Happiness is a friendly Italian Civil Servant

After those few days when we were granted a little foretaste of summer, the skies opened again yesterday and a Biblical deluge swept over Siena all day. But that didn't matter, because I had a very successful morning at the Anagrafe with my little lawyer girl Valentina, the one I was castigating so viciously last week...I now take it all back, unconditionally. 

The Anagrafe is the Registry Office, the place where you have to go when you want to become a resident. It is situated in the Palazzo Pubblico, above, and has been for the last 700 years- probably in the same rooms, even. I went there in October or November to ask how to go about becoming a resident, and was given an atrocious reception- multo antipatico! - which gave me a deep anxiety about the whole place, and actually made doubt my chances of ever being able to get anywhere in the labyrinthine bureaucracy which is the Italian civil service. 

But the meeting with the Capo, which had been arranged through Valentina, went swimmingly. He, also a lawyer, probably in his last couple of years before retirement, bespectacled and grey suited, was friendliness itself. We spent a pleasant hour in his office, which was of course much longer than what was strictly necessary to impart the information we needed. Nevertheless, since he seemed to enjoy our company, the conversation flowed happily, and  at one point turned to the laws and regulations which are changing in response to the developments in modern life, for example in order to accommodate the fact that Muslims are able to have several legal wives. This somehow meandered into  the gender debate. Even in Italy -quite a conservative country, after all-  there will have to be forms for people to fill in where the gender choice is not simply 'Female' or 'Male.'  The Capo then explained  that it would no longer  be necessary to go through a sex change operation in order to claim that one was the opposite of one's biological sex. One will  soon be able to claim it simply for reasons of personal preference.  I could, for instance, decide that I am  a man, and relatively soon I would be able to enter that on my resident application. No one would be able to dispute it, and physical evidence to the contrary would be disregarded. 

I am no philosopher, but this seems to be straying into areas of fundamental definitions of 'what is truth'?  And what if I decided that my personal preference was to be in possession of a PHD from Harvard University, would I have the right to declare that too? Now, let me explain that I have no problem with sex changes at all,  but I think that people  actually  have to have  the operation if they want to change their sex...At this point I, in my old fashioned way, exclaimed:

' Ma questo e completamente pazzo! 

Valentina and the Capo laughed heartily at this, because I think they  secretly agreed with me, although, being lawyers, they were not able to air their opinions so openly...The Capo ended up telling us exactly what we wanted to hear- he will personally make sure that I  get the residency and he will instruct his people to get on with it! I said I would make sure he was invited to the opening party at 11 Casato di Sopra.

After this charming interlude the blessed Valentina and I emerged from the dreaded Anagrafe into the deluge on the Piazza del Campo - she went on her way and since I had forgotten my umbrella I was forced to spend two hours in my favourite bar and have two Campari Sprizas!

 

Easter in Tuscany

Since I have now been the proud owner of 11 Casato di Sopra for over a month, I had hoped that we might have started to work on the extensive reshaping of the place that Paolo and I have planned... However, things move slowly here. Several permissions need to be granted first- such as the all important agreement from the other owners of the building; then there is the permission from the Comune to start the work, and to install a building rubble escape from one of the windows down to the Vicolo del Sambuco below- one of the most narrow and one of the steepest of all the Siena alleyways...

But there are other complications too. I absolutely have to have my residency here sorted out before building work starts.  This is proving more of a puzzle to solve than anticipated, and it may well be aggravated by my very nice lawyer girl- I call her a 'girl' because she looks as if she's just out of high school. When I present her with a problem or a question, she always says: 'Well, I don't know, but I will find out...' Now my patience is running short here. I would like a lawyer who says' This is how it is done'. Is that too much to ask? I might have to find someone else. In fact I WILL HAVE TO. 

But let's talk about something else:

Easter, for instance. 

Spring has just arrived properly to Siena. It is very warm in the sun, and in the evenings it has been warm enough to sit outside again. The streets of Siena are filled with happy people eating, drinking and celebrating Easter and the arrival of spring. 

