It’s February and therefore time for the first festival of the year in Magenta.
Obviously falling on the 6th January Epiphany is technically the first festival but as it is wrapped up in Christmas and New Year doesn’t quite count for me. It probably counts for Italians.
San Biagio, as you are probably aware, is the patron saint of throat diseases. He apparently is very good at getting fish bones stuck in the throat loose. He was martyred in the third century and came from Armenia. At some point in the distant past his body ended up in Italy. His feast day is the 3rd February and somewhere along the line of tradition the blessing of the throats which was an original intention of Biagio has morphed into the blessing and eating of leftover Christmas Panettone.
Magenta is lucky enough to have a relic of Biagio which is safely stored with the Nuns in the convent. I think it’s a small piece of cloth, it is very small and stored in a cross which is shown once a year to the faithful and the faithful are able to kiss the relic. On the 3rd February. There is also a large market that takes up a large part of the town centre and at 3 o’clock in the afternoon, in front of San Martino church a ceremony of the blessing of the Panattone and a free slice of cake.
I am assured by a friend that the curing of bad throats is not true, it is just a tradition. I am as you can imagine greatly saddened by this as I feel throat cures could take a leap forward, but none the less I am over-excited by the first festival of the season.
I discover on the Monday before the Wednesday that Daughter in scuola primaria gets a day off for this, only Magenta, because we have a relic. Son, in scuola media however, does not which at 11years old is apparently SO UNFAIR.
Wednesday morning and having had a lovely little lie-in and dragged daughter away from the telly we wander around the market. The piazza can take a decent sized market but this spread out of the centre, towards the convent and random streets off the piazza. It was an uninspiring start of cleaning product stalls and standard market clothe stalls to be found every Monday at the market, although I was very tempted by some duster slippers.
A few chestnut stalls, strung like garlic started the more traditional products and then branched out into Sicilian sweet stalls with luscious fruits made from marzipan, cheese stalls from different regions of Italy and Salami stalls resplendent with Boar and Deer heads. Mixed in was a tractor corner, in a car park that we had never seen before, a rabbit stall that we hoped were for pets not food as they were uber cute bunnies and a chocolate stall that all looked like proper tools, with edible silver and cocoa powder used to give a realistic finish to the spanners and hammers. It took over an hour to wander round.
We passed the convent with the relic, but there was a queue to get inside so we carried on our way. Certain this was our one and only opportunity of the year to get inside where the Nuns live we completed the circuit and were back outside the convent just after midday when I knew everyone would be on their way home for lunch. No queue and so we were in. Small chapels I think are very atmospheric, and have often been built for a family so are ornate. This was no exception with the ceiling and walls all painted with scenes of Saints lives, and although I was unable to pick him out, I would guess Biagio was one of them.
Despite her sore throat Daughter refused to kiss the relic, but was prepared to light a candle and then we were invited by the cluster of nuns (collective noun possibly a rosary) to the gymnasium for a tombola. The convent doubles as a school, so fundraising opportunities abound.
Generosity being one of my strong points I paid for a single white ticket which was the cheapest available at €2 and we looked for number 379. Which after smiley Nun had searched turned out to be 6 (old dusty) small glasses for juice as the packaging informed us and a book on the National Parks of Italy. Not a tombola combination that immediately springs to mind; but the photos of the parks are lovely, although my quick flick through the book has not yet yielded a handy map of said parks. The glasses have been added to our increasing glass collection thanks to the fact that Nutella do a glass range and we have Pink Panther and Peanuts Nutella glasses for juice. They have been christened the Nun glasses.
As the tombola was obviously not a child’s present, Daughter was handed a pink balloon, which we both would have been happier with in the first place and would have been down on some clutter for the house as well.
We bumped into some friends who also had a balloon and discovered they had ‘won’ a cooker hood filter, so on balance I feel we did ok from the tombola.
