Finally....some more words....

How tragic is my life that I find myself in front of my laptop yet again, writing up the events of previous days for this darned blog? Well, to be honest, I have to admit that my life really isn’t tragic as I’m having an absolute ball, so far I have got to travel through Corsica and Italy as well as get to learn a language whilst eating and drinking well along the way.

In the interests of not getting distracted (despite it being a favourite past-time of mine) I will jump right back into where we were when I left off last time. That is…

Tuesday 22nd April

As I rose on Tuesday morning I couldn’t help but feel the effects of yesterday’s short-sighted fitness drive - short-sighted because my legs felt like they had been carved out of stone. Serves me right for trying to keep on top of my body.

I made my way down to breakfast, however as I left my room and bumped into Becky on the corridor she reminded me that it was Carla’s birthday (thank God). It’s not that I didn’t care, I had genuinely forgotten and in an not atypically fashion had been thinking about myself - this day was the day that I was originally meant to be flying out to Corisca - thank God I had gone early and the cock-up had been discovered then and I had ended up in Jesolo. Anyhow, we headed down for our breakfast where we all wished Carla a very happy birthday with some wonderfully discordant singing.

It was then off to the function room of the hotel to ‘get our learn on’ where we went through fun things like airport days and such. It really isn’t worth writing up - this blog wasn’t started to let you know my itinerary in training, rather to report my experiences travelling and seeing new things. In a fit of pretentiousness I see this blog as a way of giving you the chance to see what I am seeing, a way to share my excitement for what I am doing right now, but also as a way of staying in touch.

The only thing of any interest to report is that I got assigned my hotels, these are the Hotel Marco Polo (where I stayed the first night), the Ambasciatori (the sister hotel to the Imperial Palace, where we stored the bikes), and the Hotel Manila (a new hotel to Thomsons, so a bit exciting).

After the day’s training we went out for dinner -this time we headed to il teatro, the sister restaurant to last night’s Voglio. Salvatore was there and kept us entertained - he was good enough to make sure there were drinks on the table as soon as we sat down and we had a fantastic meal. I had Pizza Mercuzio which had wild boar on it (I heartily recommend), although I did feel somewhat patronised when Sal asked me if I knew who Mercuzio was. Perhaps a little precociously I answered that I knew he was a character from Romeo & Juliet, however, by the end of all the food Sal was sitting down and having a drink with us - he also made sure a giant plate of profiteroles was brought out, complete with candle, for Carla’s birthday, which was a really nice gesture.

I did, for the first time since I left the UK, end up drinking a little too much, I was knocking back the Prosecco, then I ended up having far too many Limoncella’s, as the girls didn’t drink their free ones (and Sal brought a bottle onto the table). Playing ‘I have never’ didn’t really help…

Carla, Amber and myself decided we were going to head to Gasoline as Carla fancied a birthday dance and I wasn’t really ready for the night to be over. It was while we were walking down the main street to Gasoline that I realised I was far too sensitive when I got really quite upset, not that I let it be known, when I was mocked for my Italian by the girls. It was just playful banter, all that happened was a simple observation was made - that when I am talking Italian I make up for my lack of vocabulary with volume. I think this irritated me so much because I am trying so hard with Italian - in four days I had gone from absolutely nothing to being able to have conversations (albeit very fragmented ones), but also because learning a language is such a humiliating experience - it is very hard not to feel like an absolute idiot when struggling to make oneself understood. Finally, it’s not like I’m quiet in English…

So, we got to Gasoline, which was absolutely dead, and in an extremely foolish frame of mind I decided it would be a good idea to hit the vodka, JD and beer. Pff. Then as we were leaving I ended up getting chatting to the owner of Gasoline, before getting called away by the girls who were leaving and embarrassed by me talking to them. This was the icing on the cake for me - as the reason that I have picked up this language so quickly is because I am using every opportunity to talk it - complete and utter immersion is the best method (for me) to learn. I have the TV on as much as I can in my hotel room - subconsciously and consciously picking up words, I look up phrases and words as much as I can and then I also do written revision and as a result I have learned much, much faster than anyone else. This is written on Friday 25th April, I have been in Italy for 8 days and I am now nearly conversational, nobody I speak to (in Italian) believes I didn’t speak a word of Italian when I stepped foot in Livorno a week ago on Thursday and the girls I work with who speak Italian from having worked here before have told me that they are annoyed that I speak nearly as well them already. I don’t mean to appear arrogant, but occasionally, just occasionally, even someone with as much self-loathing as me has to admit that there are some things that I am good at - languages is one of them and I hated being made to feel stupid and embarrassed. Anyhow, that was just a bad end to a great day and I overreacted because I a little drunk - I must thank Charlie so much for making me feel normal.

