Interactive Theatre

 Well, since last time I wrote, my little mini Auberge has been pretty well frequented. 

It says in the AirBnB hand book that I should  make some House Rules which should be easily seen by the guests. But I don't even know where to start. I have decided to let the rules make themselves gradually, when I see what is necessary. Guests have followed unwritten rules anyway.  For instance, they have asked me if they are allowed to smoke on the balcony, taking it for granted that they are not allowed to smoke in the rooms...

                                                  

After the inspirational Rose, I have enjoyed the quiet and gentle company of George, the Unkrainian jazz guitarist, with whom I discussed gender politics, religion and Ukraine, of course, finding out so much about his part of the world, until now so alien to me. 

And now there is the young Dutchman with an unpronounceable name, who is kindly allowing me to call him Marengue. He too is very quiet and polite, but has been slightly led astray by the South African Dino, who has taken on the role of a Pied Piper, since I first told him about the continuing Siena summer fun which I visited with Rose at Bruco and which has now moved on to the Contrada Of Nicchio. Dino leads them all there- those from here and those he knows from the Dante Alighieri language school. |Only this time I have not been included: the Bright Young Things are out revelling most nights at Nicchio, back about 3, and I am not invited... It has suddenly dawned on me that they are between 22 and 40, and I am now having to accept being  in my late sixties (Ugh!) so it is probably normal that they do not invite me...

So, every time a new guest arrives, I really have no idea what will happen. For instance, yesterday arrived Marco from Sicily, who is here for 12 days, studying the Contradas, for his anthropology PHD. Whereas most people have been rather timid and stayed in their rooms until I try and drag them out of their shells by inviting them for a drink, for instance, Marco has immediately imposed his presence. He has moved all sorts of frozen Sicilian delicacies into the freezer- he flew in to Florence, armed with an icebox packed by his Mama, so he wouldn't have to survive on Tuscan ware. He sits on the balcony having breakfast, having somehow, in the deepest recesses of the drawers  found a clean tea towel which he is using as a table cloth. After his breakfast he PUTS IT BACK in the drawer...I say nothing. Not a great problem really. He leaves the door open to his room while he is studying or writing, and Sicilian hip-hop drifts through the rest of the flat. 

And as a scenic back drop to these goings-on, there is the never ending fun and interest of the 'Rear Window' view from the balcony, crowned in the distance by the melancholy Memento Mori of the Facciatone, the architectural attempt to beat Florence in grandeur which was stopped short by the Plague...

                                         
Meanwhile, I have to negotiate what happens in order to enjoy this and in order to DIRECT  this stage play, so both I and my guests  enjoy it. And I feel like a director,  It is in my power to create something here, something good. 

I must remember what Andrea wrote: In questo posto qualcosa magicamente crescera...