So only one event left for San Biagio; the blessing of the panattone. So at 3.30 I skip over to the front of the basilica, to watch the proceedings. Don Mario our head priest was scurrying into the side door as I walked past so no rush.
The front of the basilica was full. A few trestle tables were laid out in front of the church steps, the local volunteer Fire Service were on standby to hold back the crowds and see fair play in the cake slices. The mayor of Magenta had his Italian official sash on and a van stood to one side with its back covered in tarpaulin. The make-up of the crowd fell into 2 camps. Old women mainly bedecked in fur and mothers with young children. A few men stood off to one side chatting, but it seemed to me they had just transferred their daily chat from the piazza to the basilica for variety.
I, like a good ‘I’ve lived here for nearly a year; I know how this goes’ non Italian, hustled my way centre and a few rows back and got my camera out. The mayor was waiting, the mayor’s wife was filming, the crowd was getting impatient and Don Mario wasn’t appearing. We (as in just the 4 of us) don’t call him ‘X factor Don’ for nothing; just as impatient turned to restless the doors opened and with Vestments being adjusted he had arrived.
As the mayor thanked us all for coming and IPER the supermarket for providing the leftover panattone, Don Mario looked out a suitable prayer in his missal; then taking the microphone he began.
We all made the sign of the cross and the Our Father was recited. Then raising his hands the blessing of the panattone was underway, he then turned and blessed the van, and the providers of the panattone IPER.
Another quick sign of the cross and it was over. The tarpaulin was thrown back and piccolo panattone’s were being dished out. A more unseemly scrum I have not seen in a long while, and we are Welsh rugby fans. The scene reminded me of pictures of Haiti that have been flashing across our screens recently. I was not prepared to put myself in that crush just for a slice of cake that was missing the all important topping of mascarpone, icing sugar and limoncello (all mixed together, scrumptious).
By ten to four I was back in the house and San Biagio is over for another year. I have left over Chocolate Christmas Cake; I should have taken it along.
Daughter’s sore throat was gone by the next day, there may be something in it!
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Picnic by a canal
The list of places to visit here is almost endless, even though we have a 3 hr driving limit for weekends. Hubby wants to visit Venice, we last visited 21 years ago whilst Inter-railing a concept both children found hard to believe and I remember Venice as hot, smelly and well you’ve seen a couple of canals and you get the picture. Hubby returned during a work trip to Mestre with 2 blokes, one recently divorced in January a few years ago and loved it. Found a locals trattoria, an empty San Marco piazza and loads of atmosphere. I am unconvinced but the history of Venice is good enough to put the children through a visit. We book for Carnival which although will be busy will at least detract from the gondola/canal /tourist trap and add another dimension to our visit. We are booked off island over night and I plan an alternative for the Sunday in case we feel we have done enough of Venice on the Saturday. I am told by my Magenta Mums that Venice is bella, but Carnevale will be pieno (full). I read that the police have been known to close the link road during Carnevale , great 2 small children, one of whom does not like masks (too much Dr Who) and half of the world on a island known to be sinking. This gets better.
Ever the Brit I pack a picnic for the weekend so we do not have to fork out for endless cokes and crisps at tourist rates, get my DK and Rough Guide books ready and after negioating the snow and fog that invaded Magenta on the Friday day and night we are off.
We arrive at our hotel after sat nav attempted to take us to Austria, re-pack the picnic that was practically eaten by 2 well fed children during the journey, buy the 24hr passes for the buses (land & water)- no discount for children (€72 in all), get the umbrella out as it is raining and jump on the bus to Venezia. I was under the impression, no idea how, that we would have to catch a bus to a railway station and then catch a train to the island. I think its because Alan Bennett mentioned catching the train to the island, but how this translated to being the only form of land transport to the island I am unsure. ‘How will we know when we get to the right stop?’ I query. ‘Well, its the end of the road, we’ll be on an island and there’ll be boats’ is the incredulous response from my husband. Not unreasonably it turns out.
Tickets are validated at 12.30. 24hrs and counting. I haven’t forgotten plan B.
