Buona Pasqua!

Easterrsssss hereeee! Yeaaaahh.

Easter means chocolate.

And Easter in Italy also equals family and food (aka, a beastly dinner).

Dominga had started to prepare the courses we were going to eat for Easter lunch on Friday. That's how badass you know it was going to be.

Giorgio's mother and his sister came and joined us for lunch and they laid up the long wicker dining table in the hall to fit us all. His sister seems to be nothing like him. She looked slightly similar (at first I wasn't really introduced so I tried to work out from the early conversation who exactly she was) but appeared to be the polar opposite in terms of personality. Giorgio is an unsocial, self-confessed snob and his older sister, well, seemed normal.

First course, was a savoury bread filled with meat and cheese, and salami. Second course was a meatball-boiled egg-mozzarella pasta bake. I didn't know it was possible for all three ingredients to be put into one dish and it taste good, but somehow it worked. Dominga gave me a portion probably acceptable as a stand-alone dinner, and I was informed by Giorgio that the main course was yet to come.

Blimey.

Third course was the meat from a roasted leg of a piglet - I don't know if there's a specific word for piglet-pork meat, but it was good anyhow. Fourth course was dessert - pastiera: a kind of sweet wheaty custard pastry tart which was quite nice... but did slightly ressemble lumpy custard with a pastry crust. Then we had strawberries.

And finally fifth course, of course, was easter egg. You remember these?

Mmmm...

... lurking on the top of the cupboards for a few weeks, waiting... Well, it soon turned into this:

Giorgio's mother may be laughing at me in the back there....

Quite possibly the biggest chocolate egg I've ever had all to myself - especially made with Lindt chocolate.

And that's not all... Italian easter eggs aren't just like plain old English ones. They're not empty, with a couple of small chocolate bars on the side to go with it. Ohhhh no. They're like a christmas cracker: you break them in half and inside is a gift. Even in adult easter eggs... I mean, Clari had a 'Winx' doll in her Kinder egg, and I've got a metallic shot measurer. Hahaha amazing.

Many people have asked me if they think Clarissa is spoilt because she's an only child. I always shook my head and told them I didn't think so. Today, I've never seen one child receive so many toys and chocolate eggs as she did. I'm now thinking I was probably wrong.

The 6 Year-Old Blackmailer

Now, previously I said Clari likes to play and she likes to play pretend games. Only recently I've noticed she's getting really lazy, and these games are starting to consist of me playing the game and her sitting back and having a loovely time.

Like when I 'make a cake' on her back or I'm a farmer and I grow something, using her back as the field. She lies down and relaxes - and lies there for like, 10 minutes. And then she'll want me to make another one. And another one. She always wants to play this game, until it gets to the point where I am sick of making the same bloody thing on her back and I tell her we'll play something else.

"Just one," she asks, attempting a sweet innocent asking face on me (only this does not work - I can still see the devil gremlin lurking inside).
"Okay. Just one. And then we'll play something else. What do you want me to grow?"
"What's the longest..." I hear her mumble under her breath.

There's just no winning. I end up being a farmer and growing some grapes, and then pressing them into wine. Only, I can't just plant the grapes straight off - oh no - I have to water the field (her back), plough the field, water it again and let the sun shine on it - and only then, can I plant the grapes.

Another game is Doctors. Or I should probably rephrase it 'Doctor' as I'm the only one who does anything.

Clari is the patient who lies on the bed, ill. I then have to check her heart rate, pulse, reactions in her knees, take her temperature, inject her, feed her medecine, operate and amputate her... all while she's just lying back on the bed, not moving and not even saying anything to me. It just becomes a rolling spiel of my own voice, until I'm finished and I tell her "I'll be back same time next week!".

Only she then says, it's next week now... and I have to do it all over again. And again. And now I'm a crazy doctor and we start from the beginning.

Not only is she lazy, but she isn't half sly. Word of advice - do not underestimate the wily ways of a six year old. Oh yes, I know they look cute and lovely on the outside. Inside, they are gremlins.

After Clari snitched on me yesterday for something I didn't do wrong, it's become a blackmail. If I tell her I won't do something:

"If you don't do that, I will tell my dad you were doing homeworks."

Yes, that's right. A six year old can say that?!

"But I wasn't so I'll tell him you're lying."
She shrugged. "He will believe me."

Whoever said six year olds were wonderful has clearly never met one.

The Day I (unfairly) Get Into Trouble

You know she's had chickenpox this week, well she's not been feeling too great and not had much energy so she's had a tendency to get into bed when we play. The other day Giorgio and Dominga went out for an hour or two before dinner to go and visit Giorgio's dad in hospital. So I was left to play with Clari in her room.

"You can say me a story on my back?"

This was something she liked to do. She was lying in bed and then I had to make up a story and 'illustrate' it on her back. So there was a story with Pupu the penguin and his magic hat. Only halfway through, Clari fell asleep. I stopped the story and waited.

I waited about five minutes, and then she stirred. She wasn't interested in playing anything else and wouldn't leave her bed, so I carried on with the story. She fell asleep again.

I sat at the bottom of her bed contemplating what to do. I'd tried to wake her up but it didn't work and she was now starting to snore like a baby rhinoceros. For about 15 minutes I sat at the bottom of her bed twiddling my thumbs, not really sure what to do. Eventually I got up, went and got my Italian exercise book and a pen and sat back at the end of her bed. I was just making some notes and I didn't leave her bed so I'd be there when she woke up to continue playing.

She stirred again and looked down at me.

"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Italian homeworks, while I wait for you to come back and play!"

But she still wasn't interested and went back to sleep.

About half an hour later she woke up again. Part of me felt sorry for her because she had a really bad fever and was sweating under her covers.

"Good morning.." I said to her, "Did you have a nice snooze?" She didn't reply.
She lay there for a bit, shuffling around uncomfortably. I heard the front door go and, "Ciao!".

