, and they had to be, they were the most expensive drinks we have ever had the pleasure of paying for. The 400ml beer was just below €10, the Campari the same, in a normal restaurant this may cost you just a tad under or over €10, for both!

As I said, I cannot put my finger on it exactly, but there just seems to be a niggle of unwanted haughtiness by the local populace. Yes, Portofino is beautiful and all that, but I much preferred the more down to earth, and as beautiful, Portovenere further down the coast.

Friday morning I was sitting out on the terrace minding my own business on my own terrace. A Francigena pilgrim went walking by along the route heading out of town when I spotted him, a brisk walk in his step. With bright red shirt one could not miss him. On his back he had what looked like a guitar case. Maybe there was a Tommy gun hidden inside, why else would one carry a guitar case on a pilgrim’s route in Italy?

It was later in the day that we drove through Sarzana on our way to Marina di Massa that my eye caught that same guy, same red shirt and all with Tommy gun on his back… he was making swift progress towards his target.

We reached Marina di Massa from where we intended to explore the coast south from there. By the way, Massa reminds me of a song called Massa Massa, not sure whether anyone remembers that, but it sure brings back good memories of listening to LM Radio back in the 70s’ in SA.

We drove through Massa Massa and on to Forte dei Marmi where Adri just had to see the Carducci Monument, turns out it had nothing to do with Carducci after all; it was called Monumento ai Caduti di Tutte le Guerre.

Anyway, we took the time to walk along the beach where a million beach clubs with their fancy restaurants and their neat sun beds lie cheek to cheek. We ventured onto the jetty where a myriad of kids were swimming at its bitter end, having too much holiday fun. At the start of the jetty there is a circular square, if you know what I mean, with some strange statues and statuettes, not sure what that was all about.

 

We drove further south along the coast until we reached Viareggio. For some or other reason I always thought that this would be a lovely town but it turned out to be very ordinary and drab… Maybe we missed the good parts.

After watching the SARS Inquiry – of Moyane’s mismanagement of the South African Revenue Service at the behest of Zuma and the Guptas – into the early hours of the morning over the last two days, Saturday was a perfect opportunity to sleep in and catch up on some reading. And I did, until well past 11:00.

In the meantime Adri had starting to do the washing and cleaning. It was that time of the month again; we were moving house and busy packing. Tomorrow we would leave our wonderful home on the hilltop for the sea of Sicily.

We sure are gonna miss this place.

Home