Typical- we move to a country more likely to produce snow on Christmas Day and the whole of Europe- including the UK turns white the week before Christmas
It’s been strange being so far from home at Christmas, but Praise the Lord for Skype. I seem to have spent most of my time on the computer chatting to friends back home.
Christmas really began here for me with school assembly which is a good traditional place to start. Less usual was it being held on a Saturday morning in the outdoor tent just outside the school. It had also snowed heavily overnight and fog had descended over Magenta. Undeterred Tara & I donned our salopettes, thick winter jackets, gloves and hats. I had 2 scarves on which may seem excessive but I was cosy. The blokes in the family rolled their eyes at our yeti outfits but I was vindicated when having trekked the 3 minute walk to the tent I saw another woman equally attired.
School assemblies are the same the world over. The first year group stood up with 4 large cards with P E R U on them. ‘Ah ah’ I thought, ‘countries of the world’. Slightly bemused as to the relevance of Peru to the birth of Jesus, but I was willing to go with it. The next country was N N A T. Now my Italian is not brilliant but I know there are no words beginning with NN in the Italian language and there are no countries beginning with NN either, well not to my knowledge. Turns out the posters say ‘Per Un Natale Migliore’, for a better Christmas. Each class did a turn and in the grand honoured tradition of assemblies one class had to play the recorders. They are no better played in Italian than in English which is re-assuring.
Two hours later, with a brief unofficial break at the coffee bar the other side of the piazza the assembly finished with a rendition of ‘We are the world’ and all the parents joined in. After 9 months here, I was stood arm in arm with one of my Italian friends (we were trying to keep warm) singing away and of course I was in tears that I had after all the hard work, made some lovely friends, my language skills were coming on albeit slowly and I was feeling fairly settled here.
Snow on a flood plain does not leave much scope for sledging down hills; albeit we have the Alps as a backdrop but they are not immediately available after a snow storm, but the park is good for snow angels and snow rugby.
The crib in the piazza has become more authentically Christmassy by the addition of snow and ice in the manger. I have resisted the urge to cut holly from the decoration around the crib, it being the only holly I can find around here. Although given the amount of foliage around the crib I feel I could cut a couple of sprigs without anyone noticing, it was succinctly pointed out to me that God would notice so this year we are holly free in the house.
There are a number of cribs around the town, our favourite has been voted as the crib in the military camp where the crib has been expanded to include a few houses from Bethlehem and placed between 2 decommissioned field guns.
Christmas Eve not unsurprisingly heralds bells from San Martino. They began at 10pm, and were fairly continuous until gone midnight.
Christmas Day here has been fairly normal for Christmas. The children were up at 6.30 and had the presents opened by quarter past seven. We went for our Christmas walk minus the dog, and only around the town as it was too foggy to venture anywhere beautiful. The oven performed well enough to cook the turkey, but thanks to the quirks of the flat when I blow dried my hair I had to turn the oven off so I didn’t blow the electrics. Which also meant I didn’t get a cup of tea once the oven was on and breakfast was over, which in turn meant I started on the Prosecco slightly earlier than normal, so it wasn’t all bad!
The sun came out at midday and started to melt the snow, and for 10 minutes in the sun it felt a tiny bit warm. I did want to eat Christmas Dinner out on the balcony but I am using it the moment as my other fridge at the moment so it probably wise that we stayed indoors.
It does feel like we are a thousand miles from home, but as a one off its fine. And I think I will look back with fondness at my Christmas in Magenta.
Buon Natale
Signora McManoos
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
A sort of social life part 2
So having met one of the founding members of The English Club of Magenta I was fortunate enough to be invited out to an English Ladies night out, which involved pizza, wine and more importantly talking in my own language for a whole night. This proves an exciting a proposition for me and whilst getting ready I realise I haven’t worn make-up since arriving in Magenta: eyeliner and lip gloss do not count. The reason I realise this is because I cannot find my make-up. It takes me ages searching in the bathroom to finally find it in with the candles? Not sure where my thought process was going with that decision. I decide to wear my (not very) high heels, which with my grey jeans and LK Bennett top represent my smartest casual outfit. However I am still running round dishing out kisses and good nights when the bell rings and I am off down the stairs going out. For a meal. With girlfriends. In English. I rush so much that I practically fall down the last flight of stairs as my bootcut jeans and heels catch together. It is also the first time I have worn heels since arriving in Magenta.
