lotsa fun, eh?

DAY FIVE

In the morning sun, I feel tired already of the rush to see all, and opt instead to walk down “Las Ramblas” towards the sea that I'd spotted from atop the Gaudi apartment. Lots of folks there, and boats. A little movie for you, then I take another local bus to Barceloneta, an older area, and then find the stretch of beaches. Aaaaah. The sun is warm; the bench is there; my coat and sweater come off and make pillows for me. I lay face-up to the sun, and can't get up, despite my blathering inner voice that tells me I could have done this in Toronto without spending a fortune on airfare. Still, I lie there. When I finally move, a woman comes rushing over to me, and says “We were photographing you; do you mind lying down again for a little bit?”. It's for a travel/promotion video for Barcelona. What can I say? Now I'm working, right? Nothing wrong with lying in the sun now. “Wake me when you're done”, I say. Before I leave, I give her my email, so when I get the video link, I'll pass it on so y'all can see.

I decide to go to Parc Guell for another (free) Gaudi building. No one tells you that you have to climb a mountain to get there. A huge hill, plus seven (7!!!) escalators later, and I've arrived, panting. Great view, (and a wee movie for your pleasure), but then a downhill (!) trek to the place. Whereupon I discover that it's not free at all (they just started charging about a month ago, according to the cafe guys I spoke with later). Whoops! Missed it. The cafe guys were chatty, and had good food, and I found there, as everywhere, when I said I was from Toronto, if they didn't know the city, they knew the loco mayor (this in England too). Everybody knew about that. Great entry for conversations about corruption, etc., and then I began the descent to go on....

When I discover that the Magic Fountain I have chosen as my next site is closed on Sunday, I remember those Bay/Bloor Radio commercials - 'If ya miss it, ya miss it'. I'm getting very good at applying “lotsa fun, eh?” I have some apple pie, and walk to the hostel. I'm getting a lot of practice using my Spanish with strangers.

That evening, I know exactly where I'm going, and I am determined to sing. I get to the club, 'Jazzsi'; the musicians and singer are fantastic. You can see them in the movie. My name is on the list; I'm first up for the jam. I sing Etta's 'At Last', meaningful in more ways than one, and then Louis Prima's 'Jump, Jive, & Wail' – easy 12-bar for the band, but boy, did they get into it. Fun, fun, fun, and during the solos, I handed my camera to a woman in the audience, so it's all on record. Best ever.

at the bottom of Las Ramblas; i am Leo woman; see me stand here

a sculpture floating in the sea

'somewhere, beyond the sea'; oh, i did that already in the movie

street of barceloneta

and another

after climbing the heights

singing in Barcelona; club Jazzsi; can't straighten the pic

great band, audience, great fun

DAY SIX

Up early to get to the airport, lovely morning sky lighting the same square in which I arrived. And it only took ten minutes to find the right “corner” for the bus stop. The “corners” are like those in England – no such thing, only a million arms off one circle.

I fly to Rome, decide to take the Leonardo da Vinci express – against the advice of my sister, whom I will visit – but then the woman train person says I really should take that local train, as Cathy had said. A guy standing there concurs, so I run to get on, and guess what? I miss it! It pulls away one second before I get there. Well, says the guy, there's another one in about ten minutes. Join me for a coffee, si? Sure, si, i say, and we go next door – I have an orange juice; we chat; he's an interesting guy, until suddenly he looks at his watch, and says we have to run for that train. I grab all my bags, run, and - you know it – the train is pulling out. Ba da boom. Leonardo is still there – he doesn't run as often, so I end up getting that train after all.

I get into a compartment with a Chinese couple. No offense, but I wanted to listen and learn more Italian. I have to imagine their conversation, since I don't understand a single word. I fantasize an argument about anal sex. “You know I hate that,” he says, crumpling his empty sandwich wrapper into his pocket angrily. “Well, you didn't mind it that night we met.” She was giggling, and wiping fruit juice off her chin. “I was drunk,” he muttered. She looked out the train window, and smiled at her reflection. As the long grasses by the tracks flipped by, she watched for a few minutes, then leaned her head back onto the seat and closed her eyes. “What'll we have for dinner?” she asked, eyes still closed. “Chicken breast?” he offered. “No, you are,” she grinned, then, seeing the pre-sulk frown flicker over his brow, she added, “Yah, with veggies”. It's amazing what you can pick up in a language, just from inflection. Clickedy clack. And we continued our journey to Roma Termini for a train change, destination Ficulle, the tiny town in Umbria.


zoe in the sky with watchstrap (no diamonds here)


the train from the airport; i can't help being artistic and moody

the seed was planted

and ecco!! noi siamo in Italia! finalmente!!!

Cathy has told me to cross an overhead bridge from the binario three to number one, where she willl meet me, but I see all the locals picking their way over the tracks, so I do likewise, just like I do over the GO tracks in Toronto. Dangerous living (“lotsa fun, eh?”), and then: “Eh, sorella!” from Cathy – she's studying Italian. The embrace; the big sister 'You're not allowed to cross the tracks!'; then the drive to her house; good food; a movie, and bed

DAY SEVEN

Our first outing. Cathy drives us through the gorgeous countryside towards Spoleto, our start seen here on another short film, and I thank Rita Chiarelli for providing the music. She sings about Rome, and it's not Rome you see, but it is Italy. And it's bella.

We start with sun, but by the time we've climbed some steep hills nearing the town, it begins to snow. I pray it stops. We do, and go into a small roadside place – doesn't look like much, but inside is a fireplace and a very intriguing menu. Of course we eat – the best pasta I have ever had – tagiatelle con zucca. Unbelievable. When I convince Cathy that the snow will stop (I've seen enough Haliburton weather to recognize the good, bad and ugly in snow), we continue on. Spoleto has a very ancient basilica of gorgeous stone and beautiful frescoes, and a church that we visit, then we get back into town for some tea before moving on to Todi, the next town. Getting on for sunset when we arrive, and again, the buildings and streets just make you gasp. Everything is beautiful, a far cry from the dreariness and functionality of cities in North America. Orvieto is our last stop, and the duomo is closed, but it's lit up and striking all the more in the dark. The streets are busy and interesting and we go for dinner where I have more pasta, rivalling the plate I had earlier. I'm in heaven. We go back to Ficulle tired but pastafied.