So, late at night I hit the pillow and there my head firmly stayed until roughly 8.15 the next morning when I rose to take over the world.


Wednesday 23rd April

For some reason I woke up on Wednesday morning with a bad head and a dicky tummy. Why on earth was that? Ah yes, that damned alcohol. Shower, shave, breakfast and I was feeling a bit better, although the stomach was playing silly buggers all day. It was only in the afternoon that I worked out it was because in a wonderful example of self-flagellation that I made myself do sit-ups until I couldn’t move the night before, to make up for the booze and junk food. Idiot.

So, this was a special day - why? Because we were starting our excursions. To ensure that we are able to sell the excursions we go out on all of the ones that we offer in our training. This particular day we were heading to Verona, dubbed ‘The Forgotten City’ and Lake Garda.

Now, I must confess that the majority of these visits I have done before - when I was only 6 years old with my adopted grandparents Ron & Margaret and I was incredibly lucky. We visited Venice, Lake Garda, the islands of the Venetian lagoon, Verona and probably a couple of other places too. It is amazing how much I remember from that time, but through the training and these new visits I have learned a lot more and I will do my best to relate those to you in these write ups.


So, for this particular day it was an excursion to Verona and Lake Garda. As I mentioned earlier Verona is often called ‘the Forgotten City’ - this is because when people list the great Italian cities, historical or current, they mention Rome, Florence, Milan, Naples, Padua and many others but nearly always leave off Verona, which quite frankly is ridiculous.

As a city Verona is absolutely stunning, we got dropped off in a coach park and walked along the vast Roman walls through to Piazza Bra where we were met by the truly awesome site of the 3rd largest remaining Roman amphitheatre. This, may not sound that impressive, however it is the largest functioning Roman amphitheatre left - during the summer there are operas held there and 24,000 people cram in to listen to Aida, Carmen, Romeo & Juliet and many others. It is a difference between England, the US and Itlay in that in the former two countries opera is seen as a refined art and to attend one must dress up as formally as possible, it is almost a status symbol, however in Italy opera genuinely for the people - what a fantastic idea! There is no dress code, all there is is a people with a love of the music that they were at the forefront of for many centuries.

Oh and Mr Wiscombe, as you are not an opera fan, you’ll be pleased to know that I saw a Vivaldi concerto advertised as well…

The amphitheatre is obviously a massive tourist attraction, however we only had to queue for no more than five minutes and as soon as you pass the ticket booth the mind goes into shock, or at least mine did. How the hell did people 2000 years ago manage to build it? Had hundreds and thousands of Roman feet walked on the very same floor that mine were? My fascination with history comes from the human perspective, trying to imagine what it must have looked like new, imagining what it looked like in Roman times and with Verona Amphitheatre it isn’t that hard as it is in such good shape.

After the Amphitheatre one is advised to walk along Via Mazzini (a name that pops up quite a lot, I will explain later), which is quite an odd juxtaposition - in these 15th century streets of breathtaking architecture are some of the biggest designer shops, Bvlgari, Cartier, Gucci, Dolce & Gabana and of course Foot Locker. Walking down Mazzini will take you to Piazza Erbe where the first thing you will notice will be the Lamberti Tower, which is really quite, er, towery.

Verona is, of course, most famous for that love story - Romeo & Juliet. Set in Verona it is still considered the pinnacle of English playwriting, our great bard Shakespeare responsible for the whole darn thing. Well…not quite. The plotline was actually first put out by Luigi Da Porta in the 15th Century, furthermore our lovers were meant to have their story set in 1303, in fact some say it was based on a true story. There is no dispute that the Montagi and Capulletti families actually existed (in fact you get to see their castles on the drive in), however there is no evidence for the famous tale of two starcrossed lovers. Anyhow, perhaps it is because I am now very cynical when it comes to love, I have no sympathy whatsoever for them - they were incredibly stupid. Why not be traditional and go to Vegas and get a 15 minute wedding?

So, in Verona, everyone has to see Juliet’s balcony which is part of an old building, although all of the Romeo and Juliet parts have been added on in the past century. As a result it is incredibly false, full of tourists eagerly snapping away as some bald idiot who has paid a bit more gets to go out on the balcony and as a result fill everyone else’s holiday snaps. It was really rather underwhelming as it is just a balcony, you’ve probably seen pictures of it and if you haven’t it’s just a typical Venetian balcony. The hallway that leads to Juliet’s house is completely covered in scribbled messages of love in every language, which were I not so cynical and heartless I might find endearing. I don’t, however. Finally there is a statue of Juliet with an incredibly shiny right boob - this is because if you give it a rub you are meant to be lucky in love, to be honest I think most of its shine comes from the endless school trips and 14 year old boys feeling lucky to cop a feel…

Despite the negativity in the previous paragraph I was absolutely blown away by Verona, its architecture is stunning, at every turn there is a classic Venetian renaissance building, or a plaque on the wall (not a silly blue one, neither) to say that a doctor who cured a plague in the 16th Century lived there, or a statue of poets and painters that are from or associated with the city.