"I think Mum and Dad are back," I told her. She still didn't reply.

Suddenly she starts to cry.
"What's the matter?" I ask incredulously. One minute she's fine, and then the next she starts to cry?

She gets out of bed and walks down the hallway, down the stairs into the kitchen and into the arms of Dominga. I follow her, like, what the hell is happening exactly?

She's wailing to her mum and dad in Italian so I can't understand a thing. I then catch 'italiano'. Oh right. She's crying about something I have (or haven't, I'm still unsure) done. Dominga then takes her into the bathroom to clean her up a bit and I'm left in the kitchen with Giorgio.

"Jennie," he says, "I'm not very happy. You're not supposed to be doing your italian when you're with Clarissa. You're supposed to have your attention on her."
"I know," I said,"But she fell asleep! I tried to carry on playing but she didn't want to. What am I supposed to do, just sit on her bed in silence?!"

"She's not supposed to fall asleep because it means she doesn't sleep at night, which is a problem for us. You're supposed to be active with her."
"But she's ill! I can't help it if she gets straight into bed and then wants to me draw a story on her back! She didn't want to play anything else!"

Unbelievable. What exactly had I done wrong?

Giorgio spends so little time with Clarissa he clearly doesn't know how stubborn and difficult a 6 year old can be. Like seriously, if she doesn't want to do something, we don't do it. Simple.

Identity Crisis

Clarissa loves to play. And she loves to play pretend games.

The only problem is, I tend to be everything.

She'll play the child or the princess or whatever. I'll be the older sister, the annoying younger sister, the mother, the teacher, the evil witch, the fat lazy person, the boy, the friends, the knight, the dragon, the ghost...

We'll play Barbies and she'll be 'Clari'. I'll be 'me' and Ken, and 'Anna' and 'Tina' and 'Giulia'. She'll dress one, and I'll dress five. Then she acts for one, and I act for two, the others stand motionless. She looks at the line of Barbies stood against the box.

"Why they not move?"
"Because I've only got two hands Clari."

Now I don't mind acting as the rest of the world while Clari is Clari, it only becomes an identity crisis when she expects me to know when to transition from mother-to-sister-to-teacher during her casual dialogue. In her mind she knows when she's talking to the teacher, and then to the mother, only I'm not blessed with the art of mind-reading, so it can be pretty well impossible to keep up. And then she gets frustrated, and she cries and of course, it's always my fault.

I Try?

'Later..' was one, 'You're boring' is another, and the latest edition to Clarissa's phrasebook is; "I try?"

My granny and grandad had posted me a parcel filled with crafty goodies that I could do with Clari over Easter. So we spent the morning getting stuck into them - making a mobile and colouring in some finger puppets:

'Tina' the rabbit.

Clari particularly liked the finger puppets, and we made up a lot of stories with them. Feli, the au pair before me, had posted Clari a box full of things which arrived on the same day, so we used the empty cardboard box to make a theatre for the fingerpuppets to perform in. I made a prop-house with open and close shutters and doors.



Pretty badass if I do say so myself

Clari has a pretty short attention span, so soon this was boring for her and we went into the garden. I helped her make a 'kitchen' and hunted around the garden for foodie bits that she could keep in it. She then made a 'soup' (aka. a potion) and wanted to find more things to put in it.

She wanted to climb up the bank of the garden and walk along the wall that ran alongside the house. She'd just seen Bronson trot along it and then jump down to join us. This wall was well over one and a half times me. And narrow. And wet. I looked up at it and visualised a tiny Clari slipping and just falling down to the floor, faceplanting the concrete. That wouldn't be so good.

"I climb the wall?" she said.
"No Clari."
"Why not?"
"Because it's too high."
"But I don't have vertigine (vertigo). I'm not scared."
"I don't care Clari, it's too high up and you might fall down."

Pause.

"I try?"
"No Clari."
"I try?"
"No."
"I try?"
"Clari, I said no."

"Just a little, up to here..."
"Get down Clari. I said no!"

She screws up her face in anger and frustration.

"When I go next in garden again I will go all the way to the end."
"Whatever you say Clari, just get down."

Italian Swear Words!

Yeaahh the post you've all been waiting for. One of the first things you can resist asking when you make a friend who speaks another language: "Teach me some swear words!"

*    *    *    NOTICE    *    *    *

Don't read this if you're under like, I don't know, twelve or something. Or if you're weak minded. Or easy offended. Or Jesus. It might/will probably offend you...


Vaffanculo! - Fuck you! Fuck off!  (* Literally, go and take it in your ass.)

The definitions in English might not always be the literal translation, but the equivalent we would use.

cazzo - fuck        
merda - shit   

un bastardo, un figlio di puttana - bastard, a son of a bitch
una brutta, una schifosa, una zoccola - a bitch, skank, slut

il cazzo, la minchia, il pistolino, la fava - a dick/cock/willy (however you fancy it)
la fica, la farfalla*, la gnacchera, la toppa - a pussy/vagina
la farfalla - (* Literally, 'the butterfly'. Ahahahaha)

i coglini, le palle - balls, bollocks
il culo - ass
le poppe, le cioccie, le tette - boobs

un pompino - a blowjob    - (almost my word of the week. It's so ironic, it just sounds like such a nice word.. Haha!)

un pompinaio, un succhiatore, un leccacazzi*, un gustafave - a cocksucker
un leccacazzi - (* Literally, a 'lickdicks'. Amazing.)
testa di merda - shithead

una bella fica, una fica pronta - a (nice) piece of ass

chiavere, trombare, fottere - to fuck
> (ciulare - Milanese, beciare - Genovese, scopare - Italiano)

essere fottuto - to be fucked up
(E' tutti fottuto. - It's all fucked up)

vacagare, vai/va a cagare - to piss off
avere il cazzo in aria - to be pissed off (* Literally something like, 'to have dick in the air')

 affanculo - fuck it all, fuck this shit

That's just some basics, here're some charming phrases:

Non sto in questo merdaio. - I'm not staying in this shithole.