Bus Stations are generally not the best view of a town, but in Venice the charm and difference of the town are immediately tangible. A beautiful half glass bridge spans the Grand canal, water taxis stream up and down and the masks are already on show on people not just stalls. Wheeled suitcases are being dragged from buses to water taxis regardless of the quality of the accommodation chosen or the age or quality of the tourist. Venice seems very democratic to its tourists as few take the gondola option for a trip to the hotel.
We pile onto a waterbus and head out back in the drizzle and the cold, but we are all excited by the water and the noise of the boat and slowly but noisily make our way along the Grand Canal to San Marco Piazzia. We spy a few costumes and a huge poster of Emma Watson on the side of a building. ‘Hermione’ screams my daughter. A positive for Venice somewhat unintentionally via Harry Potter.
San Marco is busy, there is a queue for the church, its raining and cold but there are enough people and tourists in costumes and masks to improve the view. The blue clock is instantly recognised as the clock broken by James Bond in one of the films, and the piazzia is equally known to my 11yr old boy. He is told after 10 minutes of James Bond scene recitals BASTA. The children are fascinated by the masks and my daughter wants to get one and wear one. It seems that already we are shopping when we should be sightseeing.
Our shopping trip nets a white & glittery mask for daughter who not 2 hours ago was stating her dislike for face coverings. My daughter has joined the carnival. We tick off San Marco’s and start to wander. 1 coffee stop (and a loo break) later we are back on the boats taking a trip to Murano for some glass blowing. We are urged to turn left as we disembark onto Murano and are herded to a glass blowing centre where because there are not enough tourists no glass blowing takes place. Feeling very uncharitably towards the island we continue our walk and it slowly reveals itself to be a quiet, almost serene island still with a local life full of the most beautiful glass and a co-op. We spy children on a scooter and skateboard which I feel surrounded by water must concentrate the mind somewhat and an ambulance on route to somewhere with its blue lights flashing. We retrace our boat steps back to Venice and wander slowly towards the Rialto Bridge. The streets are quiet, inhabitated only by locals completed with shopping trolleys laden with food, walking dogs and the occasional costume on route to the carnival. We peak inside one church which it seems is trying to be the coldest church in the world as we can see our breath as we walk around. Outside seems warm again. We turn a corner and are back in tourist land. Costumes and Masks are being worn from the elaborate full 17th Century Venetian lace and silk to home -made Nuns outfits. We spot a 4-5 year old girl dressed in a chicken outfit made entirely from clear plastic gloves used in the fruit & veg section of supermarkets. She looks fab. We are in the middle of a party & and only 1 of us has joined in so far.
By the time we reach Rialto Bridge I have a mask on. I am no longer a tourist, I have joined the carnival. We stop for dinner feeling we have earned our bottle of wine/coke and shortly after we resume boy has a mask & has also joined the party. Husband refuses to join in on the grounds he wears glasses but the rest of us know his real mask is his camera which rarely leaves his face at tourist destinations.
Back to San Marco for a quick night time stroll soaking up the atmosphere and watching the world go by and then a water and land bus back to the hotel. We are asleep in minutes. Plan B has been abandoned in favour of another day on Venice.
Thirteen hours later we are back on bus ready with our masks to re-join the party. Its the official start of the carnival at midday & costumes are everywhere on the bus. Feeling completely expert as we jump on the water bus we push our way straight to the back of the boat and I get a seat. The seat next to me has a small black Chanel bag on it and the coiffured fur coated lady it belongs to refuses to move it until her equally elegant friend joins her. They then chatter continuously completely ignoring the carnival and beauty around them, the sun is shining, the canals are full of small boats with masked venetians, Spiderman, British Police uniforms, packs of cards and clowns but the woes of Venice are being right in the 15 minute journey to San Marco. We arrive in San Marco just after midday. It is beyond packed and we don’t even try to get on the square. We don’t need to. The carnival is all around and we spend the next hour taking photos of the children with various more extravagant and elegant costumes. We reach the piazzia next to the Grand Canal and as the sun is shining and there is small bridge calling out to be sat on we stop and have lunch. The children haven't stopped smiling.
