More roman conundra

It's now six months since touchdown on the continent and the longer I am here, the more I find myself saying that living in Rome is a whole lot of things (many of which don't smell very nice), but living in Italy is just breathtaking....

That said, Rome has a lot to offer the patient adventurer, (as long as that adventurer is also very careful about where they put their feet). The food markets at Testaccio, with blueberry honey, and the "tomato man", who won't sell you a thing until you tell him exactly which dish you are planning to make with his tomaties... then he selects just the right variety from the dozen or so on his stand. There's a horse-meat stall, and loads that sell fresh fruit and veg - all seasonal of course - cured meats, varying strengths of cheeses, massive cuts of meat that they slice to your requirements, and sweet biscuits and pastries that are just lovely after a big lunch...

Nothing in Rome is entirely wholesome though, and word about the office is 'don't buy the fish there, it's all sold by the mafia', and there are a couple of really annoying little guys who come up and pester you to buy bags of whole garlic bulbs. They don't like taking no for an answer, although once you tell them to fuck off a couple of times, they seem to get the message... sometimes they get halfway to approaching you when recognition hits and they back away again... lol

Back on the upside, there's the aroma of cornetti coming up from the deli as I descend into the subway at the train station - always welcoming after the stench of the street and lending an air of 'warm and cosy' to even the nippiest winter mornings.

And now that tourist season is over and the streets aren't so clogged with badly dressed 'stranieri', I've been getting out and about in search of pretty scenic things. Rome may be badly maintained and crumbling at both her heart and her edges, but there are jewels to be found tucked away here...

I've just confirmation my contract will be renewed, and I am so very pleased to know that I will have more time to seek them out.

I really can't say I yet share the view of my Belgian colleague, who declares she hates Rome". "I've left 3 times" she says... "but look"(with a shrug), "still you see me standing here".

I think that point will be quite some way off yet.

copENHAGEN

I was a late inclusion in our official delegation to the world climate conference earlier this month. Three days of mayhem - although my experience was not a patch on that of friends who work at NGOs who were desperately trying to influence negotiations and find out, amid 30,000 delegates worth of rumour and speculation, what the devil was going on.

For my part, I got to enjoy being not one of the important people: my job was to attend seminars on shipping emissions, and renewable energy, and other geeky topics, and to support the launch of the UN-wide first ever carbon footprint.

In between times, I managed to take in a wind energy industry cocktail party in an 18thC Danish palace (complete with anti-Vestas protesters), got escorted through the picket lines on the big day of protest, and generally felt weird being on the "UN observer, right this way please ma'am" side of the fence, instead of being on the "loud but outta the loop" faction.

I also caught up with my Danish chum Astrid, who was an intern with us over the summer and one of my 'new in Rome' chums. And she instantly endeared me to our Copenhagen office by offering me a bed, saving them hours on the phone trying to find a non-existent hotel room. (And no wonder - turns out that although the conference centre only holds 15,000, the COP organisers took more than 30,000 registrations. Getting in was a nightmare for thousands of people... but not me, and that felt VERY weird). Anyway, Astrid welcomed me with a dinner of christmas sausage, rye bread, and creamed cabbage (do nøt laugh, it's the best cabbage dish ever, by far) a bottle of red and endless catchup chatter.

And Copenhagen was properly cold - snowing even - which just emphasised that Copenhagen is a city built for enjoying life. The streets are wide and clean and even, cyclists have dedicated lanes on every major road, as do buses. And why not - 40% of people cycle to work, even in winter. The metro is clean, quiet, reliable and even attractive, somehow making the trip home uplifting rather than exhausting. It's the very model of a well planned city and no wonder Scandies are the envy of the developed world!

All the experience, networking and good times aside, the non-result of the COP after two weeks of negotiations was disappointing. I got more out of my 3 days of workshops than the world got from that fortnight. What a cop-out.

... and Bracciano

I've waited weeks to see Bracciano and finally, in the last days before Christmas, I made it onto a sleepy Sunday train for the hour long journey north of Rome. I found a christmas market, churches complete with huge precepi, a hilltop castle with views of a breathtaking lake... and Jazz playing Santas, a christmas train running through the main streets, and my first glass of quite ordinary Italian wine. Oh, and two of my colleagues, who commute in every day from here... now there's a thought!