I am driven the short distance to the restaurant and am introduced to the English Ladies, and one Dad who is over from England for a brief holiday. I am, as usual, on my best behaviour and am soon deep in polite conversation with my new found friends. I meet one woman who lived in Alresford as a child, at least 20 miles from Fleet and another who is the current organiser of events for the English Club. On hearing I am a Police Officer in my previous life in England she quickly signs me up for a talk to the Club about life as a Police Officer on the grounds it will be interesting. Knowing a) my career path and b) my speaking abilities I doubt it, but am far too British to refuse. We swap email addresses and within a week I am booked into the November slot for ‘My life as a Police Officer’. On the positive it is another night out and is in English. However, I have to prepare a talk. Power point is the answer and with a complete disregard for the title I gen up on the history of the police, the time line of police woman being allowed to join and our family history of policing which stretches back to 1912. Lots of photos of police officers, a few of me and some beautiful shots of Hampshire, a map of the area I work in and I am done. All bar the talking.
Not knowing my audience I am fairly nervous, but as they arrive I relax slightly. I know a few of them from the English Ladies night, there are a few Italians and I am speaking to no more than 30. It’s not unlike a neighbourhood watch meeting without the crime statistics. I start talking and am within 30 seconds completely in my element telling stories of my family, the history of policing, British police dramas and some stories of my career that I have not prepared and goodness knows how I have remembered them. The only famous person I have ever met in my career is Will Carling. When his photo appears on my power point and I begin to explain he was once captain of the England Rugby Team I hear the word Diana, and realise his fame abroad is due to him being marked as one of Lady Di’s men.
The poor people who are listening don’t see me draw breath. It’s been over 8 months since I stood and spoke in my mother tongue and the English Club of Magenta are on the receiving end of all those months of stilted conversation, mute coffee with my Mums and general quietness on my part, which is not a role I am suited to.
Forty-five minutes later, I click on the final slide and finally stop. Forty-five minutes. Mamma mia, that is a lot of pent up conversation on my part.
Four days later I am out again. This is very close to a real social life. I have been invited to a concert at the local theatre. Thanks to my poor Italian I’m not really sure what for, but I know it’s part of the Arte & Vita group that both T&T have joined for guitar and dance lessons. I decline the invitation on behalf of the rest of the family as the start time is 9pm, and once again kiss goodnight to pyjamaed children before heading out with 2 of my school Mums. The theatre is packed and we are ushered to the third row from the front for what I am informed is to be a local choir concert. We will have the San Martino choir, a Gospel Choir, the Alpini group also sing, a total of 8 choirs each singing 2 or 3 songs. This is no short evening. The event is being held for a local hospital voluntary organisation and the head of the group is introduced and is given the microphone to explain where the money is going or what the organisation is about. I have no idea what being said and 10 minutes in whisper ‘Io non capito’(I don’t understand) to my friend. She giggles ‘Anche io’ (Me neither) back, and 20 minutes later the speech with very heartfelt applause is over.
The first choir come on and are introduced. They are very stern, serious looking and stiff; about 20 choristers, 2 guitarists and a pianist. The pianist begins and then the guitarists join in. One remains ramrod straight as he strums away, the younger of the 2 however seems to think this is an audition for X factor and is feeling and expressing every chord. He bends his knees, clutches and moves his guitar in tune to something clearly in his head as opposed to what’s being played and his face contorts in harmony with his knee bending. My friend and I start giggling and being so close to the front and in view of the stage end up shaking with laughter. Two songs from this choir and we are enjoying ourselves.