One of the most impressive places was a hidden square which sadly I cannot remember the name of right now - however it is accessible only by foot - in the middle of the piazza is a statue of Dante (Divine Comedy, Inferno), looking rather poetic - a sensible thing to do, methinks. Dante is famous for standardising the Italian language, something he did when he first started writing in Florence, as a result over the many dialects in Italy the Florence dialect is considered the standard - received pronunciation if you will.

At the bottom of the square there is a street leading off in which you can see these spires rising - they are from the Scalegeri tombs. The Scalegeri family feature prominently in Venetian history, they were a family of merchants who had a ladder business (Scala) and became the most successful ladder business in 12th and 13th centuries, in fact the only ladder business. This was because they killed all of the competition and rose to have enormous wealth, in fact enough to build a few castles (as you do), however you will not find a Scalegeri castle in Verona because they weren’t allowed one because they were merchants and not of aristocratic blood. Fair enough, what, what?

This takes me neatly on to the next section of the excursion, Lago di Garda, where you will indeed find a Scalegeri castle. It seems to me that it was a case of ‘You won’t let us build a castle in Verona? Well bugger you we’ll build it in an area of outstanding natural beauty…who feels silly now?”.

The sun had been shining in Verona, however Lake Garda has its own microclimate and that made it ten times hotter. The water of the lake looked so appealing as it was so tranquil and still - I just wanted to rip my clothes off, jump in and have a good swim, however I was with female company and I didn’t want to get them excited. It would have been to no avail though, simply because the young man tethering the boat we got in had them all drooling like Pavlov’s Dogs at a bell-ringing concert. He held out a hand to help them onto a boat and a couple of the ladies did make sure they slipped slightly so as to be helped by the lovely young gentleman. The horror.

When I was six, with Ron & Margaret, I remember going on a speedboat on Lake Garda and being suitably impressed with the speed of it all, where we were I can’t remember. This time we were in Sirmione, a typically beautiful town for the area. If you haven’t been or seen pictures Lake Garda really is magnificent, the largest lake in Italy framed by the Dolomites, often capped with snow, as well as Ingardina. The legend is that Ingardina, the lady of the lake, fell in love with a mortal man, however he died and her tears filled the lake, whilst she lied down in sorrow and turned to stone, to form a very distinctive face-shaped mountain.

So, the boat ride was a good one, we were told how Churchill had spent a lot of time here and painted pictures, we saw Maria Callas’ house and then on request we got to hear her music from the boat. The driver was a sweet old man who was moving his hands to the opera in time, clearly in love with the music, whilst he made our guide, the lovely Jannuca (will talk about later) translate some of the words.

The only other thing I have to mention would be the thermals, areas of the lake that are geothermal and as a result parts of the lake bubble. That water is pumped to the hotels where they offer thermal spas, which are meant to be rather good for you. Excellent.

We said farewell to the sweet old granddad and the grandson that the girls of the group wanted to eat for lunch and made our way through the streets of Sirmione. Once again I’m going to say ‘beautiful architecture’, ‘clear water’, ‘sense of history’ and I don’t want these words to become meaningless, however this whole area of Italy is flooded with history, drowning in historical significance. Humbled by beauty we made our way back to the bus where we headed towards Jesolo for our debrief and then some foodlike substances and a lot of sleep.


Thursday 24th April

I will not lie, the Thursday started a lot earlier for me than I would have preferred. This is because Becky and I decided we needed to atone for the vast amounts of food we had been eating and go for a run, which the night before sounds like a splendid idea, however when one has an early start and has to get up even earlier to do the running malarkey it loses its sheen and appeal.

So, at 5.45am I got up, met Becky and did that running thing, although we were rewarded with a picture-postcard sunrise and the peace of a light before the business of day.

This is where I last finished writing up what had happened, over two weeks ago. As a result, what follows may not be 100% accurate as my memory has been jaded by a combination of time, alcohol and natural stupidity.


