Zen and the art of weight maintenance

This post carries a V rating. You have been warned.

Look, I'm all for world peace and love thy neighbour, but this 'have you hugged a calorie today?' liberal lefty thinking is really taking things too far. Calories are not innocent bystanders in this war; they are the diabolically cunning, Machiavellian masters of morbid obesity. Perfectly camouflaged, they hide in seemingly safe places waiting for your attention to wander before striking with the speed of an African killer bee. You think your home is safe? Forget it, they have invaded both your pantry and your fridge, with the most despicable having taken up residence in your wine bottle. The wine bottle. For the love of God, is nothing sacred? You could try starving them out, but this approach has limited efficiency and is not sustainable in the long term.

Picture from mybodyhealth.net
You don't get to middle age without having fought a few calorie battles (the post-pregnancy front of '91 comes to mind) and I'd like to think I am a veteran of many calorie wars.Without wanting to blow my own trumpet I once received a certificate from the local Weight Watchers regiment acknowledging my bravery and commitment in a particularly fierce skirmish along the thunderthigh front. And so, in an entirely uncharacteristic burst of generosity, I have decided to share two powerful weapons in my calorie-killing arsenal.

The statue of liberty

I have very high-tech equipment to use following the shoulder surgery. Trusty Physiotherapist suggested, some time back, that I rig a pulley system to help me regain some range. I asked Walter and Child no 2 if they had any thoughts about how to do this. They consulted. They stared into the distance. They announced it was do-able and then promptly forgot. Two weeks later, tired of waiting, I rigged this myself

Why yes, that is a tow rope slung over a beam in my house.

I stand there, like the statue of liberty, holding my gown closed for modesty's sake with my left arm almost pointing at the ceiling muttering "Give me your tired, your poor" and swearing like a trooper.

The beautiful girls

The Border Collie and I have loads in common. For example we both have beautiful children.
I will admit that she has a better eye than I (see what I did there?)
A while back Scientist No 1 was house-sitting for Fearless Leader (who lives next door to The Border Collie) and found the cutest outfit for The Border Collie's youngest. Couldn't resist it....

"It has wings, mom, WINGS!"

The cold shoulder

A diagnosis at last! I found (a qualified, medical) someone who was not distracted by the MRI. The trusty physiotherapist referred me to a shoulder specialist who announced I have a 'frozen shoulder' I burst into tears, not from pain this time, but because someone believed me.
This has been going on for six months now, so it's no small thing to have an actual diagnosis.

Image from kneeandshouldersurgery.com
To recap - I thought I'd pulled a muscle in Italy retrieving my backpack from the back seat of our rental. Since it was Italy and I (obviously) wasn't driving I was in the right passenger seat. So I used my left arm. It didn't end well (A Pain in the Neck) It didn't get better. Well-meaning people pointed me in other directions - the alternative approach. This irritated me immensely - resulting in the Snake Oil blog.

Airports

I've spent a lot of time in airports.

As a child I wore my BOAC Junior Jet Club badge with pride, begged the air hostess to take me into the cockpit (they always took me in). Sitting with my brothers and their friends at the end of runway 33 of Lusaka Airport, just beyond the end of the farm, watching the planes take off and land.
As a 5 year-old on a cushion, in the right-hand seat of my mother's Cessna, trying to find the railway line that would take us back to Lusaka Flying Club and chicken-in-a-basket for lunch at the airport.
As a 6 year-old unaccompanied minor being sent away to boarding school in another country, locking my arms and legs around my mother, weeping hysterically, promising to be good if I could just stay, while my father unwound me and handed me to the air hostess. Don't make a fuss, you're a big girl now, you'll be fine.
Home twice a year. Durban to Johannesburg. Customs. Johannesburg to Lusaka. Customs. Lusaka to Kitwe (where has my trunk gone?) Kitwe to Kasaba Bay, to the sandy, elephant-walk runway at the Lake, where the 'airport' was a guard's hut, the junior jet club badge buckled and bent, consigned to my fishing box. 4 weeks and then do it all again.
As a 17 year-old, with my backpack, heading off alone to see the world, my family waving goodbye at departures."Be safe" my mother said. "I'm a big girl now, I'll be fine"
As a young adult I was the air hostess taking unaccompanied minors with wobbly bottom lips through customs. I understood their fear, and even if they didn't ask I made sure to take them into the cockpit after service, asking the flight engineer to show them the 'Christmas lights' of the night cockpit.
Braais at the end of runway 19 at Ilha do Sol.Enough rum to try out the flying stunt in Pushing Tin (yes, the jet blast actually does lift you off your feet, I've seen it happen) as your colleagues take the beautiful 747 to New York.
As a mother, heading home to my family.
As a student pilot, drinking coffee with the 'real' pilots at Lanseria, listening to them telling flying stories, or giving me landing tips, endlessly re-hashing that bad one.
As a friend, saying goodbye to friends who are leaving forever.
As a daughter, smuggling my mother's ashes through Maun airport on the way to Kasane, and Chobe to wave goodbye to her forever. Don't make a fuss. Here you are home, surrounded by your beloved elephants.
As a commuter, frantically trying to find a quiet place to send emails or get some work done.
I know the smell of airports, the tearful loved ones waving goodbye, the anxious parents making bargains 'Let her/him be safe' Waving my own daughter off to Belgium when she went to study at Antwerp university, Les Mis 'Bring him home' playing dramatically in my own head.

