The first thing to mention about my Italy trip is I forgot to take my camera. Well that’s not entirely true, I forgot to charge the battery, which amounts to the same thing really but I suppose the moral of this story is, I’m getting rather forgetful and it’s a very initiating symptom of late middle age. I know I have avoided saying “old age” and late middle age is a little pompous but so be it. I am not just ready yet to admit I’m old.
The mind gathers experience as you get older and there certainly is no substitute for that fortunate fact but no matter how much experience you may have collected along life’s winding path sometimes it can all go flying out through the nearest window. Of all the things I was going to do during my trip to Italy playing Rugby was not on my list.
Luigi is a young Italian engineer with some degree of knowledge but he’s lack of experience is of no consequence, he is wonderfully equipped with a passion to learn but his best attribute of all is that he is such a nice guy. He is extremely pleasant. On the Monday after a busy mornings work, he took me to lunch at a little local café and we shared slices of fresh pizza, a beer and of course a cup of coffee. We met up with two of Luigi’s friends during lunch who have just started a Rugby team and somehow I managed to talk my way into giving the team a coaching session that very night. How the hell I managed to volunteer, I don’t know, perhaps I just forgot my age, what is a late middle aged man doing running around a Rugby pitch.
But before we get on to the Rugby I just have to mention the food. Most of us will have enjoyed an Italian meal. Italian restaurants are two a penny and almost every town in the western world will have one proudly sitting on its high street and is there anybody out there who has never eaten a pizza. Forget what you think you know about Italian food, only in Italy can you truly experience it at its very best. Again I sound a little bit pompous here but it’s very true. If you have tried American style or the British approach to Italianate, then the real thing is going to be a little bit of a shock. The food you get in Italy is exceptionally simple and that’s its secret. Its natural, very simple food with extremely fresh ingredients. This complex stuff is far too pretentious for your average Italians taste. Then there is the coffee, if you don’t like coffee then I feel for you, because Italian coffee is in my opinion, the very best in the world and Italian espresso coffee is the only way to end an Italian meal. If you have a meal without an espresso you are wasting your time. It’s like eating a chocolate bar with the silver paper on. You’re missing out on so, so much, you just to have to embrace the culture and there is no better way to do this then through the coffee cup. I’m a passionate believer in the old adage, when in Rome. These Englishmen who travel the world with a tea bag in their top pocket are just an embarrassment, leave the tea bag at home and live like a local; your stomach will love you for it.
A passion for food and a passion for football (Soccer) are the two of the main stays of Italian life so what a revelation it was for me to be talking Rugby over lunch in Italy, we had a great time. Rugby is still a fledgling sport in Italy these guys had been energized by watching the world cup and felt this was a real man’s sport and wanted to learn. Amongst their ranks was a guy called Dominico, He had played rugby at a high level and in fact needed little help from me, he had some great training routines and certainly was on top of things and just wanted a little reassurance. I joined in with the training and I soon forgot my age. I think all that walking I have been doing of late was paying dividends and it showed. I was running around with the best of them and although it was a long time since I had a Rugby ball in my hands it felt very natural.
All was going very well until we were running some relay races and I was pushing my team to win, it was my second run and my competitive spirit took control, my team mates shouted me on and I pushed real hard and pulled a calf muscle. The pain ripped through me and I could feel the calf going solid. I kept walking, kept moving and walked around the pitch and then a little jog just to keep it from going completely solid on me, while the others continued with their training and then it was game time. My new mates encouraged me to take part and again I was a little forgetful of my advancing years. I loved it. I scored a try, cut my knee open, grazed my elbow ripped the skin off the palm of my right hand but my inflated ego was on top form. After the game we all retired to a local restaurant, still taking Rugby, I drove back to the hotel that night on a big high, I ached a bit but who cares. It was late something like one in the morning but who cares.