Andate tutti a 'fanculo. - You can all go fuck yourselves.

La tua madre si da per niente. - Your mother gives it away (for nothing).

E' un stronzo. - You're an asshole.

(Most of these were from this website - there's a few more on there if you want to fill your boots.)

(not so) Delizioso Desserts: Fetta al Latte

Now don't get me wrong, I'm sure a lot of people love these Kinder bars. Clari certainly does that's for sure. But I couldn't help but think it was pretty tasteless and well, rather cardboardy...

It's like a brown brick...

'Fetta al Latte' translates to 'slice of milk' in English.

These Kinder bars are kept in the fridge and on the packet they look pretty yummy. So I thought I'd give it a go. There are two 'chocolate' rectangles, which are kind of like sponge cake sandwiched between a soft, yet firm milk-cream filling.

Only the chocolate sponge is dry and tastes more like cardboard. And the cream filling reminded me of a cream cake that had been sitting in the fridge for a few days: not rotten, but tasteless and stale.

I'm sure these things are nice... they just weren't my thing. I think I'll just stick to the ol' gelato.

Wicked Word of the Week! - Curiosare

curiosare
/kjuriosarei/

Verb  - English - 'to wander/to look around, to poke about'

Example: Curioso nei negozi - I'm wandering/looking around the shops.

(I guess you could look at it like 'curios-' is similar to curious...).

*Note: I have to admit this word of the week isn't so wicked. I was swayed by 'shottino' just because it sounds cool, but then also swayed towards choosing a cool Italian swear word. But then I just thought I'd make a whole post about them because I just couldn't decide which was coolest).

You're so boring.

"Ho una baby-sitter noioso."

This is another one of Clari's tactics. As soon as I tell her not to do something, or "shall we tidy up this mess?" :

"You're so boring."

So, I've made a pirate ship, complete with sail and flag. I've been a ghost. I've made a den, and fixed it when it collapsed under snow. I've made a throne for Queen Clari.  I've made an origami crane ('swan') for her and each one of her friends that's come over.

I've made a theatre out of a carboard box for her finger puppets, and a prop-house with open-close doors and shutters. I've made 'cakes' on her tummy and 'threw her in the bin' when they went 'smelly'. I've made a full-blown bedroom tent. I've made her an origami game. I've made an epic obstacle course. I've made...

Oh, but wait. Gah, I'm so boring.

Balliamo! Italiano-Style..

Earlier last week I'd spoken to Mirko on whatsapp (judo Mirko..) - thought it'd only be polite really - and he invited me to join him and his friends on Saturday night when they go out.

[Italians call it 'ballare' which means to dance, but I think we English would translate it to 'a night on the town' because to go 'dancing' sounds like, erm.. something my grandparents would do.]

So I agreed. And with a little translation help from Dominga (Mirko's english is as good as my italian..) we arranged a place and time to meet him and his group. She told me she couldn't come and get me afterwards and that I had to get a lift home. However, in Italy apparently it's just common courtesy that the boys take the girls home afterwards if they don't have a car. How crazy is that?! I barely even had to ask and he just brushed it aside like, yes of course we'll bring you back after, no worries.

"For the lower classes" in Giorgio's words.. a.k.a an epic time!

So Saturday night, Dominga dropped me off in Broni and I was introduced to his group of friends as they arrived at the Light Bar. They had a cocktail offer going on: you buy a drink, you roll two dice and if you get a double you get the same again. And being the jammy dodger I was, I somehow rolled a double three. Haha yeaa.

It's crazy how friendly the Italians are. Like, I was so surprised. I guess Giorgio's antisocial shallow minded opinions were what I was expecting, as he'd told me a load of crap about Italian people which just wasn't true. (After all, he told me Italian people don't drink as much as English people... hah! yeah right). The girls practically took me under their wing and lead me everywhere. They all used their small combined knowledge of english to get through what they wanted to say, and I had people clambering around me asking me where I was from, what I was doing, what music I liked, did I know Cinderella (for some reason..), what football club I supported. It was mad.

They kept asking me what some words were in English.

"Come si dice 'cocktail' in inglese?"
" - Cocktail..?"

I learnt that they call a shot, a shot or an even cooler word: 'shottino'. And a tequila slammer is a 'tequila bom bom'. How cool is that?! Because you 'bom' the glass back down afterwards.

I didn't spend a penny on one drink while I was out. The boys paid for everything. I don't even know how. Mirko and his friend bought three shots of 'assenzio' and gave one to me. I had no idea what this stuff was but it smelled like aniseed so I assumed, ah yeah, some kind of green Sambuca. No. If someone offers you a shot of assenzio, politely decline. It will destroy you. You probably won't notice it until it's too late: it'll burn on the way down and probably singe your insides for the next two days.

We all paid €20 to get into the club Discoteca Life, but that gave us entry, a table and a shed load of drinks. Discoteca Life was unusual - on the inside it was like a club; it was on the outskirts of Stradella and Broni, but on the outside it was like a warehouse. When we arrived they were hosting a 'Miss Mondo' competition, with teenage girls strutting up and down, and when that finished it suddenly became a club.

Frieeeeends....

Early morning, we left. The Italians don't do it English uni-town style. Oh no. And it's not like France where everything shuts at two. At pushing half three, we went to a bar and Mirko grabbed a sandwich. His friend then drove us all practically to Pavia to take Mirko's girlfriend home, and then we attempted to get back to Montu' to get me home. Although, they didn't listen to me when I told them to take the left when we came out of Stradella, so half an hour later we arrived at Localita' Pezzalunga 3.

It was a good night, but I have to admit, one of the best parts was there were no creepy italian men. Not one. No slimy "Ciao bellaaaa.." calling from behind you. No greasy Italian men trying to grab your arms and getting you to dad dance. Ah it was wonderful. Haha!