...Brian and bagpipes...

It took 5 days and £400, but we got Ants back by Friday, just one day after our mate Brian from Melbourne. Brian is a musician by trade and a teacher by profession. I used to go hear him play every Wednesday at the Dan, just on the off chance that he'd sing a song called Pallet on your Floor, which I love, and am now working on a version of for recording. Ants and I got to know him when he ran the Dan's Sunday session, and famously prophesised when we got together that "it's not love, you're in lust, it'll never last". Ha.


Brian is now teaching in Kuwait, and arrived with three of his teacher chums: Amelia and Debbbie from South Africa and Maureen from Queensland. The girls turned up begging for directions to the nearest bar and, after 2 months in staunchly Muslim Kuwait, demanding sausage, bacon and beer! Brian and I had dinner at ours and pointedly noted somewhere into the second bottle of wine that "this would never be allowed in Q8"... what he meant was that never in a million years would he be allowed to visit a married woman while her husband was out, and, once it was known he'd stayed overnight (even on the couch), "They'd be out the front waiting with pebbles for you in the morning". It's another reminder of how far women still have to come in many parts the world. (Or rather, how much MEN still have to learn!)


Brian also brought cheerful confirmation that we are indeed the only english speakers in our street and perhaps the whole block. "I stopped at the cafe up the road and said I was staying with some friends who live here, and the lady said oh, the tall blond man and his wife'..."


Friday night brought session-ey goodness with the Irish music Italians we are getting to know at a pub in town. Surprise surprise, Brian was a hit. We filled the weekend with food and wine and music and chatter and wandering around a stack of old stuff - Ants and I are getting quite good at this tour guide thing. All too soon ,it was time for them to head back to the middle east. But we cant wait to see them again.





The following weekend we kicked off the festive season a little early, with the St Andrew's Day ball of the Caledonian Society of Rome (who knew Rome even had such a thing!?), run by a colleague of mine who happens to have been the president for the past five years. Only at the UN, surely. It was a cracking good night - I'd dragged along our new Aussie chum Kate (recently out of WFP North Korea), and she brought one of her interns. We all looked gorgeous and danced lashings of ceilidh. And it was pretty exciting to have new friends to share our adventures, because despite the pipers, there were plenty of reminders that we weren't still in Kansas, Toto... The food was italian, and the drink of choice was prosecco. On the upside, there was enough of the Water of Life to ensure that the local Presbyterian minister was far too pissed to drive us all home. We all piled into his Tarago anyway, accepting his assurances that God would look after him in this holiest of cities...although I did seriously consider getting out when he drove the wrong way up the offramp for the motorway.


Next morning - erm. okay, it was afternoon - we hauled ourselves down to meet a former London colleague of mine, and his lovely partner, who is a Kiwi. It was worth every scrap of early post-prosecco agony. We had a lovely time with Keith and Yvonne, meandering through the Christmas market at Piazza Navona, the Campo dei Fiori, and I finally remembered where the bus goes from that takes you up to the top of the Janiculum Hill and the Garibaldi monument. Then we went for dinner in Trastevere, in a restaurant with enormous steaks and huge slabs of seafood on ice in the windows and front display cabinets. Maybe not the classiest invitation to dinner, but the meal was memorable, as was the company. Keith was one of my earliest mentors when I was first promoted back in the day, and this plain spoken big bear of a man has a heart of gold. It was good to be able to both brag a little at how much I'm enjoying the job, and living "abroad", while acknowledging the hard stuff - the challenges of playing backstop for Ants, who is still finding his feet, the complexities of paperwork and the uncertainty around contract renewals. For his part, Keith readily supplied all the best of the office gossip from the last 5 months, and told us the story of Keith and Yvonne. I love it when two people with some years more living than we do, discover each other - its totally romantic. We headed off into the night with embraces and seasons greetings and it really does feel as though the festive season has already begun. Roll on.

Banquet and balderdash...