Getting out of bed the following morning was a very different matter. Somehow during the night my legs had been replaced with two concrete blocks, I no longer had any moveable joints, it was torture and the pain was excruciating, suddenly my ego was extremely flat. I was walking like a crab, hobbling along and in real discomfort. Trying to sit down on a chair in the breakfast room was agony but trying to get up again was even more painful. It was going to be a long day.
We met up with the Rugby boys again for lunch and I tried to hide my limp but as the day wore on I was getting a little better with the walking. That evening Luigi took me to meet his Grandmother; I was also introduced to his Uncle, Aunt, Cousin and Grandfather. We have a nice long chat with the family, Luigi providing the interpretation, I must say at this point that Luigi’s English is OK you can have a conversation with Luigi but it’s not a flowing one, so with Luigi providing the interpretation you always feel that some things are going to fall off the table. But nevertheless we sat and sipped our espresso and put the world to rights. I was then given a guided tour of the small plant attached to the house. They produce olive oil. Mave and I are great lovers of olive oil and use nothing else in our cooking, so I was fascinated. The grandfather was chatting away rattling on at great speed in Italian and Luigi was trying to keep up with the translation. The Grandfathers vim and vigor was so visible he certainly had a passion for olive oil and his face just exploded with pride for his traditionally made product. I had little knowledge of the production of olive oil and just assumed that it meant just pressing the olives but like most assumptions we make, I was way off the mark. At the end of the tour I was given an empty bottle and invited to draw off some very virginal oil to take home what a fantastic gift.
I was very weary that evening, with my hotel being about 45 minute’s drive away and driving being a very uncomfortable experience following my exploits on the Rugby field. An early night was the top order of the day, but when I mention this Luigi he was a little disappointed, he had arranged a 2nd night out with the rugby team. I was only going to stay for one drink and a bite but again I arrived back at my hotel during the early hours. I was becoming firm friends with the night porter, who inquired after by strange walking style, I have been playing rugby I explained, I thought you have been in a car crash he said. It’s much the same thing I said, as the lift doors closed behind me.
Again the alarm hit me like a sledge hammer and my legs of concrete had returned, it was going to be another long day. We again talked Rugby over lunch, the laws of our great game could be coincided a trifle complex and it was this aspect that intrigued my new team mates. My walking was starting to get back to some sense of normality; I could now walk in the general direction I was intending to go which was a great improvement. As the working day was coming to an end and they work late in Italy, a 7pm finish is the norm I explained to Luigi that I must insist on having an early night, I have a long journey home with a drive right across the country to the airport in Rome in the morning and the flight and then the drive to Dagenham to drop off some faulty parts for investigation and then the drive to Sussex. He looked so let down but our Rugby mates would just have to wait until my next visit. But no his Mama and Papa were expecting me for dinner.
This is the one invitation that just cannot be refused, Mama & Papa are simply a delight to meet and their hospitality is a legend. Papa can speak English, but I guess the correct way to explain Papa’s English would be to say it’s mystifying. They are some understandable English words hidden in there somewhere but not too many, but somehow that never seems to matter a jot, I love talking to him. Mama is such a darling the stereotypical Italian mother, who serves up endless plates of hearty food and endless glass’s of strangely pungent drinks like she had decided you were the returning prodigal son. Mama speaks no English but communication is so easy, she talks with her large brown eyes and beaming smile. The food was fantastico and as always finished with a tiny cup of black gold. The espresso. I was given a second bottle of olive oil, this time Papa’s own production and a two bottles of local wine. Outside I bid my farewells, hugs and kisses all round but could not understand why Luigi was getting in the car with me. Just a quick drink around the corner with the Rugby Boys apparently, I could not say no. I had become something of a celebrity in the very small Rugby playing world in these parts, Luigi explained they still could not believe I could run so fast for an old man. Late middle age I explained, not old. Luigi looked mystified this time.
The night porter and I continued our friendship and I looked ponderingly forward to the morning and hoped the concrete legs would forget to turn up this time.
Allan…