Delizioso Desserts: Semifreddo

Semifreddo
/semifredo/

Noun m singular (Lit. "half cold")

Ours weren't quite as elaborate. (image courtesy of wiki - I scoffed all mine before I considered taking a photo....)

Semifreddo has got to be one of the most wonderful actual desserts I have tried yet in Italy. And the ones Dominga brought back from the pastisseria were much nicer looking than any photo I can find on the internet.

Semifreddo (or semifreddi in the plural) are small desserts mixed half between and cake and an icecream. The base of them is like a 1 cm of sponge cake, and then you've got the part on top of that which is made of icecream. They are so good!

The one's I tried were cut out in different shapes and in brighter colours: pink moon-shaped strawberry ones, rich chocolate heart-shaped ones and green pistachio circles. They came in little paper cases and were small enough you could easily have three different flavours and not feel like you'd been too greedy. And you could almost get an entire one in your mouth in one go. Although that might be stupid as it's a block of icecream and unless you're asking for brainfreeze...

Veramente delizioso!

Chicken Pops

On Sunday, we were a house full of invalids. Dominga had a bad back, I was nursing the effects of the assenzio the Italians had made me try the night before (see my previous post on my Saturday night Italian antics) and Clari had caught chickenpox. Or 'la varicella' in Italian.

Friday she was feeling a little under the weather and didn't eat much at the Mexican. Saturday she had a temperature and not much energy. At the end of the day she had three small pink dots on her stomach, but they didn't look like much. Sunday morning she had a few more and the Casanova's concluded that it was chickenpox.

Monday morning, and BOOM chickenpox girl! She's covered in them. And they look so angry and sore but they've not quite reached the itchy stage.

"Jennie look," said when I came down this morning, "Look at all my chicken pops!"

My Fault

I've learnt a considerable amout of things since I've been here in Italy, one of them happens to be that I have become the scapegoat for Clari in anything that goes wrong for her. Sometimes, it's just impossible not to laugh in her face when she says things. For example:

The other day she was watching some cartoons on youtube on Dominga's ipad, and then it stopped and started to buffer. She started to cry and couldn't understand why it wasn't working, and then it was my fault it had stopped... Only I couldn't catch the reason because she was babbling something illegible between wails. The cartoon stopped buffering and carried on and she just stopped crying and laughed.

          *       *      *      *

We went to judo on Friday and got changed in the sportshall changing rooms. I tied her judo belt for her, and then she went to the toilet. When she came out, she'd undone her belt and was trying to do it back up, only she couldn't do it properly. She screwed up her face and started to cry.

"It's your fault!" she wailed, "You didded like this and now it is wrong!"
She glared at me.
"Don't be ridiculous Clari! You untied it and now you can't tie it up again. It's got nothing to do with me."

          *      *      *      *

We were both sat on the floor as I had made her a throne (for 'Queen Clari') and we were drawing things on it with felt tip pen. She kept shuffling over and shuffling over until I was squidged up against the freezer.

"Clari, can you move back a bit? I can't reach the bottom of your throne!"

She moved back and we carried on. About ten minutes (and a lot of shuffling) later, Clari banged her head on the corner of the table. She started to wail and suddenly, of course, it was my fault.

"You-made-me-hitted-my-head-you-told-me-to-move-and-now-I-hitted-my-head-an-an-it's-your-fault-you-me-ahh-waaaahhh!!"
"Don't be so silly Clari! I did not tell you to bang your head into the table now did I. Don't be ridiculous."
"Bahngs-ahwa-do-sjhbnjthing-thenma!"
"What?"

She was wailing so hard I couldn't understand a word she was saying.

"Waaggghhhh!!! Gehtt-hbhjs-ice-bjac-or-sbjathing!"
"Clari I can't understand."
"I'mg-speakinngh-ENGHLISHHAA!"
"I know Clari but I can't hear you you're babbling so much."
"Wha-ghs-are your ears blocked or something-gha? You speak out of your ears!"

Yes, gosh, that's it. I speak out of my ears.

After a few moments she cooled down a bit.
"Finished?" I asked. She frowned and gave me one of the most evil glares I think a six year old could muster but said nothing.

"Mmm, good. Shall we finish this throne for Queen Clari then? I hear she's waiting."

Wicked Word of the Week! - Lecca-Lecca

Ahh I came across an awesome word today, and decided it just had to become a word of the week.

lecca-lecca
/lekka-lekka/

Noun m singular - English - 'lolly, lollipop'

* Literally means lick-lick. How cool is that!?

Delizioso Desserts: Panforte

Panforte
/panfortei/

Noun m singular (Lit. "strong bread")

I think someone was a bit eager to get into the box...

Panforte is a kind of dessert made with fruit and nuts, which wiki compares to a fruit cake, but it's not like fruit cake at all because I hate fruit cake and panforte is yumtastic. There're no soggy raisins! It's kind of like, whole almonds and fruit and nuts and things held together with a sweet sticky honey-like mass which tasted mildly of marmalade (but not too much) and spices. And with a thin layer of rice paper on the base. It is scrummmmy!

The name panforte; 'strong bread' refers to the spicy flavours. It originates from Siena in Tuscany and dates right back to the 13th century where it was used as payment to the monks and nuns of local monastries and was taken by Crusaders when they went on their quests and often used to survive sieges thanks to it being such a durable confection.

800 years on and it still tastes delizioso!

Sta Nevicando!

Woke up this morning to this:



Haha! Lego houses.


Pretty unexpected! And it was sooo deep. I reckon it's probably the deepest snow I've ever seen in my life. Like, so much deep snow!

Incrediiibile!

Naturally, I got really excited and couldn't wait to go outside in it. Clari got out her sledge and we tried to find a suitable hill to sledge down. Only, we didn't have much to choose from as I didn't fancy sledging down into a tree, and Clari was too scared to go down even the slightly steepest of hills.