I love a picnic. I love the randomness of the locations you can stop. I love the views as you are sat eating, and I love that other nations don’t get it. So what if its February, it doesn’t have to be sunny, it normally isn’t even dry when we picnic and if I have to wrap a blanket (or spare coat) round my knees to keep warm whilst eating who cares. I’m sat in the fresh air with a walk completed and another one to look forward to with a view. Today our picnic was in the sun, by a canal, it was warm (in the sun) and the view was of the Venetian world walking past. What more could you want with a cheese roll, an apple and a packet of crisps (Actually a cafe nearby for a coffee & a pee would be good would make it perfect but it was close to perfection).
It was during the picnic that we broke the news to the children that the 24hr bus passes had run out and we were walking back to the station. Once the initial and inevitable confusion of ‘No not the hotel- where we got OFF THE BUS’ was over, maps were produced for them to navigate us through the streets and canals. Perfect navigation took us passed a geletaria with fabulous chocolate orange gelato and through streets littered with locals enjoying the sun. Santa Margarita had its own party just starting up as we left.
There’s still so much more to Venice that I now need to see, I haven’t stepped inside a gallery or a scuole or numerous churches but my son is determined to live in Venice when he’s older so I should have somewhere to stay.
Plan B is still on the list.
Buona Festa
Ever the Brit I pack a picnic for the weekend so we do not have to fork out for endless cokes and crisps at tourist rates, get my DK and Rough Guide books ready and after negioating the snow and fog that invaded Magenta on the Friday day and night we are off.
We arrive at our hotel after sat nav attempted to take us to Austria, re-pack the picnic that was practically eaten by 2 well fed children during the journey, buy the 24hr passes for the buses (land & water)- no discount for children (€72 in all), get the umbrella out as it is raining and jump on the bus to Venezia. I was under the impression, no idea how, that we would have to catch a bus to a railway station and then catch a train to the island. I think its because Alan Bennett mentioned catching the train to the island, but how this translated to being the only form of land transport to the island I am unsure. ‘How will we know when we get to the right stop?’ I query. ‘Well, its the end of the road, we’ll be on an island and there’ll be boats’ is the incredulous response from my husband. Not unreasonably it turns out.
Tickets are validated at 12.30. 24hrs and counting. I haven’t forgotten plan B.
Bus Stations are generally not the best view of a town, but in Venice the charm and difference of the town are immediately tangible. A beautiful half glass bridge spans the Grand canal, water taxis stream up and down and the masks are already on show on people not just stalls. Wheeled suitcases are being dragged from buses to water taxis regardless of the quality of the accommodation chosen or the age or quality of the tourist. Venice seems very democratic to its tourists as few take the gondola option for a trip to the hotel.
We pile onto a waterbus and head out back in the drizzle and the cold, but we are all excited by the water and the noise of the boat and slowly but noisily make our way along the Grand Canal to San Marco Piazzia. We spy a few costumes and a huge poster of Emma Watson on the side of a building. ‘Hermione’ screams my daughter. A positive for Venice somewhat unintentionally via Harry Potter.
San Marco is busy, there is a queue for the church, its raining and cold but there are enough people and tourists in costumes and masks to improve the view. The blue clock is instantly recognised as the clock broken by James Bond in one of the films, and the piazzia is equally known to my 11yr old boy. He is told after 10 minutes of James Bond scene recitals BASTA. The children are fascinated by the masks and my daughter wants to get one and wear one. It seems that already we are shopping when we should be sightseeing.