I'm not quite sure where the last 5 months have gone and I'm even more amazed at how quickly yet another banquet has rolled around again, but on Friday night we boarded a plane and I headed back to the UK for the first time since taking up the new job in Rome.

It was a big night for the Company of Chivalry: for the first time, a woman made the rank of Lady in her own right (equivalent to knight, of which the company has had 6 in 21 years). We are all hugely proud of Hannah, they haven't made it easy for her but after so many years of service and expertise, in the end it was impossible to deny her, so they didn't.

It was a big night on a personal front too - me, Liz, Dawes and Will, all newbies the year before last, were promoted to yeoman; Anthony and our good friends Kate and Steffie made retainer. Liz and Steffers graciously let me take over their kitchen to make honey saffron quiches and roast bunny (or lentils, if you're a vego) in a sweet and sour sauce, and they went down a treat.

It was good to see people and hear their news, and to get about in kit.

The weekend wasn't without drama though... suffice to say we learned that it IS possible to enter the UK without a passport, as long as you have a story so mad it could only be true... in this case: "I had my passport with me when I left Italy but I appear to have left my jacket on the shuttle bus between the departure gate and the aircraft, so to the best of my knowledge it is still in international airspace at Ciampino airport".

So on Monday I'm back at work and Ants is catching a train to London to see how quickly he can get a replacement passport. I'm sworn to secrecy, but you all know I'm writing this months later, right? So cat's outta the bag now...

The power of the human spirit

The Secretary General, Ban Ki-moon, came to WFP this week. The UN has a real 'cult of the leader' about it: WFP's own chief needs only wonder about something out loud and courtiers (aka policy boffins) run about making everyone drop everything to look into it. So a visit from "the S-G" is only one step from the presence of Godliness, in local terms.

Part of the reason for the fuss is security. There are people who would love to blow the UN leaders to smithereens. So cars were cleared from the carpark, guards with even shorter hair and crisper shirt creases that our own very classy Italian security team flooded the building with US accents ("ma'am, can I ask you to ensure you display your staff pass please. Thank you ma'am"). The staff filed into the auditorium at 6pm and the thing duly started about 45 minutes later. UN deities run to their own schedule, it seems.

The service, to honour our colleagues in Pakistan, was sombre, gently political with solidarity and politely applauded... There was a video of staff and relatives of the five who died, talking about the departed. Then the head of the Pakistan finance team rose to his feet and talked of his team of 8 staff. As he spoke of the four who died that day (plus one from ICT), the two survivors who are still in hospital (one forever maimed, having lost sight in one eye), many of us were in tears. As he spoke of the 2 staff left, who have valiantly picked up and kept going in temporary offices, we rose as one and applauded. For about 5 minutes. These people didn't ask to be heroes. They would tell you they were just office people, accounts clerks, and IT guy.

But sometimes extraordinary things happen to ordinary people.

Before I joined WFP, I too, managed a team of 8. I look at the people who populate that team, and I cannot imagine the death of one of them, let alone half of them, let alone in one day. To visit colleagues in hospital, to tell them that they will overcome... to hear these stories left me humbled, utterly, by their incredible strength of spirit.

I think perhaps I was not the only one thinking 'I wonder, if it were me there, would I have the courage to be so brave'. I pray I never have to find out. But I hope that if I had to, I would.

Anagni and L...

Anagni is a tiny hilltop village south of Rome, and the home town of Grazia, girlfriend of Anthony's training buddy, Emiliano (I think its rather cool, btw, that after being really not at all sure about this Italian caper, Ants is the first of the two of us to make Italian friends.

They offered to show us around one weekend, and I am once again in awe of the depth of history that permeates this incredible country. Apparently, people having been living on top of this particular hill for about 700,000 years. The towns modern day walls are Roman in construction, and Roman greats from Marcus Aurelius to Commodus used to retreat here from Rome's oppressive summers. But it's the ancient cathedral, begun in the 9th century, and the town's status as birthplace of four medieval popes (Innocent III who approved the first Rule of St Francis, Gregory IX who famously excommunicated Frederick Barbarossa, Alexander IV who canonised Clare of Assisi, and Boniface VIII).