I had to check out our den / cabina whatever to see if it was still standing, and it was! Just about...

Good effort.

The roof had caved slightly under the weight of the snow but it's still standing!

After much hunting for a prime sledging spot, we settled on the long slope down in front of their house. I pulled Clari down it in the sledge to make a pathway for the sledge to slide down. Then I pulled her back up the hill because she's a lazy gremlin and doesn't like walking. I then pushed her down the hill again in the sledge (note: pushed, because it wasn't steep enough to slide on its own). And pulled her back up.

(Nocciolina equally excited)

By the time it was my go Clari decided to wait for me at the top of the slope and I attempted to slide down the hill, but it's quite hard to slide down horizontally. And I've got to admit, sledging isn't really any fun unless the hill is so steep you start to fear for your life.

Clari soon got bored, so we made a snow man.

I'm so proud.. *wipes away tear*

She helped me roll the first ball but then she started to cry and told me her fingers were cold, so she went inside and I finished it off myself. Dominga chucked me a scarf and a carrot from the balcony above and I dug out some stones from the drive for eyes and a mouth. Eventually I was finished and I went back inside, totally sodden through and with fingers like pink crab sticks...

But with a beastly snowman sat outside in the garden!

Delizioso Desserts: Hazelnut Yoghurt

This post is going to be pretty brief, but I was rummaging around in the fridge for some breakfast the other day and dug out the last yoghurt. It was hazelnut flavour, and i've got to admit I was a bit wary (new yoghurt flavours are often some of the most worrying things to try..).



Not the most appetising-looking I must admit.

Now, I'm probably not the only person in the world to have never tried hazelnut flavoured yoghurt, and I'm sure there are people who have tasted it many a time and are reading this like, yeah so what? It's hazelnut, big whoop.

But this flavour was incredible! Literally, it was like eating hazelnut in yoghurt form. It was like nutella flavour minus the chocolate. And yet there was no bitter nuttiness at the end...

Honestly, if you like hazelnuts/nutella, you've never tried hazelnut yoghurt and you get a chance to, don't hesitate. Bite the bullet and snap it up!

'La Cabina'

I er, knocked up a den on Saturday morning.

Chief den-builder. That's how I roll.

I'd say it was a 'team effort' but Clarissa preferred to be the 'Capitan' and tell me, the 'Number One' what to do. She decided she would sit inside the den and tell me what to do next.

"JENNIIIIEEEE! It's cold. Put more sticks."

She also had a tendency to steal the sticks I'd collected and take them as her own. And then proceed to tell me; "Look at how much sticks I tooked!".

She was also chief decorator, as picking flowers was much less strenuous than finding sticks. She was pretty pleased with it in the end, getting both Dominga and Giorgio to come down the slope to have a look at our 'cabina'.

And I was pretty chuffed with it too. Nick will be proud! Although I did spend the rest of the afternoon coaxing my frozen hands back to life and picking splinters out of my palms.

Easy Peasy Orange Squeezy

The Casanova's have a juicing machine.

Yeeeeaaaa that's right. It's amazing.

Bish..

It literally takes 2 minutes. Dominga showed me how to squeeze fresh orange juice by hand for breakfast on one of the first few days I was here. 

Bash..

Oranges in Italy are really cheap in the winter; she bought a crate of them for €4.  She couldn't believe it when I told her in England you can pay £2 for like, 4.

Bosh!

You don't even need to add sugar; it tastes so good. And the best juice is when Dominga buys blood oranges. It's craaazy red!

Bronson

Just er, knocked up a picture of Bronson with some watercolours.

Not too shabby.

Mind-blowing Icing.

The other day Dominga was going over to her friend's house with Clarissa, and she was making a cake to take over with her. Nothing too extravagant, just a simple plain sponge cake (okay, she told me she cheated because it was from a packet). But a cake all the same.

When it was out of the oven and cooling down, I asked her if she was going to ice it.

"Eye sit?" She looked at me confused.
"You know, ice the cake. We say the white stuff on top of the cake is the 'icing' with icing sugar - "

At 'icing sugar' she made an 'ahh!' face, opened the cupboard and got out a little packet of icing sugar.

"...mixed with water," I finished.
"What?" she looked at me again.
"With water?"
"Yeah, you know when you mix it with water it makes a thick sort of paste."

She looked at me incredulously. I hesitated.

"You've never mixed it with water...?"
"No... What is 'icing'? It's sweet?"
"Oh yes. It's loooooovely."

Oh my gosh. They'd never made icing. Quite easily the best part of making the cake; mixing up the icing and then licking the bowl when the cakes are done.

So we decided I would ice the cake once it was cool and Dominga could see what icing was.

As I shook the icing sugar into a bowl and mixed in some water, she just stared, amazed, at the white paste that was forming. Mind blown. I spooned the icing into a plastic bag, snipped the end and then piped a lattice across the cake (it was too big to ice the entire thing..).

"Woah-wow!" she said.
"Go on, try it."
"Mmmmm!"

Dominga saved me a bit - apparently the icing went down well.

It didn't even look that impressive, just plain white icing and plain cake but I'd successfully blown Dominga's mind.

Ahh yeah. Mission accomplished - introduce icing to the world of non-icing eaters.

[Next stop: fairy cakes!]

Delizioso Desserts: Brigidini

Brigidini
/bridʒidini/

Noun m pl. (singular: brigidino?)

1. Thin crunchy golden wafers mildly flavoured with aniseed, originating from Lamporecchio, Tuscany.

Mmmm..

 

I tried these during the first few days of being in Italy, and they're looovely. Probably not to everyone's taste, as aniseed is one of those love-it-or-hate-it flavours but brigidini isn't half moreish.

