M is for My Triumphant Return

M is for My Triumphant Return

25th September 2008

So.

I’m in the Hotel Monaco e Quisisana, a four-star luxury hotel in Jesolo. I am sat on the floor with my back leaning against the foot of the bed, laptop atop my lap, legs outstretched across the floor, breaking through into the bathroom. Why? Well, the reason that I’m in the Monaco is that I’m flying home tomorrow evening and I have had to move out of my apartment and a perk of the job is that for your last two days you get to stay in the nicest hotel we have in resort, eat and behave like a guest. As for my slightly unorthodox writing position; this is because the only socket that is the right size for this Neolithic computer (with an average battery life of 7 minutes) is in the bathroom and the cable doesn’t stretch very far.

Let’s put some numbers out there, I’m feeling crazy, I’m just going go out there and do it. When I return to the UK tomorrow evening:

164 days out of the country (60% of the year so far)
162 days in Italy, 2 days in Corsica, 8 hours in Slovenia and 4 hours in France
168 hours (approximately) working in Marco Polo Airport
84 Airport Transfers
66 Welcome Meetings
Read 22 books
21 weeks of people arriving and departing
I have worked in 7 Hotels (Marco Polo, Ambasciatori, Manila, Portofino, Trento, Miami, Eddy)
I have guided 4 Excursions
Been through 3 pairs of shoes and 3 bikes
45,424 words of blogs
Grown (and removed) 1 silly beard

What a summer it has been. I fell in love, got my heart broken (again…I’m becoming predictable), I got over it, I have worked until I’m ready to fall over, enjoyed the sun, cycled hundreds of miles (really), been to the lakes and the mountains, some beautiful cities in Italy, eaten like a Prince, drunk like a whale, danced like a fool, laughed, cried, fallen over and gotten back up again.

Apart from the falling in love with the not-girlfriend and subsequent complications (life is not long enough to go into that one) my heart has become a victim once again. I love Italy and I really mean love. In five and a half months I have a connection with this place I am not ready to give up on, in other entries I’ve said why and how much I like Italy, but in this entry I will tell you of the plans for the future.

I’m not done with it. I’m coming back. I have been offered a job with Atlas Italia as tour-guide for next year, which is something I’ve been occasionally moonlighting as in the past couple of weeks. There’s a chance it might be my calling, I love it so much and get such a buzz from it I’m already excited about next season. As my mother so aptly put it “It’s the perfect mixture of history and showing off”. I’d love to disagree but as anyone who knows me can and will agree, that just about sums me up. Over the winter I’m doing a TEFL qualification (Teach English as a Foreign Language) in England, will be working for 5 months before returning to Jesolo in April 2009. After a another exhausting summer of work I will, if all things go to plan, which inevitably they won’t, try to be getting work as an English teacher out here. When I say things inevitably won’t go to plan I mean this in a positive way. I’ve managed to change my life from a spectator sport to a participation event and grabbed the reins and taken control - it is my adventure now and all I need is a pith helmet to complete the damn thing. One of the best things about this summer has been the simple joy of not over-planning, of saying “Team-Leader next year, Assistant Manager the year after, Resort Manager year after that…” and planning out a career and a life that I’m not quite sure I want to lead yet. So, if things don’t go to plan that’s quite alright with me because I’ll just get out my elephant-gun and hunt me another animal until I find one that I can hit. I’m not sure if that analogy makes any sense. I don’t really care either.

It is difficult for me to believe that I’m the same person returning (triumphantly or not) to the motherland and beloved isle that left back on April 15th. I have been saying to people that I cannot wait to get back, which is true, but why?

Well, I can’t wait for Roast Lamb with something minty (sauce or jelly, I’m not fussy), roast potatoes that haven’t been cooked in olive oil with herbs (I love the Italians but they are monumental perverts), Real Ale (p.s. Greg, I went to Oktoberfest here last night and it’s nothing compared to Wetherspoon’s Real Ale festival, I don’t think they even accept CAMRA vouchers, in date or not), toad-in-the-hole, curry, paying less than the equivalent of £4 for a pint (and getting a pint, I know that half a litre is only 68ml away from a pint, but still!), to play Risk, Monopoly or something stupidly British involving a board and pieces, videogames, an electric guitar (it won’t involve melody, it’s been so long that it will be just noise), and, of course, my friends and family. I’m particularly looking forward to meeting the newest Wellborne, my neice, Emma. Incidentally, when I told people that I’d just become an uncle they gave me congratulations. I should, at this point, make it clear that I really didn’t do anything, I wouldn’t want to take someone else’s credit…

Some things about returning home are weird - the idea of not hearing Italian being spoken at all now is strange, or even German, Russian or any of the other gobbledygook languages that are a constant background noise here. I changed some of my Euros back to good old Sterling and I couldn’t believe how ridiculously large a £20 note is. I’m surprised our wallets are large enough. It will be nice not wearing my Thomson’s uniform which does rather give the impression of an abused schoolboy.

There are also a lot of things I’m going to miss - the food especially, Spritz Aperol, and the coffee, my God, the coffee. I’m going to stop there because I’m getting really rather peckish now.

The main reason that I’m looking forward to coming home is the sense of completion, of mission accomplished. I do not wish to blow my own horn, but ‘toot toot’ - I have overwhelmingly succeeded in doing what I came out here to do, hence my return being nothing short of triumphant. There was only one thing that this was meant to be - my summer of adventure. Whether things went well or took a turn for the worse it was my choice and I intended nothing more to be able to make that choice - to say that I took charge of my destiny and was prepared to make mistakes whilst I still can, whilst I’m free, young and incredibly reckless - because I can be. What use is it waking up at 25, or 30, or older and thinking ‘I wish I had…’

I did.

The alphabet is far from finished but this particular summer and selection of blogs is. If you have stayed with me through all of them, thank you, for your patience and loyalty, I hope they have been entertaining and an accurate enough portrait of my adventures. Maybe I’ll do something similar for next year. If I do, I have the cheesiest title in the world for what will inevitably become a best-selling series: The Britalian Job.

In the meantime, chaps, I’ve got a plane to catch and a pith helmet to purchase…

Monty

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