Hello chaps, this is your good friend Chris signing in again, after many complaints of laziness with not writing and updating this travelblog thingy, what what. Well, apologies to all concerned, there are two main reasons. One, I have actually been doing some work (honest) and the second is that the time that I have not been doing work I have been learning Italian (possibly with the help of a couple of cheeky drinks) and making the most of that free-time by doing this thing they call “enjoying oneself”. It’s good, I heartily recommend it. Anyhow, as a result the descriptions will not be as vivid, partially because some of the details might have escaped me, but also because I have so much to write that even those of you with the patience of saints won’t be bothered to read it all. When I return to England (a horrid thought) and the book comes out you will all be able to read about it then…

So, where the deuce was I? Well, as it turns out, Thursday morning and going running, the damned fool that I am. Becky and I did that running thing and I must confess that I felt a bit more like a man when I ran faster and further than her, although I must also confess that I looked as an unattractive as it is possible to look - once again going for the red and pasty slightly bellied Englishman look, not my finest.

After the run we all headed to Portogruaro market, another historic town (as they all are) about 45mins away from Jesolo. It was a gorgeous town and the market is used by locals and is as far away from the market experience as it is possible to get - at the same time I did find it a tad tedious - it was a long shopping experience, which when you are surrounded by girls does take away small chunks of one’s soul. The town itself was absolutely stunning - typical Venetian architecture, crowded with balconies, taperello’s and 700 year old sandstone, framed by two rivers - it makes you envious of anyone who can grow up there and think that this kind of beauty is normal.

After Portogruaro we went on the Strada del Vino trip, which literally translates as ‘Road of Wine’. This was a wonderful trip as not only was it sunny and we got to see the sublime Venetian countryside (it may be flat, but it’s a darn sight better than Belgium) but we got to drink wine. For free. Back of the net.

So, the first place we went to was something quite unique to Italy and a brilliant idea - they are called Cantina’s, and are formed by wine co-operatives. In Italy literally thousands of people grow wine, and many people only have an allotment full of vines - i.e. not enough to produce more than a couple of bottles. What the co-operative does is take all of the grapes from any local producers, mixes them for the right wines and then distributes the money proportionally. Essentially a cantina is an outlet/cash and carry store for wine - when we walked in the first thing I noticed were these huge aluminium vats, I’d guess at about 4ft in diameter and approximately 12ft tall, and connected to them were petrol pump nozzles. Anybody can come in and buy wine by the litre - it’s like a petrol station and you bring your own bottles, so while we were there an old chap came in with a couple of plastic milk bottles and filled them up. What is perhaps the best feature of these cantinas is the price - the cheapest red, a merlot (and for any Sideways fans out there, yes, a f*****g merlot) was only 80¢ a litre. That is, frankly, obscene. Anyhow, I bought a bottle of 1397 red, which I can confirm was splendid. We got to try some Prosecco, however I have grown quite weary of this drink, what with working with nothing but girls they only drink white wine (I hate to gender stereotype here, what I really mean is that the girls I work with only drink white, damn them to heck) and it gets a little trying.

After the cantina, in a place called Congliano we had time to walk around the town, which was pleasant enough, once again full of history and architecture - in fact it does get to the stage where it starts to numb your sense of wonderment when you see it all in a week, before we headed to the Bonotto winery in a village called Tezze.

If I do anything radical like meet an Italian lady and marry her and move to Italy I am going to move to somewhere like Tezze and I’m going to have my own winery because that is the living. This place was so beautiful that even beneath the numbness of being exposed to so much beauty I was touched. What’s more, being a country boy I appreciated the surrounding so much more than some of my city-colleagues who seemed a little non-plussed. The winery has been there for over 200 years and run by the Bonotto family all of that time, the buildings are vast barns that have stood there since then, with terracotta tiles on the roof and the insides a mixture of wooden beams and brickwork. They are filled with the old barrels that were used for making wine and are no longer allowed under health and safety (although they use them for making wine for themselves, proper job), and then you can see the modern equipment as well. We also got to taste the local red, Raboso, which is amongst the finest red wines I have ever tried. I won’t lie to you, I could have stayed in that day, in its glorious sunshine in the Italian countryside forever and let the rest of civilization and history pass me by.

Sadly, I didn’t, instead I bought a bottle of Raboso and we made our way back to resort where we indulged in a hearty meal and I put my bottles away to save for a proper occasion (more on that later).

How are you holding up? I was meant to be summarising, but the verbose old fart that I am I find it difficult to gloss over such fantastic things, what’s more any of you who are coming out to see me - these are things that you have to go and see while you are out here, or at least some of them. My close friends know that I have good days and bad days where my head takes me over, but I’ll tell you that even on the bad days out here I wake up and feel as lucky as it is possible to feel - I’m in a foreign country living my own adventure. If this was a mistake in killing my attempts at carving a career in Odeon, or whatever, I really couldn’t care less because it is the best mistake I have ever made in my life and I heartily recommend it for anyone else having a quarter-life crisis with a summer to waste.