For me, airports have always been sad places, goodbye places.

And that's why I love this T-Mobile Flash Mob video, at Heathrow's Terminal 5. This shows to good side of airports, the welcome home. I love the surprise on people's faces, the young girl with braces, tearful with the joy of it.Watch it, it's wonderful.

Welcome Home

Snake oil

The one thing this neck injury has taught me is how presumptuous people are that you want their advice on how best to 'fix' the problem.

Image source

Yes it's frustrating that it's taking so long to get to the bottom of it and find a suitable treatment. But not once have I said that I don't have faith in the medical specialists who are working with me. Each one has told me it will take time - it's not a straightforward problem. I don't see this as an indication they don't know what they are doing.
But every day I have some well-meaning person trying to get me to try something different. It's exhausting.
'Get a second opinion' is usually the first piece of advice. Closely followed by 'have you tried eye of newt/rescue remedy/reflexology/iridology/chiropractic/a sangoma?
I have seen, first-hand, the effect of this kind of ignorance. One of my nephews is profoundly deaf because his mother 'didn't believe in antibiotics'. A simple ear infection as a baby was treated with snake oil. Both of my own children spent a good couple of years on antibiotics to treat Vesicoureteral reflux and I send a little word of thanks to Alexander Fleming every day. Between them they have 4 healthy kidneys because of his petri dish.
I am not uninformed, cursed or bewitched. My blood type has absolutely nothing to do with this. It's an injury. And I don't believe there is an instant cure. The 'alternative' remedies would have made it into conventional medicine if there was any indication that they worked. I have no intention of being a guinea-pig for someone who has taken a 6-month online course in hand-waving, juju-speaking, incense-burning incantations.
Bog-standard physiotherapy has provided relief for the referred neck pain. I'm seeing a shoulder specialist (shock! horror! he has an actual medical degree) this week to investigate the shoulder injury.The physiotherapist referred me to him, she believes I need his help since the shoulder is getting worse rather than better. She also has an actual degree from an actual university.
So please. Enough with the recommendations.

The state of education today

MyFriendRosie sent me this email, the subject line said 'Only for the more literate friends'
I have no idea why she thought I could manage this...send me your comments (but only if you failed, I need some cheering up after this!)

1895 8th grade final  exam
What it took to get an 8th grade education in 1895...

Remember when grandparents and great-grandparents stated  that they only had an 8th grade education? Well, check this out. Could any of us have passed the 8th grade in 1895?

This is  the eighth-grade final exam from 1895 in Salina, Kansas, USA . It was taken from the original  document on file at the Smokey Valley Genealogical Society
and  Library in Salina, and reprinted by the Salina  Journal.



8th Grade  Final Exam: Salina, KS - 1895

Grammar  (Time, one hour)
1. Give  nine rules for the use of capital  letters.
2. Name  the parts of speech and define those that have no modifications.
3. Define verse, stanza and paragraph
4. What are the principal parts of a verb? Give  principal parts of 'lie,''play,' and 'run.' 
5. Define case; illustrate each case.
6 What is punctuation? Give rules for principal marks of  punctuation.
7 - 10.  Write a composition of about 150 words and show therein that you understand the practical use of  the rulesof grammar.


Arithmetic  (Time,1 hour 15 minutes)
1. Name  and define the Fundamental Rules of  Arithmetic.
2. A wagon  box is 2 ft. Deep, 10 feet long, and 3 ft. Wide.  How many bushels of wheat will it hold? 
3. If a  load of wheat weighs 3,942 lbs., what is it  worth at 50cts/bushel, deducting 1,050 lbs. For  tare?
4.  District No 33 has a valuation of $35,000.. What  is the necessary levy to carry on a school seven  months at $50 per month, and have $104 for  incidentals?
5. Find  the cost of 6,720 lbs. Coal at $6.00 per ton.
6. Find  the interest of $512.60 for 8 months and 18 days  at 7 percent.
7. What is  the cost of 40 boards 12 inches wide and 16 ft.. Long at $20 per metre?
8. Find  bank discount on $300 for 90 days (no grace) at 10 percent.
9. What is  the cost of a square farm at $15 per acre, the distance of which is 640 rods?
10. Write  a Bank Check, a Promissory Note, and a Receipt 