The home of Boniface still stands, intact and in use, across the piazza from the cathedral, in an area that used to be part of the cloister. In 1301 his holiness took refuge there from the french (he'd picked a fight with Phillip The Fair of France, who had started a war - not bright), and when the French had him holed up at home, the townsfolk when mad and secured his release. Gutsy folk then!

Shortly after, however, the papal court moved to Avignon and Anagni became a ruin, depopulated and sacked several times over in the ensuring centuries.

And there are dozens of these places, whose modest size today belies their enormous power in centuries gone by.

Emiliano and Grazia also showed us the newly restored market place and town hall - a reminder if any were needed that Mammon has always worked beside god in the home of the Vatican.

The greatest treat of all, however, was dinner, at a nearby town that starts with L but which I cannot find on any map. Also a hilltop town, heavily fortified with ancient walls, the restaurant we adjourned to is inside a 14th Century stable building. From a tiny kitchen, they serve up a five course set menu of traditional fare that is nothing short of a feast: salume and cheeses, tomato and fagioli soup, pasta, roast meats and amazing desserts. The owners are friends of the re-enactment 'family' in these parts, the chef, just 30, just months into the job, giving up a career in Rome and taking over the reins after the sudden death of his father. The family are obviously still close, and still working through their tears. We felt humbled and privileged to be part of their world for even a few hours.

I can't wait to see more of the Italian countryside. But first, I have to ask Emiliano the name of this amazing place, and we need to go back there in daylight.

, and completed in and amazing dinner, recently widowed, sense of being local and yet special... gorgeous hosts and we must have them over soon...

Remembrance day

This is Italy, so Remembrance day, or Armistice Day to the Brits, doesn't rate much of a mention here. But the war cemetary is in Testaccio, just a few hundred metres from our home and near the foot of the big pile of claypots, so Ants wandered along for the service. It's a peaceful place and I think it does what its meant to with great panache.

On the way there he nearly got bowled over by Amanda Vanstone, who was bustling along in her capacity of Ambassador to Italy. He enjoyed the service anyway - thereìs something familiar and comforting about the military precision of this marking of our countries' coming of age.

For myself, I had a calmer remembrance day than I have in years, and stopped briefly at 11 to mark the moment. Some wise words from my friend Helen from Oxford have stayed with me ever since Florence. Bella, if you're reading this, they are still helping! xo

As fickle as the seasons, as enduring as the earth - that's Italy for you

The nights and even the days are turning chilly now, but Saturday was one of those bright sunny late autumn gems that make you glad to just be alive, walking along the bit of the Aurelian wall that's at the end of our street, past the Pyramide and castle gate, through parkland and the first falling leaves to a new foodstore enroute from the market.

The cooler weather has also brought an end to many of Rome's less savoury odours (dog poo and rubbish - although you still need to watch where you walk, even just after it's rained). These past few days I've felt as if I'm making memories of the Rome I will always love best - the sweet smell of yeast and sugar from the cornetti sold from the cafe at the train station, roasting chestnuts on every other corner in the centro storico, and dark and stormy nights where, even though the roof is three floors above us, and the pavements two below, the rain hammers on every surface it touches and drowns out normal-volume conversations. These are the nights where, snug and smug beneath our blankets, we listen to the long rumbling peals of thunder, that lumber through the sky for up to an unbroken minute, or crash above your roof like falling sheets of corrugated metal and fractured tin.

Wandering around the city, I'm reminded by every weed protruding through neglected paving stones, every subsidence in the bitumen, or eruption of grass in the centre of roundabouts, that despite 2000-plus years of civilisation, Nature is boss here. From the strictly seasonal foodstuffs (you just can't buy out of season veg, even in supermarkets!) to these awe-inspiring storms, there's something about Italian living that seems to deeply respect the laws of nature, no matter how much the Italians flout the laws of the land. And despite the immaculate grooming and pretty face the Italians present constantly (I've met several folk who I would readily describe as 'smiling assassins), I keep wanting to believe that Italian society isn't 'rotten to the core' as some would have you believe. Neglected and a little battered round the edges, and very 'me'-centric for lots of people. But the deeper magic never gets questioned. And I like that about this place.

ranfurly shield

A train strike scotched my ambitions of visiting pisa this weekend ... or even bracciano.. so we settled in for another Saturday of rugby. The Italians really dont know what they're missing, with that silly soccer fetish they seem to have, and I hope rugby's meteoric rise in this country continues. It's amazing enough, that we get a pub that will open early in the morning and puts the telly on, long before standard opening hours. (But meh! It's Italy. Rules here are made to be argued with. Or flagrantly disregarded if they aren't convenient).