Our shopping trip nets a white & glittery mask for daughter who not 2 hours ago was stating her dislike for face coverings. My daughter has joined the carnival. We tick off San Marco’s and start to wander. 1 coffee stop (and a loo break) later we are back on the boats taking a trip to Murano for some glass blowing. We are urged to turn left as we disembark onto Murano and are herded to a glass blowing centre where because there are not enough tourists no glass blowing takes place. Feeling very uncharitably towards the island we continue our walk and it slowly reveals itself to be a quiet, almost serene island still with a local life full of the most beautiful glass and a co-op. We spy children on a scooter and skateboard which I feel surrounded by water must concentrate the mind somewhat and an ambulance on route to somewhere with its blue lights flashing. We retrace our boat steps back to Venice and wander slowly towards the Rialto Bridge. The streets are quiet, inhabitated only by locals completed with shopping trolleys laden with food, walking dogs and the occasional costume on route to the carnival. We peak inside one church which it seems is trying to be the coldest church in the world as we can see our breath as we walk around. Outside seems warm again. We turn a corner and are back in tourist land. Costumes and Masks are being worn from the elaborate full 17th Century Venetian lace and silk to home -made Nuns outfits. We spot a 4-5 year old girl dressed in a chicken outfit made entirely from clear plastic gloves used in the fruit & veg section of supermarkets. She looks fab. We are in the middle of a party & and only 1 of us has joined in so far.
By the time we reach Rialto Bridge I have a mask on. I am no longer a tourist, I have joined the carnival. We stop for dinner feeling we have earned our bottle of wine/coke and shortly after we resume boy has a mask & has also joined the party. Husband refuses to join in on the grounds he wears glasses but the rest of us know his real mask is his camera which rarely leaves his face at tourist destinations.
Back to San Marco for a quick night time stroll soaking up the atmosphere and watching the world go by and then a water and land bus back to the hotel. We are asleep in minutes. Plan B has been abandoned in favour of another day on Venice.
Thirteen hours later we are back on bus ready with our masks to re-join the party. Its the official start of the carnival at midday & costumes are everywhere on the bus. Feeling completely expert as we jump on the water bus we push our way straight to the back of the boat and I get a seat. The seat next to me has a small black Chanel bag on it and the coiffured fur coated lady it belongs to refuses to move it until her equally elegant friend joins her. They then chatter continuously completely ignoring the carnival and beauty around them, the sun is shining, the canals are full of small boats with masked venetians, Spiderman, British Police uniforms, packs of cards and clowns but the woes of Venice are being right in the 15 minute journey to San Marco. We arrive in San Marco just after midday. It is beyond packed and we don’t even try to get on the square. We don’t need to. The carnival is all around and we spend the next hour taking photos of the children with various more extravagant and elegant costumes. We reach the piazzia next to the Grand Canal and as the sun is shining and there is small bridge calling out to be sat on we stop and have lunch. The children haven't stopped smiling.
I love a picnic. I love the randomness of the locations you can stop. I love the views as you are sat eating, and I love that other nations don’t get it. So what if its February, it doesn’t have to be sunny, it normally isn’t even dry when we picnic and if I have to wrap a blanket (or spare coat) round my knees to keep warm whilst eating who cares. I’m sat in the fresh air with a walk completed and another one to look forward to with a view. Today our picnic was in the sun, by a canal, it was warm (in the sun) and the view was of the Venetian world walking past. What more could you want with a cheese roll, an apple and a packet of crisps (Actually a cafe nearby for a coffee & a pee would be good would make it perfect but it was close to perfection).
It was during the picnic that we broke the news to the children that the 24hr bus passes had run out and we were walking back to the station. Once the initial and inevitable confusion of ‘No not the hotel- where we got OFF THE BUS’ was over, maps were produced for them to navigate us through the streets and canals. Perfect navigation took us passed a geletaria with fabulous chocolate orange gelato and through streets littered with locals enjoying the sun. Santa Margarita had its own party just starting up as we left.
There’s still so much more to Venice that I now need to see, I haven’t stepped inside a gallery or a scuole or numerous churches but my son is determined to live in Venice when he’s older so I should have somewhere to stay.
Plan B is still on the list.
Buona Festa
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