Each choir is preceded with a 10 minute introduction and much tooing and froing of piano’s and conductors. One choir is stopped by the conductor as a note seems to have been sung wrong, and they have to start again. The Alpini choir all stand with their hats complete with feathers and bob happily in time to the music. The one woman in the choir for the soprano notes is not allowed to wear a hat as she is a woman. This is the only explanation I am given, it seems enough to an Italian, but my linguistic skills fail me beyond Perché and doesn’t seem quite good enough to me.
The highlight of the evening is a local Gospel choir who are quite frankly brilliant. They sing a beautiful version of Go tell it on the mountain and for their final song a new arrangement of Freddie Mercury’s ‘Somebody to love’. All well and good; until one of the choristers sits astride a bongo during a ‘Find me somebody to love’ refrain. My eyebrows shoot up and I cannot for of the life of me think of the Italian for ‘I’m not entirely comfortable with that’. He however is looking entirely comfortable with his situation, even with a couple of hundred people looking on.
So it’s all over bar the thanks and flowers, which means we leave the theatre at gone midnight and the only other people out on the streets are slightly inebriated teenagers who are zigzagging their way home. Whereas I a respectable married woman has spent a diverting night at the local theatre without a drop of wine to assist my enjoyment and had a genuinely enjoyable night out. I must be getting old.
I am driven the short distance to the restaurant and am introduced to the English Ladies, and one Dad who is over from England for a brief holiday. I am, as usual, on my best behaviour and am soon deep in polite conversation with my new found friends. I meet one woman who lived in Alresford as a child, at least 20 miles from Fleet and another who is the current organiser of events for the English Club. On hearing I am a Police Officer in my previous life in England she quickly signs me up for a talk to the Club about life as a Police Officer on the grounds it will be interesting. Knowing a) my career path and b) my speaking abilities I doubt it, but am far too British to refuse. We swap email addresses and within a week I am booked into the November slot for ‘My life as a Police Officer’. On the positive it is another night out and is in English. However, I have to prepare a talk. Power point is the answer and with a complete disregard for the title I gen up on the history of the police, the time line of police woman being allowed to join and our family history of policing which stretches back to 1912. Lots of photos of police officers, a few of me and some beautiful shots of Hampshire, a map of the area I work in and I am done. All bar the talking.
Not knowing my audience I am fairly nervous, but as they arrive I relax slightly. I know a few of them from the English Ladies night, there are a few Italians and I am speaking to no more than 30. It’s not unlike a neighbourhood watch meeting without the crime statistics. I start talking and am within 30 seconds completely in my element telling stories of my family, the history of policing, British police dramas and some stories of my career that I have not prepared and goodness knows how I have remembered them. The only famous person I have ever met in my career is Will Carling. When his photo appears on my power point and I begin to explain he was once captain of the England Rugby Team I hear the word Diana, and realise his fame abroad is due to him being marked as one of Lady Di’s men.
The poor people who are listening don’t see me draw breath. It’s been over 8 months since I stood and spoke in my mother tongue and the English Club of Magenta are on the receiving end of all those months of stilted conversation, mute coffee with my Mums and general quietness on my part, which is not a role I am suited to.
Forty-five minutes later, I click on the final slide and finally stop. Forty-five minutes. Mamma mia, that is a lot of pent up conversation on my part.
Four days later I am out again. This is very close to a real social life. I have been invited to a concert at the local theatre. Thanks to my poor Italian I’m not really sure what for, but I know it’s part of the Arte & Vita group that both T&T have joined for guitar and dance lessons. I decline the invitation on behalf of the rest of the family as the start time is 9pm, and once again kiss goodnight to pyjamaed children before heading out with 2 of my school Mums. The theatre is packed and we are ushered to the third row from the front for what I am informed is to be a local choir concert. We will have the San Martino choir, a Gospel Choir, the Alpini group also sing, a total of 8 choirs each singing 2 or 3 songs. This is no short evening. The event is being held for a local hospital voluntary organisation and the head of the group is introduced and is given the microphone to explain where the money is going or what the organisation is about. I have no idea what being said and 10 minutes in whisper ‘Io non capito’(I don’t understand) to my friend. She giggles ‘Anche io’ (Me neither) back, and 20 minutes later the speech with very heartfelt applause is over.