But on Good Friday, at 21.00, just when all the happy crowds were enjoying a meal, they were presented with something which must have seemed rather chilling: 

I had gone to the Good Friday service at the Duomo, and did not realize I therefore become part of a 'Procession of Penitents'. I was given a candle to carry and told to take  my place in the congregation which followed behind  about twenty monks in hooded black cassocks  bearing lit torches and  three great Crosses.  During  our  slow progress through the streets of Siena the Ave Maria and the Pater Noster, as well as various mournful chants were intoned- we must have looked like a grim reminder of the Plague Year...or maybe, more pertinently, a reminder of the danger we all live under this Easter? Here below a bad picture of the Procession leaving the Cathedral:

Easter Saturday was filled with sun and light as I took the bus to Arezzo, deciding that I needed to explore more of Tuscany.  How lovely that Piazza Grande! 

                                      And of course the beautiful Piero della Francesca frescoes in the Basilica di San Francesco.                                                                                                 

The Easter Sunday Mass in the Arezzo cathedral was packed, an occasion full of light and hope, while  at the same time transfused with urgent prayers for  peace and for Ukraine... It was conducted by the Archbishop of Arezzo, an avuncular figure who strolled down the aisle and spoke to the congregation as if he was chatting to neighbours on a Sunday morning over the garden fence.

I found out something funny about Tuscany: it is a tradition to bring ordinary eggs to Mass on Easter Sunday in little parcels. They need to be blessed, and then eaten at Easter lunch, as a good omen for the coming year!
 

Palm Sunday as Eco Warrior and Beach Comber

 Palm Sunday was a lovely sunny day in Tuscany.  But I did not know that of course when the alarm went off at 5.20 and I stumbled out on the dark empty streets of Siena to board the bus to Colle di Val d'Elsa, where I met Caterina -in front in the picture above- who drove us to the little town of Cecina, in the Province of Livorno on the coast. 

I had decided to join her little group of  eco warriors https://www.plasticfreeonlus.it/ who wants to free the world of Plastic. We, however, contented ourselves this morning with the more modest task of freeing three parking lots in this small town of its plastic and other rubbish- it is quite surprising how much stuff can be collected in just a couple of hours- as the harvest above shows.

                                        

After the morning's effort Caterina and I felt we deserved some seaside fun- in the shape of a stroll along the beach, from which you can see the islands of Gorgona and Capraia.  Although the nights and mornings are still really quite cold here, as soon as the sun comes out it is glorious and warm. We saw only one intrepid swimmer,  while many people were snoozing in the sun and  getting ready for summer...

The beach at Cecina Mare is covered with strange , stripey, flat stones, and I was trying to figure out what I could possibly do with them- could they become a bathrooom floor perhaps? Or even the walls?
 

We then had Campari Spritz at  Da Antonio a Mare, right on the beach, followed by lovely seafood- I had Octopus and Caterina  had Mussels.  Polpo and Cozze,

Once back in Siena, I stopped in the Campo, which was covered with happy  people enjoying  the last afternoon sun of this glorious Palm Sunday.

                                      

Africa ...

Arrived at Djenne last Sunday night along that northbound road  I must have travelled a thousand times: a dusty and hot eight hours drive up the main artery of Mali. The  people had already started to arrive from the surrounding villages and were  preparing for the Monday Market- it seems that it is  Calebash season at the moment! I moved in to the 'presidential suite' at the Hotel Campement, which is not quite as grand as it sounds... and later met up with the cataract team, i.e. Dr. Faira Keita and his assistants, who were in Djenne operating once more on the village population, sponsored by my cousin Pelle and his wife Nanni. 

Faira's team  also stayed at the Campement, which is about the only place now where one can stay in Djenne.

I was curious about the man that sat down in the hotel court yard in the evening, waiting for the Real Madrid - Barcelona match. He was wearing sun glasses. I was told that he had had his bandages removed that same morning, and that he had been totally blind with cataracts on both eyes. This was the first time he could  see anything for three years. He was a Barcelona fan, and as you may know, they won 4-0, making his joy complete.

