Juliet writes:
Cara amici,
Evviva!!! Blow your trumpets, knit some pompoms, hug random strangers and open that bottle of 1973 Chateaux De Hoorah, building work has started at Ca’ dei Lecci!!!
After fraught negotiations with the geometra on the morning of Monday 23rd we were finally given permission to turn the dust pit into a rubble pit. Building signs were quickly purchased, filled in and hung up (obligatory here). The bricks, cement and sand (oh what a beautiful sight) arrived in the afternoon and the builders began at the crack of dawn on Tuesday. Finally, after a mere ten months of waiting, we are beginning to realise our dream. And we are just staggered as to how much they have achieved in only 10 days.
Ukranian brothers Stepan and Ivan (who I want to adopt because they are so lovely) must be the fastest builders in Italia. They work from 7am until 5pm, including Saturdays, with a few minutes break for lunch. Although they have been here for 15 years and speak Italian flawlessly, they are teaching us a few Ukranian words… in Italy with an Irishman for back-up. Just one of the many surprises in the last few days.
As you can see from the above pics, so far we are the proud owners of two new archways (from lounge to library and kitchen to dining room, well, dusty space to dusty space), a new en suite bathroom in one of the bedrooms, a larger landing window, a straighter cantina door, a new cloakroom loo and a lot of rubble. We have also lost 2 and a half walls, a chimney breast (to be replaced with a larger one), a casing full of asbestos, the remains of the old bathroom, many euros and some marbles.
I cannot begin to express how excited we are about all the activity after so much stagnation. Take this afternoon for example. We had an appointment at the house with our plumber Andrea. Prior to his arrival, we were chatting with Stepan about reinforcing the foundations at the back of the house, which is worth a little diversionary sentence. We didn’t know how to describe underpinning (apparently there isn’t a word for it in Italian) so P proudly announced in his best accent: ‘Sottopene’ – which I promptly informed him meant under-willy! Anyway, I digress. While we were sniggering, the electrician turned up with his nephew Stefano. As I vaguely remembered the Italian words for socket and ceiling, I took them around and set about marking the various plugs and points (I got some odd looks for wanting light switches inside rooms rather than outside and had a 15 minute heated discussion about the new Italian law which makes it compulsory to have alarm bells in every bathroom). Within a few minutes, the carpenter turned up with his assistant, shortly followed by Jim. I shoved them in the direction of Peter only to see Andrea walking up the garden path. And so it went on. At one point there were 10 men in our house (steady on girls!). The only one with an actual appointment had to wait an hour to have a proper conversation about waste pipes. He didn’t seem to mind too much, in fact worryingly he seemed to know more about electrics than the electrician. In Italy, everyone loves to dispense with advice. At one point 6 people were in our bedroom all loudly projecting their opinions on where we should put our ‘matrimonial’ bed, in order to fit it around the electrics. I don’t believe we had a say :o)
Like anywhere in the world, you always have to wait a long time for decent plumbers, but the highly recommended Andrea, much to our relief, will start laying pipes next week. I suppose that shows the downturn in the building industry as part of the global economic collapse. Or maybe just that he is keen to start as we are paying him the equivalent of the national debt of Iceland. Anyway, we like him, he is less than all the other quotes, is local and understands modern systems and newfangled things like solar panels (strangely a rarity here).
At this rate, we may even have a proper house (or, dare I say ‘villa’) in a month or two. Good job, as our first 2009 visitors are due in April and we are getting a bit fed up with the psychopathic shower, leaky taps, temperamental stufa and furry damp walls (really, they are actually furry) in the nunnery.
To save money and keep out of the way of drillbits and concussion-inducing bricks, P and I have been doing yet more gardening. Hubby had quite a scare last week when he was tidying up under a tree and saw a human hand poking out from the soil. He had visions of sordid murder mysteries and Hercule Poirot turning up at the door. Luckily, upon tentatively prodding it with a rake, he discovered it was plastic. We have absolutely no idea why, but the previous owners obviously thought it was a good idea to bury a female mannequin there, all chopped up into pieces. A traditional Italian ritual that we do not know about? A celebration of the patron saint of serial killers? Or just the work of a complete nutter? It will remain a mystery, but at least P has now uncovered and disposed of most of it. Further limbs to be revealed when we dig for the swimming pool.