U.S.  History (Time, 45 minutes)
1. Give the epochs into which U.S. History is divided
2. Give an account of the discovery of America by Columbus
3. Relate the causes and results of the Revolutionary War.
4. Show the territorial growth of the United States
5. Tell what you can of the history of Kansas
6.  Describe three of the most prominent battles of  the Rebellion.
7. Who were the following: Morse, Whitney, Fulton, Bell, Lincoln, Penn, and Howe?
8. Name events connected with the following dates: 1607, 1620, 1800, 1849, 1865.


Orthography  (Time, one hour)
[Do we  even know what this is??]
1. What is  meant by the following: alphabet, phonetic, orthography, etymology,  syllabication
2. What are elementary sounds? How classified?
3. What are the following, and give examples of each:  trigraph, subvocals, diphthong, cognate letters,  linguals
4. Give four substitutes for caret 'u'  (HUH?)
5. Give two rules for spelling words with final 'e.'  Name two exceptions under each rule.
6. Give two uses of silent letters in spelling. Illustrate each.
7. Define the following prefixes and use in connection with a word: bi, dis-mis, pre, semi, post, non,  inter, mono, sup.
8. Mark diacritically and divide into syllables the following, and name the sign that indicates the sound: card, ball, mercy, sir, odd, cell, rise, blood, fare, last.
9. Use the  following correctly in sentences: cite, site,  sight, fane, fain, feign, vane , vain, vein,  raze, raise, rays.
10. Write 10 words frequently mispronounced and indicate pronunciation by use of diacritical marks 
and by syllabication.


Geography  (Time, one hour)
1 What is climate? Upon what does climate depend?
2. How do you account for the extremes of climate in  Kansas ?
3. Of what use are rivers? Of what use is the ocean?
4.  Describe the mountains of North America
5. Name and describe the following: Monrovia, Odessa,  Denver, Manitoba, Hecla, Yukon, St. Helena,  Juan Fernandez, Aspinwall and Orinoco
6. Name and locate the principal trade centers of the  U.S. Name all the republics of Europe and give  the capital of each..
8. Why is the Atlantic Coast colder than the Pacific in the same latitude?
9.  Describe the process by which the water of the ocean returns to the sources of  rivers.
10. Describe the movements of the earth. Give the inclination of the earth.

Notice that the exam took FIVE HOURS to complete.

Gives the saying 'he only had an 8th grade education' a  whole new meaning, doesn't it?!
           
No wonder  they dropped out after 8th grade. They already  knew more than they needed to  know!
         


          

A pain in the neck...

I have become intimately acquainted with pain over the last 3 months.
What started as a pulled muscle in my shoulder (or so I thought) in Italy when I leaned over the back of the left-hand drive car seat to pick up the back pack has turned into a full-blown pain in the neck. Literally.

Obviously this is not mine. Thank you Edvard Munch. 


There's not much you can do about a pulled muscle except rest it (or so my logic went) and so I did exactly that.
9 weeks later the pain was worse, not better, and Walter put his foot down "Off you go to the rooms, it's time for a doctor to sort you out"
And so I went. I had avoided it because the thought of all the schlepping involved in investigating it froze my brain. Who has the time?

Nothing beats oxtail in the depths of winter

It's the howling wind that sets me to thinking about a luscious, thick oxtail.

Image courtesy of Wicked Cooking School and their recipe looks good too


It has taken me many years of searching to find an oxtail recipe that works for me, and although this one takes 10-12 hours of cooking, the preparation is quick and simple.Ideally you would want to put it on the night before it's due and then wake to that delicious aroma...

I found this recipe on the cookbook.co.za website, and I've provided the link for those who would like to see the original (mine has a few additions, I've marked them with an asterisk). The recipe feeds 4

Slow cooker oxtail stew

Ingredients
4 medium onions, chopped
1 large clove of garlic, roughly chopped*
1 large green chilli, chopped (seeded if you don't want too much heat)*
1 whole oxtail in chunks
2 bay leaves*
4 tablespoons olive oil
1 tsp each of salt, pepper and paprika
125ml Coca Cola
125ml red wine
2 cubes of beef stock
1 packet dry brown onion soup
1 litre water

In a large pot on medium to high heat add the oil and onions. Stir every so often until the onions begin to brown on the edges. Brown the oxtail, a few pieces at a time.Add the chopped garlic and chilli
Add in the salt, pepper and paprika and stir
Add the bay leaves and the wine and coca cola, stir and then leave it to simmer for 5 minutes

Transfer everything to the slow cooker, crumble the beef stock cubes on top and add the packet of brown onion soup (scattered around on top). Add the water (and stir, or things go lumpy) put on the lid and cook for 10-12 hours. On the highveld I've found 11 hours works fine.Serve with your choice of vegetables and mashed potatoes and enjoy...