The first choir come on and are introduced. They are very stern, serious looking and stiff; about 20 choristers, 2 guitarists and a pianist. The pianist begins and then the guitarists join in. One remains ramrod straight as he strums away, the younger of the 2 however seems to think this is an audition for X factor and is feeling and expressing every chord. He bends his knees, clutches and moves his guitar in tune to something clearly in his head as opposed to what’s being played and his face contorts in harmony with his knee bending. My friend and I start giggling and being so close to the front and in view of the stage end up shaking with laughter. Two songs from this choir and we are enjoying ourselves.
Each choir is preceded with a 10 minute introduction and much tooing and froing of piano’s and conductors. One choir is stopped by the conductor as a note seems to have been sung wrong, and they have to start again. The Alpini choir all stand with their hats complete with feathers and bob happily in time to the music. The one woman in the choir for the soprano notes is not allowed to wear a hat as she is a woman. This is the only explanation I am given, it seems enough to an Italian, but my linguistic skills fail me beyond Perché and doesn’t seem quite good enough to me.
The highlight of the evening is a local Gospel choir who are quite frankly brilliant. They sing a beautiful version of Go tell it on the mountain and for their final song a new arrangement of Freddie Mercury’s ‘Somebody to love’. All well and good; until one of the choristers sits astride a bongo during a ‘Find me somebody to love’ refrain. My eyebrows shoot up and I cannot for of the life of me think of the Italian for ‘I’m not entirely comfortable with that’. He however is looking entirely comfortable with his situation, even with a couple of hundred people looking on.
So it’s all over bar the thanks and flowers, which means we leave the theatre at gone midnight and the only other people out on the streets are slightly inebriated teenagers who are zigzagging their way home. Whereas I a respectable married woman has spent a diverting night at the local theatre without a drop of wine to assist my enjoyment and had a genuinely enjoyable night out. I must be getting old.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Christmas is Coming
Christmas arrived in Magenta today: we have over the last few weeks seen the lights go up and be switched on, decorations appear in shop windows and the children have been learning various Christmas songs at school however it has all been fairly muted with Iper the local supermarket only smothering the shop floor with Christmas goods during the last fortnight.
The Garden Centre has been set up for the last 2 months with the most complete display of Christmas decorations I have ever seen. Rooms are themed according to colour to start with, all fairly predictable: White, Silver, Gold, Red, Cream/ Coffee with Espresso and Cappuccino mug bauble available at a trifling €13 a piece. A blue fish theme threw me slightly, but plenty of Christmas animals seem covered such as Polar Bears, Owls, Penguins, so why not fish? American decorations are popular with Fabulous Las Vegas, New York, Simpsons, Betty Boop and Coca Cola baubles all available at a price.
But the real excess comes in the Nativity Scene department. Whole walls are given over to the Nativity, where, not content with a manger the whole town of Bethlehem is depicted in various sizes, and numerous houses, animals, characters and pizza ovens with flickering lights can be bought. Not wishing to be out done I have added to my piccolo manger by purchasing 2 Roman Centurions who seem integral to any Christmas story here. I also want a pizza oven as now I am firmly of the opinion that Christmas in Bethlehem wasn’t Christmas without its own pizza oven (yes I know that Christmas was more likely to have been in September due to the census etc, and that it is a hi-jacked pagan festival).