I was on a mission to the Djenne Manuscript Library, and spent the following day connecting with the staff there, picking up the necessary items and discussing future possible plans with them. The work of digitizing carries on, sponsored by hmml.org,  in spite of a deteriorating security situation in Central Mali. Even Djenne, which up until now has remained something of a peaceful oasis in the troubled central area of Mali,  no longer enjoys the sense of immunity from the troubles I always detected earlier. Even Imam Yelpha is worried. The violence is creeping closer, and more and more dispossessed youths are joining the groups of 'jihadists' which terrorize the outlying villages and carry out indiscriminate killings, such as the senseless mortal shooting  last week of two Bozo brothers  (fishermens' tribe) who went upstream to fish... 

According to Boubakar, my erstwhile gardener, and many others among the Djenne population, the faction amongst the Fulani tribe that make up the main part of the 'jihadist' menace is hankering for  the return to  the  glory days of the nineteenth century, when Sekou Amadou and later Cheick Oumar Tall ruled central Mali with  their Fulani Empires- and when Djenne itself was their first capital.  Although it might explain why the cultivating tribes are killed while they try and cultivate their fields, to give more pasture for the Fulani cattle, it hardly explains the killing of two peaceful fishermen...

Back in Bamako again now, and the charmed  life of the expat of course, as I am staying with my friend Karen and engaging in peaceful pursuits in beautiful settings for a couple of days before flying back 'home' to Italy; such as here, below, playing chess at the poolside of Hotel Amitie- for sure the best pool in West Africa!

 

A Helter Skelter two weeks

 A momentous week or two. With a clue to the main event above…

After those enchanted days in Venice I flew off to London, and reconnected with my former life and all those people who are so close to me still, and hopefully  always will be. A few days at Andrew’s in Notting Hill, just around the corner from my Ladbroke Grove flat; then some days in Islington with Kathy and Dan. 

Good to refresh my memory of just how great are all those London delights, both the friends and the culture events… David took me along to the Guildhall School of Music and Drama where the students gave a great double bill performance of two contemporary operatic works- one by Judith Weir. This was so good that nothing- musically, lighting or design wise- would look out of place even if it was transplanted straight to Covent Garden.

More London culture extravaganza with Kathy as is our habit- checking out all the commercial art galleries of the West End:                                                                                                   

But of course I was not in London just to sample cultural delights. I needed to try and resolve some thorny and knarled matters to do with bureaucratic stuff- how to change over residency, health care etc to Italy. Not sure it is all sorted yet… 

 On the Sunday Kathy and I went to a moving, cram-packed Mass at the Ukrainian Cathedral: 

And then an acceleration in the speed of how things happen… I arrived Siena Sunday night, ladened down by suitcases stuffed with more of my belongings which had been stored in London, to go to bed exhausted, having little hope that the major matter at hand would be resolved:  i.e the final exchange of contract for the flat which had been programmed for the Monday since I had had an email from the notary on the Friday, sending me the atto definitivo, but telling me that some documents were still missing from the town authorities. So, I had resigned myself to the fact that I would be leaving Siena and going off to Mali on the Tuesday without having signed the deed and STILL not being the owner of that illusive object of desire, that flat with the view… so I was asleep still at 9.15 when I woke up by a phone call from the notary’s office, asking me where I was, and if I was intending to arrive? The other players were all assembled around the Notary’s table to play the final scene of this long running drama.

I galloped over and met my estate agent at the bank and the required banker’s drafts were signed then we finally arrived at the Notary’s office where I was met by an entire table full of people who had been waiting for my arrival for close to an hour. Nevermind.  This  was no time for recriminations one way or the other. Much relief and hand shaking and finally I was handed a little red silk covered box containing the keys to MY flat: 11 Casato di Sopra! And here are the happy sellers and buyer outside the Notary’s office after the signing.                        

                                                                                                           

I went up there straight away and managed to cause a minor upheaval immediately: I decided to try the lift out with my new key that is required to operate the lift. Nothing happened. But  there was a red button too. Ah!  I thought, idiotically.   ‘that must be the one to press to make it work’.  An infernal alarm went off and there was seemingly no way to close it- I knocked on every door and this is how I had my first encounter with my new neighbours… one of whom was kind enough to go and show me how to close the alarm off.