They're so light and melt in the mouth you feel like you're not really eating much, just a sweet taste and a delicious flavour. And it'd be super easy to eat a whole bag. *ahem*

Brigidini sfusi are the broken pieces of wafer, sold in a big clear plastic bag from most supermarkets. There are many stories of where they came from, but one is that they were made by a nun in a Saint Brigida convent in Lamporecchio when she was trying to make conventional wafers and failed - resulting in Brigidini.

They can now be found at fairs and festivals all over Italy, and supermarkets (clearly Carrefour).

And they're proper delizioso.

Easter Is Coming!

You know Easter is coming when your Au pair Mum goes and buys you and Clarissa a huge great Easter egg and puts them on the top top shelf in the kitchen so you can't reach it until Easter day.

Eeeeeeeee.

They're just so tempting.

(Mine's the Lindt one on the left. THEY'RE SO BIG.)

It also means that the shops are full with chocolatey treats and Dominga will come home with a surprise when she's been shopping.

 

omnom.

 

Yayayay!

Nocciolina's Walk

On Wednesday afternoon, Giorgio had gone to Rome for a few days and Dominga had to visit her father in-law's doctor so I had to occupy Clarissa when she got home from school. As soon as Dominga's car disappeared from the drive, Clari decided she wanted to go to the shop.

Emptying the entire contents of her money box into her camera case (which was acting as a purse) we opened the gates at the end of the garden and started up the hill. Nocciolina bounding after us. Nahh, it's all right, I thought, she'll head back when we get to the end of the road.

But no. She followed us half way to the shop, until we reached the roundabout and she saw the cars going past and started going wild. I stopped Clari.

"We can't take Nocciolina to the shop, can we." She looked at me.

"We try."
"No Clari, we can't. Can't you see she is scared of the cars? What will you do if she gets hit by a car?"
"She won't."
"Of course she might! She keeps running in the road!"
"We try."

No. I told her I wouldn't go to the shop with Nocciolina following us. The risk of her getting run over was so high, and Italians aren't exactly the most careful of drivers..
 

Just chillin'  (on Bronson)...

We walked back to the end of our road, and Clari said she would sit on the grass and wait for me. I ran with Nocciolina all the way back to the house, and let her back into the garden. I then ran all the way back to Clari, and Nocciolina wasn't on my tail. We carried on, turning into the street that lead past her school. I heard a noise at my feet.

Nocciolina.

She'd somehow got out of the garden and run all the way back to us. Clari was getting annoyed now as she couldn't see the problem with taking Nocciolina into the village and she just wanted to go to the shop. I looked down at Nocciolina.

I then had an idea. Taking the piece of string acting as a strap off of Clari's camera case, I clipped it to Nocciolina's collar and - voila, we had a lead. Clari was pleased, Nocciolina less so.

I don't think the poor dog has ever been walked in its life. She didn't mind the lead, but she was absolutely petrified of everything else; the cars, the people, the noise.

And what's more, we started getting some funny looks. People were driving past and staring through their windows like they'd never seen a dog on a lead before. It was so weird.

Our trip to the shop (usually a 10 minute walk) took over an hour and a half. How exactly, I don't know. Clari wanted to jump in every puddle on the way there and every puddle on the way back. And having a dog on a lead appeared to be a great conversation starter as everyone seemed to be talking to us.

We did eventually make it to the shop, Giusella coming out and seeing me (as I had to wait outside with Nocciolina) and we did finally make it back home; Nocciolina in one piece.

The Gattara

Gattara
/gatara/

Noun f (plural: gattare) (masculine: gattaro)

1. Person (female) who feeds stray cats.


Whilst I was in Pavia, I was sat in the park on a bench, reading a book. As you do. As I sat down, I saw two cats sat on the wall opposite and didn't think much of it.


Two stray cats sitting on a waaaall.

A few minutes later, I casually looked up again, and there were suddenly 6 cats on the wall.

In the corner of my eye I see an unkempt odd-looking woman clutching a white carrier bag to her chest and walking in my direction from the other side of the park. This woman approaches the now cat-lined wall, looks cautiously from side to side and then climbs over the wall and ducks down behind it. The cats follow suit and disappear from view.

I hear some rustling from behind the wall and although I can't see anything I can tell the woman is tipping out some cat biscuits onto the floor. Five minutes later, the woman discreetly climbs back over the wall, puts an empty mince container into the bin and then scurries away.

When she'd gone, I snuck over to the wall and peered over.

Woah.

There were now over 10 cats behind the wall.

When Giorgio and Dominga finally picked me up, I told Dominga about the cat-feeding woman.
"Ah yes," she said, "She is a gattara. They are women who feed stray cats. They look normally dirty looking, with old or dirty clothes. It's quite odd."

That's amazing. There is actually have a name for these scruffy Italian women who buy a ton of catfood and deliver it to a hoard of patient homeless cats. I mean, don't get me wrong I love cats. But seriously...

Pavia

On Sunday I went to Pavia whilst the Casanova's went to church. They dropped me off at 10 o'clock and I had 'til 1 before they would pick me up again.

3 hours, early on a Sunday morning, in a city that appeared to be a ghost town.

First off, I headed towards the Duomo which loomed over the buildings. I tried my best to look like a tourist with my camera out and looking deeply interested in the architecture and the statues (and not a hobo, aimlessly wandering around). This wasn't too hard to do as some of the statues were quite interesting...

Golden Balls?

I discovered the university (Fun Fact: Pavia university is the second oldest in the world, Bologna being the first).

The streets were still pretty empty, so I found a nearby park which surrounded a 'castle', whipped out my book and had a little read. (This is where the encounter with the Gattara occurred - see my previous post). Yes, it was a chilly Sunday morning and I attracted some funny looks but I had 3 hours to kill and the most shops weren't even open yet.... I was absentmindedly listening to the people walking past when I realised I could understand what someone was saying. I looked up and saw two French boys walk past me. Man, I miss you frenchies!

I then saw two men walking along, one clearly a tourist. (You know someone's a serious tourist when they're wearing their backpack on their front, in a park, in a quiet town on a Sunday morning). As they got nearer I could hear what they were saying. And yes, of course, Backpack man was English.