Back to comparative normality, P helped me to turn over our veggie patch, complete with furrows. The earth is beautiful – just crammed with nutrients so no need for my compost heap afterall. Better still, my waistline is returning after hours of digging out pathways and laying bricks. I have even managed to sow a few seeds due to the glorious weather we had last week. First off, the taller, hardier stuff - tomatoes, peas, peppers and aubergines. Carrots, parsnips, radishes and shorter veg to follow next week, and then more in April. The Italians swear by lunar planting – for example, all the local seeds I’ve bought have symbols of half moons or waxing crescent moons on them under sowing instructions. Apparently this encourages growth and strength. I am a complete amateur in such a large and slightly wacky undertaking so if I manage to get one sprout I will be delighted.
I’ve also done about 150 cuttings for my box hedging to outline the kitchen garden. Need another 150 and the help of neighbour Ivan’s digger next week and then I can get cracking. Can’t wait as it will be the first formal area of the garden and I will almost be able to believe we live in a civilised palazzo, if I close one eye and drink enough wine.
We’ve also bought some bargain fruit trees from a local nursery to replace the old and rotten ones in the orchard. Two pears (William and Kaiser), a cherry and a plum with more to follow when we can afford it and when our backs can cope with yet more digging.
Meanwhile in the vineyard, thanks to the indispensable advice of neighbours Franco and Guiseppe, I’ve been pruning back hard and tying up the shoots for this year’s crop. Hard to do with only 5 rotten posts and just enough wire to knit a tetanus jumper. But that’s a project for next year. P got his chainsaw back and has spent a couple of days happily massacring the olive trees (apparently necessary for better fruit), while I’ve helped to de-ivy them – a mammoth task after years of neglect. At least Tumble, who walks with us to the house some days, thoroughly enjoys running up the trees between pruning shears and saws. She makes Weed look like a University Challenge champion.
Talking of olive trees, we are delighted to hear the latest news from Rob and Gina Billington that they have purchased their own sunny plot in Andalucia. It comes with over 5,000m2 of mountainside with olive grove and sounds gorgeous. We look forward to hearing of their progress in the coming months and showing them our pruning scars. Many congrats Mr and Mrs B :o)
Aside from all the lavoro, we have been having fun with our Italian amici. We cooked a roast lunch for Leo and Elena (a long-overdue thank you for all their lovely meals) and then the following Sunday again for Giovanni, Giovanna, her lovely mum Marina and their two children. It was amusing to note the surprised expression on their faces when we served them gravy, stuffing, cauliflower cheese and roast potatoes (they don’t have such) and told them to eat everything together at the same time (they don’t do such). But it went down really well, especially P’s famous roasties. We were invited back to our landlords’ house a few days later for a veritable feast. The Staveleys are not known for their impeccable time-keeping skills so P rang and told Giovanni ‘Cinque minuto’, which means ‘five minute’ instead of the plural. 20 minutes later when we turned up, Giovanni seemed to think this slight grammatical error was hilarious. So Peter has gone from City Boy to Five Minute Man… not sure which is worse?!
But Five Minute Man is rather wonderful. The day before San Valentino (9 years since I said ‘yes’), hubby treated me to a gorgeous massage… at only E20 for over an hour I may forgo a few things in the house for some follow-ups! This was followed by a meal in a restaurant we haven’t yet tried in Fivi. Alessio, the Milanese owner-chef was delightful, cooked the most delicious risotto I’ve ever had and better still, is a keen sailor so has offered to take us out on a 40-footer in the Cinque Terre in Spring/Summer. How lucky are we?!
Although even paradise has a few problems… the weather has now taken a turn for the worst. Yesterday and today is has been chucking it down and as I type there is the most dramatic thunder and lightening outside (hence wide awake and writing at 6am). Our local florist Maria joked with us that she has mushrooms growing all over her because she is so damp. So tomorrow it’s on with the galoshes for more gardening/swimming and a prayer to the patron saint of dryness.
Ciao per ora, carissimi amici
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Medicine – Weed’s version
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