But our awesome autumn of Rugby took a whole new turn the other week with news that Southland Stags have taken the Ranfurly Shield for the first time since before St Kilda won the flag. The Stags are based in Anthony's home town of Invercargill, so there were some fairly excited Cundalls in the world this week. The rest of Invers was pretty chuffed too - check out the ticker tape parade given to honour Invercargill's biggest sporting moment in 50 years (with the possible exception of Burt Munro setting a new land speed record on a clapped out but lovingly modified Indian Scout motorcycle in 1962).

My workchum Alastair, who is a Central Otago boy, was effusive in his congratulations... although a pint or two later, he confessed it was because Otago hasnt won the 'log of wood' for even longer than Invercargill, and if the Stags can do it, maybe there's hope for Otago too...

Go Southland!

The Warriors of Skye and some killer costuming

At last! I've finally learned enough italian to be able to trawl sites in the local lingua, hunting out medieval re-enactment groups. We finally found a group that might tickle Anthony's fancy... the Warriors of Skye. Yep, a 14th C group of scottish warriors, here in the heart of Roma.

In fairness, apparently Skye was said to have been one of the great warrior training grounds of Europe, so its not entirely unfeasible that Italians might have ended up there....

Looks like they've got some killer costuming going on too....

Firenze!

My friend Helen works for Oxford University Press, and occasionally has managed to swing a work meeting in Florence. So we took all of a few seconds to decide to jump a train and head north for the weekend, when we heard she was coming to town.We arrived on the Friday night and immediately set off in search of dinner- and what a meal! Restaurant selected at random turned out to have a cavernous back room that was packed full of italian diners - always a good sign when the locals eat there! Steak Fiorentina, a bottle of Montepulciano, liver bruschetta, wild boar ragout, luscious tuscan desserts, lemoncello on the house. Bliss.

Next morning we hit the town, wandering past street stalls and the main market (check it out!), through the centre of town and out to the famous Ponte Vecchio (old bridge), packed with tiny workhouse cottages, once the home of slaughterers and offal sellers, who were moved across the river by the Medici to rid the city of their stench. And so the goldsmiths and jewellers could move in.

I loved every minute of Florence. It was like stepping back in time. Home of the much maligned Medici, who though they spawned some of the most ambitious and ruthless nobles (in a time known for ruthless ambition), also sired the Renaissance and nurtured the likes of Raphael, Michelangelo and Da Vinci in the cradle of the Tuscan capital.

Heaven only knows what Florence has been or done since, but the city is a living tribute to those heydays and you cant help be awed by the glorious marble faced duomo, the Signoria (home of one of Europe's first and most powerful democracies) with its replica David, the original itself, carefully repaired, and the stunning Pietra Dura, or stone pictures, that face the Medici tombs. The greatest though, Lorenzo Il Magnifico and his adored, murdered brother Giuliano, lie in an adjacent room, guarded by mad Michelangelo's inspired statues: Night and Day, Dusk and Dawn. Although they don't let you take photos of any of that. *sulks* We stopped often for eating and drinking: roast bunny with all its innards, salsicce e fagioli (anyone who imagines that tinned 'sausage and beans' can in any way compare to this simple tuscan masterpiece is dreaming), prosecco, more superTuscan red, cocktails by the Signoria at sunset. The Ponte Vecchio, countless Palazzi, shops and markets, we walked til our feet were sore and drank til our tongues were tired.

And yet we barely touched the surface. Ants and I came away with a long list of places to see next time, a horseback tour of vineyards, a day trip to Pisa,, the famed Uffizi, the Hawkwood painting at the Duomo (which was closed to the public for the weekend)... And that's before we returned to Rome and learned there was an armour museum we'd never even heard of.

I can't wait to go back.