The arrival of Christmas here was a fairly formal affair, Banda Civica marched along via Garibaldi to the piazza, where having circumnavigated the ice rink they set up opposite the nativity scene that has been built complete with water feature but minus an all important pizza oven or Roman centurion. The band then proceeded to take us through some well worn classics such as Jingle Bells, I’m dreaming of a White Christmas and the First Noel. The square was packed, the ice rink was surrounded by on lookers. Closer inspection of the ice skaters revealed that they were covered in make-up and glitter, and seemed highly inappropriately dressed for the weather. Some pseudo professionals had hit the ice. Wandering over to the nativity scene we were stopped by barriers. Clearly there was going to be an official opening of the manger. Just as this was getting boring Don Mario our main priest of Magenta rushed up and was ushered onto main stage. He apologised for being late, unusual I thought given nothing starts on time here, but further explained he had hot-footed it straight from a Baptism. This is better than an official opening; we had a blessing on our hands. The Don gave a quick speech/sermon and then we all made the sign of the Cross, recited a quick Our Father, a Preghiamo (let us pray) and we were done. Christmas was officially here in Magenta. We had a bag of hot chestnuts to celebrate and went to watch the ice skaters who Tangoed, Bohemian Rhapsodied, Can canned and Flamingoed their way around the ice.
We have put our lights up around the balcone and I have lights in my olive tree which is very exciting.
The weather has turned itself down a few more degrees again, with frosty mornings and sunshine. The Fur Coats are out with a vengeance. Its big coat weather here from now on and snow is forecast for next week. Whether it arrives is another matter but it’s on its way. Hooray.
The Garden Centre has been set up for the last 2 months with the most complete display of Christmas decorations I have ever seen. Rooms are themed according to colour to start with, all fairly predictable: White, Silver, Gold, Red, Cream/ Coffee with Espresso and Cappuccino mug bauble available at a trifling €13 a piece. A blue fish theme threw me slightly, but plenty of Christmas animals seem covered such as Polar Bears, Owls, Penguins, so why not fish? American decorations are popular with Fabulous Las Vegas, New York, Simpsons, Betty Boop and Coca Cola baubles all available at a price.
But the real excess comes in the Nativity Scene department. Whole walls are given over to the Nativity, where, not content with a manger the whole town of Bethlehem is depicted in various sizes, and numerous houses, animals, characters and pizza ovens with flickering lights can be bought. Not wishing to be out done I have added to my piccolo manger by purchasing 2 Roman Centurions who seem integral to any Christmas story here. I also want a pizza oven as now I am firmly of the opinion that Christmas in Bethlehem wasn’t Christmas without its own pizza oven (yes I know that Christmas was more likely to have been in September due to the census etc, and that it is a hi-jacked pagan festival).
The arrival of Christmas here was a fairly formal affair, Banda Civica marched along via Garibaldi to the piazza, where having circumnavigated the ice rink they set up opposite the nativity scene that has been built complete with water feature but minus an all important pizza oven or Roman centurion. The band then proceeded to take us through some well worn classics such as Jingle Bells, I’m dreaming of a White Christmas and the First Noel. The square was packed, the ice rink was surrounded by on lookers. Closer inspection of the ice skaters revealed that they were covered in make-up and glitter, and seemed highly inappropriately dressed for the weather. Some pseudo professionals had hit the ice. Wandering over to the nativity scene we were stopped by barriers. Clearly there was going to be an official opening of the manger. Just as this was getting boring Don Mario our main priest of Magenta rushed up and was ushered onto main stage. He apologised for being late, unusual I thought given nothing starts on time here, but further explained he had hot-footed it straight from a Baptism. This is better than an official opening; we had a blessing on our hands. The Don gave a quick speech/sermon and then we all made the sign of the Cross, recited a quick Our Father, a Preghiamo (let us pray) and we were done. Christmas was officially here in Magenta. We had a bag of hot chestnuts to celebrate and went to watch the ice skaters who Tangoed, Bohemian Rhapsodied, Can canned and Flamingoed their way around the ice.
We have put our lights up around the balcone and I have lights in my olive tree which is very exciting.
The weather has turned itself down a few more degrees again, with frosty mornings and sunshine. The Fur Coats are out with a vengeance. Its big coat weather here from now on and snow is forecast for next week. Whether it arrives is another matter but it’s on its way. Hooray.
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