Typical.

After a while I left to wander the streets again, to find that life in Pavia had actually picked up and there were people around. I headed to what looked like an Italian market (passing a man fully clad in a true gangster outfit). - I kid you not, pinstripe suit, tie and jaunty hat included. If he had not've been in Pavia [not exactly the crime capital of Italy], he could've well been the Mafia.

I bought a €4 scarf - absolute bargain compared to the thousand euro price tags waving in the shop windows. And when I got it home it made me laugh and reminded me of Soph because I got it out the bag and held it up and it's so big it's practically a wall hanging.

Buona Festa Della Mamma!

Haaappy Mother's Day!

I thought it would only be fair to make a post about Mother's Day.. even though it's not really Mother's Day in Italy today.

Yup, that's right. They actually have Mother's Day in May, May 12th.

They also don't send cards in Italy. Not really, only to annouce your wedding and maybe a postcard home to your parents. But there are no birthday cards, no Christmas cards and definitely no Mother's Day cards. So, naturally, I was a little short on resources.

But with a little help from my watercolours, I rustled up a present to post to Mum.

Tuscan Window, mark I

Despite finishing her present, making a card, writing a letter and sealing it in an envelope all before Nick had even considered what he was getting Mum, I know it's already going to arrive late.

Giorgio told me the Italian post is as good as the Italian government - absolutely shocking. He reckons it would take a week to arrive. Dominga reckons it would take two weeks. - That is, if it ever manages to arrive....

Still, it's the thought that counts I guess, and I know fo' sho I put more thought and effort into what I'm giving her than what Nick is anyhow! (sorry Nick but you know it's true ;)

Invisible Elizabeth

When Dominga and I went to the supermarket, Dominga bought some DAS modelling clay. When we got home, we made some clay models.

Clarissa made a face, a snail (or rather a rolled up sausage) and a dice, Dominga made a basket and some roses and I made a cat, a dog and a snail. Today Clari and I painted them with some of her poster paints.

I managed to paint them myself and not have a grabby Clari excitedly splodge green paint everywhere..

As we were painting, Clari looked up at me dead in the eye, all serious, and she said.

"You know, there's a ghost in our house."
"Is there?"
"Yes," she said solemnly. "Invisible Elizabeth."
"Invisible Elizabeth?" I said, trying to keep a straight face.
"Yes, that is what she called."

"Why 'Invisible Elizabeth'?" I asked. She shrugged.
"You know, one time I was in a room by myself and the door shut. But no one was closing it! I was the only person!"
" - It was Invisible Elizabeth?"
"Yesss!"

I'll have to keep an eye out for this Invisible Elizabeth.

Little Children Are Disgusting

The other day, I was playing with Clarissa and she suddenly stopped and let out an almighty wet fart. It was so loud, I'm not sure who was more surprised, her or I. I couldn't believe such a loud noise could come from such a tiny child! After the surprise passed, she just giggled and then carried on.

After this, I started to notice little things that she was doing which make my stomach turn:

She blows bubbles in her dribble and then tries to wipe it on your clothes and your face. I narrowly avoided having her blow spit in my face.

Yesterday Giorgio gave her a mugfull of dog biscuits to give to Bronson, and as she walked to the door I watched her take a handful and eat them.

We were playing in her room once, and she tipped out her box of necklaces and bracelets to show what she had. The the bottom of the box was full of dust and gritty bits, as well as a grimy yellow saltdough heart that she had obviously made previously with a different Au pair. As I was admiring her collection, I watched her pick up the saltdough heart, take a bite and eat it:
"I like it."

She has a taste for salty things, and when she makes 'potions' she often adds salt to them. And then she'll lick the salt straight off her fingers, and use her wet fingers to pick up fallen salt on the floor.

And by far the worst, is the problem with picking the big slimy green boogers that wave from her nose.

The other day we were in the car, and in the corner of my eye I watched her pick her nose, inspect it and then wipe it on the window of the car. And then do it again, only this time to wipe it on Giorgio's saxophone case sitting between us.

I see her pick her nose and then she'll reach out to hold my hand. I can only snatch it above my head like, woaaaaah nelly I saw what you were just doing with those fingers!

Clarissa went on a school trip and came back with a full blown bow and arrow (which was bigger than her...). We'd not been playing with it long when the small plastic part used to clip the arrow to the string fell off. I suggested to Clari that we glue it now, let it dry overnight and we can carry on playing tomorrow. She agreed, and I then watched her put the plastic piece up her nose, lick it, look at it and try handing it to me:
"You take."

Now don't get me wrong, I'm sure children can be wonderful: cute, sweet, cheeky.
But you can't deny that they are just disgusting.

"My Fishes Are Horrible"

Clarissa found a book which is full of crafty ideas, one of which was making paper fish. We drew a fish shape on some coloured paper, cut it out and then cut out some wavy strips to stick on as scales. With an eye added, a tail, some fins and a wooden skewer stick cellotaped to the back, we had a full blown swimming fish.

Clari looked over at the fat green fish I was making and then down at hers.

"Your fishes are beautiful. My fishes are horrible."

"No they're not, they're lovely!"
"No, they are horrible." She began to screw up her face for the twentieth time in the day (I've never seen someone cry over so many little things in one day, in my life).
"Don't be silly! They're not horrible, they're really good!"
"No, my fishes are horrible."

It didn't matter how many times I said it, she wouldn't listen.

"All right then," I said, "Yes, yes they are horrible. They are horrible fish."

She looked up at me and laughed. She didn't say they were horrible again after that.

After a while she got a bit fed up of making fish, especially as she thought mine were so much better than hers. However, she still wanted more fish. So she had a proposal.

"I say you the colours and you make the fishes."

Oh really? I laughed incredulously.