And the following morning I left at four o clock on a Rome-bound bus, since I had to do a PCR test for today’s flight to Mali. In something of a daze I made the decision to go on the rush hour tube to the testing laboratory. This turned out to be a major mistake, as I had the dubious honor of being chosen by the notorious Roman pick pockets, who robbed me of my purse and my diary from my bag in the general crush- only discovered once I left the tube station. I had not a cent, and of course needed to cancel all my credit cards , subito! Somewhat hysterically I called my old friend Sanjay, who advised me to go immediately to the nearest police station to report the loss, which I did. I also managed- or I believe I did- to cancel the cards, but this was something requiring  superhuman effort. One does not speak to a human being of course, when calling to cancel a bank card. One speaks to a machine which asks one to put in the bank details and card number – which one does not have- in order to be able to get anywhere! That was bad enough in English with my HSBC card, but even worse when I tried to cancel my Italian Monte dei Paschi di Siena card, and had to speak to an Italian machine in Italian!

In the end I sent Paolo, my lovely architect, down to speak to the bank in person to cancel the the card for me.

And mean while darling Sanjay sent me 500 Euros on Western Union, which I was able to pick up after crossing Rome illegally on buses and trams without money or tickets,  but armed with the police report.  Now in possession of this  precious  money I was able to  do the PCR test for the Mali journey, after which I sank happily into a taxi- no more Roman tubes for me!- and asked the driver to take me somewhere nice for lunch. He decided to take me to the Ghetto, which he proudly presented to me as the largest Jewish Ghetto in Europe, by the largest synagogue in Europe. This turned out to be a lively place full of little restaurants, where I sampled some kosher Roman fare that started with fried artichokes and went from good to even better… and as I was having coffee I received notification by email that my PCR test was negative.  

                                         

And now I am sitting writing this on the plane to Bamako, having once more got up at the even more brazing hour of three am to fly to Paris, and on to Bamako on this my birthday- tonight I will be having dinner with Karen and Ute by the River Niger!

And here we are, last night, by the Niger...!

Venetian interlude

How many times has this view been sent to friends around the world in the form of post cards, drawings, or snap-shots? And probably painted by Canaletto?  

I had been to Venice many years ago, but this time I seemed to see it properly for the first time.  Three days of brilliant sunny skies saw  me ambling through this unreal city in the company of my Minnesota friends Patty and Les once more: our wanderings led us up and down the bridges across the canals with no particular goals apart from certain restaurants or watering holes... for instance the lovely bar below, where Patty, through a minimal knowledge of Italian (she claims)  managed to order us SIX Campari Spritzas rather than three...

here you eat little mini sandwiches with delicious (and sometimes rather peculiar taste combinations, such as this tuna and cocoa mixture, below, top left, which, against all odds, proved to be a winning fomulae!)

We had a lovely lunch in the sun - it was in that Trattoria, you know, the one  down by the bridge over the Canal- where I tried the strange but wonderful Venetian speciality 'Seppia Nero con Polenta'. Ah!....

And all of this of course, under the dark shadow of the Ukrainian war, which hangs over all our undertakings just now- the realization of how very lucky we are made these Venetian pleasures perhaps more poignant than they would have been, as a constant awareness took hold of us; underlining the very fragility of all this beauty and happiness, and all of us...

 

Steam and Dream Forests

In spite of a world beset with seemingly insurmountable problems, and faced with possible imminent destruction, life here in Tuscany carries on in an embarrassingly  pleasant fashion...Satomi and I spent a delicious day at the Antica Querciolaia, the lovely hot spring resort a few kilometres from Siena last Saturday, luxuriating in 40C pools while steam rose into the zero centigrade air.  The Sunday was spent rather more energetically: I went for another very long walk with my new found trekking group.

About thirty of us met on a chilly morning to start a 17 Kilometre trail through the Tuscan wood lands to the north of Siena  to reach our goal: the Selva di Sogno; the vision of Manfred Flucke, a German artist who has worked for the last forty years transforming the forest into  a series of  rather wonderful  installations using just stones and natural debris to create imaginary cityscapes and dream worlds...

And as far as Siena and my new flat is concerned, it has all been delayed by two weeks: I will now finally - hopefully- get the keys to my new abode on the 15th of March...

 Nevertheless, I was able to show the flat to Patty, my friend from Minnesota, who has come to visit.  It now lies stripped bare of furniture and ready to be 'ristrutturato'...                      

                                                                                       

                                                      And tomorrow, we are off to Venice!