Right enough of that self-obsessed drivel, here’s some more writing about other things. Innit.


Friday 25th April

This was to be a big day for us, for we were leaving Italy! No, they weren’t sending me home for bad behaviour or even for good behaviour, we were going to Slovenia to Postojnia and to Predjama Castle. That’s right, they were letting me loose in another country with a castle to play with.

It’s a couple of hours to Slovenia and the weather was frankly British - cloudy and raining on/off, so I was less than optimistic for the day, yet excited that I was getting to go somewhere new, yet again. The countryside of Slovenia, rather like the weather, was very reminiscent of England (the North) and were it not for the buildings I would be able to believe that I had been conned into going home. It was, however, like the countryside of England, beautiful, so being the kind and generous person that I am, I let the authorities off.

We got to Predjama castle, which sound rather like Pyjama castle which made me giggle, the child that I am, and once again I’m going to use adjectives like ‘breath-taking’, ‘stunning’, ‘fantastic’, etc, etc, ad infinitum. Yawn. All I will say is that it is literally a castle built into the side of a mountain - it is like a child has read a fairy-tale and attempted to illustrate it. Not only did I once again get to revert to being a 7 year old child (woop woop) and run around suits of armour, catapults and wax wenches (scary) I also got to go up to the natural balcony of the mountain and look out across the incredible valley - I’m worried my eyes are going to give up soon from the amount that they are having to take in.

I think I should also take this time to mention a young lady who works for our tour operator and is a guide, her name is Janica (pronounced - yahn-ika) and she is an absolute stunner, very funny and I must confess that I found myself taking somewhat of a liking to her. Now, those of you unfortunate enough to have seen me around lady-folk will know that I can be, occasionally a little flirtatious, and I will give Janica her due, she gave just as good as she got and quite a few times actually shut me up. Ahh, Janica…

So, after the castle we headed to the caves where we were met by the director of sales of the caves, who gave us a bit of background to the area - for example his grandfather fought for the Austrian army in WW1, his father fought for the Italian army in WW2, he fought for the Yugoslavian army during independence whilst his son was enlisted in the Slovenian forces. Crazy, yo. Anyhow, the caves have been open to tourists since 1819, they stretch at least 21km along underground, they have had 32 million visitors since opening and other facts. I won’t lie, I was completely non-plussed by the caves.

I have no problem appreciating beauty, as you might be able to sense from the other excursions, however going into the caves and on the electric train (which was actually alright) I couldn’t help feeling “oh, a cave.” And they are different to other caves, they are vast and have incredible formations, however they are just tedious - I think I need human interest in my history, somebody telling me that for every ten years a stalactite/mite grows 1mm actually makes me die a little inside and I was worrying that perhaps my soul was diminishing and I could no longer appreciate fine things - but as it turns out no, I’m just sensible and there was far too much hyperbole over these damn caves. If they had been made by man I would have been impressed. A river? Pff, the Grand Canyon, that’s impressive. A cave? It’s dark. Anyway, I offended the rest of the group by not sharing their sense of wonderment, which I think secretly made me quite good. Janica wasn’t that fussed either, mostly because she had been four times before, so I had a good partner to make sarcastic comments with. I will give the caves credit for the Olm, also known as the human fish, which are about 8 inches long and don’t have scales, rather Caucasian ‘skin’, as well as little arms and legs, they look like lizards. They are completely blind, don’t have eyes and when exposed to light they tan - furthermore they are unable to survive anywhere other than the caves - however much scientists try.

So, yes, that was the caves. As I said, pfff.

We had a good three course lunch, courtesy of Pieter the director, and it was a nice touch of luxury, although the wine was horrific and no doubt 50% balsamic vinegar. Not meaning to be ungrateful, merely reporting the facts.

Heading home was interrupted by a trip to duty free, and a bottle of bourbon later we were back on the bus to head back to Jesolo where we promptly collapsed under the weight of all that having fun.


Ok, this is enough for you now, I think there’s something daft like 5000 words in this entry and my fingers hurt from typing.

I do want to say, however, that the one thing I am missing is my friends and my family, so please feel free to send me emails (cdemw1@gmail.com) or texts to my *new* Italian mobile, which I can reply to (00 39 34 88 66 93 10) or finally messages through this confounded blog. Also, anyone who wants to come out to visit, you are more than welcome any time, I have a brilliant apartment with a spare double bed and a private beach. Love you long time guys, more will appear in a couple of days.

Monty xxxx

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