"Why don't you make the fish?" I said, "I'm not going to do all the work and make the fish and you just tell me what to do! I'll only make more fish if you help me make them."

"No, I say you the colours."
"I won't make any more fish then. Not if you're just going to sit and watch me."

So she made another fish.
 

The Gremlin

When we'd finished I told her I wanted to take a picture of our beautiful fish, so I ran upstairs and grabbed my camera. When she saw me bring it down, Clari did her usual 'grabby' thing, trying to have a look at it, but I swung it out of reach pretty quickly.

"I have one," she said, going over to the chest of drawers by the door and pulling out a small 'Winkies' digital camera. But the batteries were dead and it wouldn't turn on.

"Why it not woooork?

I can take picture with yours?" She asked, grabbing towards the camera on my wrist.
"Umm…... no."
"Why I can't?"
"Because it's expensive, and it's new. And I don't want to break it."

But she didn't let up. In the end I gave in, and wrapping the string around her wrist, I let her take a picture.

I watched on edge as she took some photos, waving it around blindly in her hand. Eventually I hastily snatched it back when I had the chance and ran it back up to the safety of my room.

Of course, it was my fault her camera wasn't working - so she went crying to Dominga, who duly replaced the batteries for her. And then when it was working, it was my fault that all her photos were blurry.

                                                                            * * *

A bit later, she was playing around with her camera in the kitchen. Avidly talking to me and jumping all over the place, she wasn't paying attention and SLAP! her camera fell out of her hand onto the tiled floor.

"Oops!" she looked up at me guiltily with a grin on her face, "Good it was not yours…"

Mmm, yes.

Bronson & Nocciolina

The Casanova's have two dogs and a tabby cat and they all live outside. In fact, I've never even seen their cat come in. And I don't even know its name.

Bronson is the big grumpy bulldog. He's huuuge and barks at you when you stand and watch him through the glass pane of the door. The only time I've ever seen him make a cute face is when he knows it's dinner time and he thinks looking up at you with round sad eyes will make you get it for him quicker.

He was somehow in mid-lick when I took the photo....

 

Nocciolina is the little brown and white one; I'm not sure what breed she is - she's kind of like a spaniel only with short straight hair rather than curly. Nocciolina means 'peanut' in Italian. She gets over excited very easily, especially at dinner time and sometimes she gets nervous and wees a little on the floor. This is usually followed by an outburst of Italian from Dominga and NOCCIOLINAAA!!

She was really shy at first, and would run away when I came near but she's slowly warming to me and today she even ran over and rested her head on my legs, looking up at me like.. dinner?

They both sit by the front door and look in, often fighting over who gets to sit in the middle with the prime view of the dog food bin.




Being just a big lump of muscle, it's usually Bronson.

 

Sat in the kitchen facing the door, I watched Nocciolina jump up and try pull down the door handle with her mouth to open the door. As soon as she saw me look up at her, she leapt down and sat with her back turned to me like, - I wasn't doing anything!

 

When she didn't think I was looking she turned her head around to look at me, only to quickly turn it back round again when she saw I was. Cheeeky.

 

The cat (whose name is unknown..) likes to sit on the window sill outside, eat crumbled up dog food and just stare at you through the glass.

 

 

Oh hey.

 

Dominga told me everytime you try to open the window or the door to let it into the house, it just stares at you and then runs away. I guess the window sill is the best spot; not quite inside.. but close enough to be.

 

I'll find out it's name at some point. In the meantime though, it can be called CAT.

"Later...."

Clarissa went on a school trip today, leaving at 7 in the morning and getting home at 6. This gave me plenty of time to recouperate after yesterday's ordeal.

When I woke up it was so foggy outside I couldn't see past the end of the garden. It surrounded the hill their house is built on and it literally felt like we were the only ones here in the world, cut off from everything. Even the next door neighbours house was cloaked in a grey blanket and hidden from view.



Not such a marvelous view today...

I learnt three things today. One was the Italian (today I covered adjectives, possessive determiners, questions and negation) which I studied in the kitchen - although it could have been the Sistine chapel, there was so much soulful music floating through from Giorgio's study.

The second was that it rains in Italy. Cold wet English rain. All day.



Yes, it really does rain in Italy.

And three, potentially the most important of all, was one of Clarissa's favourite words. Later.

You see, 'Later' doesn't actually mean later.
"Shall we carry on playing Lego?"
"No, later."

"Shall we clear this off the table?"
"We do it later."

To Clari, 'Later' means never. Not now, not tomorrow, not later. Later means: I don't want to do it.

However, I've wised up to this new form of 'Later'.

"Clari, shall we tidy up these cards?"
"No, later."
"No, shall we do it now?"
"No, we do it later."
"No Clari, not later. We do it now."

To What We Play?

Today Dominga went to work in Milan. Clarissa had the afternoon off from school, so I went and picked her up for lunch at home. And then after lunch we had 9 hours before Dominga came home.

9 hours of PLAY PLAY PLAY.

It was exhausting. We played everything. It started off okay because it's Dominga's birthday on Saturday so we made her a birthday card (and very nice ones too.)




Our beautiful birthday cards for Dominga (Clari insisted I added more stars...)



But when we finished it was: "To what we play?".

So we rollerbladed. We played catch. We played volleyball. We played Lego.

"To what we play?"

We played the game of Pairs I made yesterday. We played with Skifidol (the goo Clarissa bought at Giusella's shop). We wrestled. We played hide and seek. We played pretending games where I was the bossy nasty person.

"To what we play?" Pause.. "To what we play?" Pause... "To what we play?"

 On and on, like a broken record.

 "Why don't we carry on playing Lego?"

"No."

Oh right.

............."What we do?"

9 intense hours later (and I mean intense - I couldn't even get away for enough time to go to the toilet by myself. Clari insisted on coming in with me anyway, and when I shut her out and locked the door she'd turn out the light because some genius put the switch outside the bathroom), I escaped and could rock myself back into sanity.