The masterpiece

Contrary to my family's belief I am not a chef, but I do find recreational cooking quite relaxing. Having watched practically every cooking programme aired (from Cooking with Wooty as a child to the Masterchef series) I like to think of myself as an enthusiastic cook.
But I really can't bake. The combination of a lying oven (temperature-wise) and a somewhat lackadaisical approach to details (looks like about 250g) dooms any baking efforts before I start.
Except for the glorious baked cheesecake.I Googled a recipe while shopping a few weeks back and bought all the ingredients while I was in the store.
Once home, however, I decided the pastry was far too difficult to attempt and fell back on my old favourite of crushed Tennis biscuits mixed with butter for the base. Worked a charm.

It doesn't look anything like the picture with the recipe, but it tasted wonderful and seems idiot-proof.

The wild boar in the woods

I almost forgot about the wild boar encounter.

La Valentina Nuova, in the Maremma region of Tuscany


This is a working farm with a wonderful assortment of cats and dogs who do their best to make you feel at home. The small cross-breed above became our new best friend when we shared our salami scraps with him.

This is a Bernese Mountain Dog, he is enormous

I thought this one was a Retriever, but he could well be a Maremma Sheep Dog


We awoke on our last Tuesday to rainy, cold weather and decided to indulge in the ultimate holiday luxury: lazing around reading and eating (and perhaps sipping some of that fabulous Italian wine). Ginger Cat moved in for the day and curled up on the chair

At around 4 o' clock I started feeling a little restless; the rain had gone and some exploring was called for. I opened the bedroom door surreptitiously and allowed Ginger Cat inside to wake Walter from his afternoon nap.

On being functionally illiterate

Coming from a country with 11 official languages it was quite a surprise to discover Italians generally only speak....Italian (Surprise!)

How to work the washing machine....


In the bigger towns and tourist attractions you're generally going to find someone who can speak English. But in the smaller villages you're on your own.
This illiteracy was most interesting (for me) in restaurants. The menu is entirely useless to an English speaker (apart from obvious spaghetti-type entries) serving only to give you something to point at while you smile at the waiter.

Note: Scallopini is veal, not small scallops


This resulted in Walter eating the Easter Bunny on the Tuesday after Easter

Unlike the French, however, (who ignore you entirely if you try and speak the language with the wrong pronunciation of  "Oui" in Paris, for example) the Italians are very willing to try and help you out.They almost always forgave me my mix of French and Italian (Fritalian) with Afrikaans or Zulu thrown in for good measure.
I also had to re-think my slightly cynical approach to branding whilst standing in the cleaning aisle of a Eurospar and having absolutely no idea which washing powder was suitable for an automatic washing machine. We had already bought some sort of Handy Andy in the mistaken belief it was washing-up liquid (no, it's not a suitable substitute) and I didn't want to repeat the exercise on someone else's washing machine.

Spying a family shopping I approached a woman roughly my own age
"Scusi signora"
"Si?"
"Parla Inglese?"
"No" (this said with some panic, rapid head shaking and much pushing of her husband towards me for some reason)
I shook my head vigorously, (not wanting her husband since I have one of my own) grabbed two boxes of washing powder off the shelf and tried to show her I needed advice. "This one? This one? Que?"

"Ah!" She directed her husband elsewhere and fired rapid questions at me. My blank stare in response caused some frustration until she spied an aid (my white jacket), grabbed it and the one box of washing powder "Blanco, blanco"
Eureka! This one is for whites, the other for colours!
"Mille grazzie signora"
We laughed together at our ingenuity

10 Tips for driving in Italy

1. Rent an automatic. It's bad enough trying to figure out how to go the wrong way around the roundabout while your wife/husband hides under the dashboard without scrabbling for your window winder whilst searching for the gear lever.
2. The speed limit is apparently optional. This is nothing new if you're from South Africa, but don't blame me for any fines you may receive if you too adopt this approach.
3. If you come from a law-abiding nation and insist on driving within the limit the protocol appears to be: the driver behind will rush up to a position approximately 3cm behind you. Do NOT show fear under any circumstances. He/she will then drop back a little until its safe to pass. Don't be alarmed if this is on a curve, we didn't see (m)any mishaps arising from this approach.
4. Take a GPS and buy the map. Just spend the money, trust me on this. It's cheaper than the divorce attorney.
5. Buy extra insurance to cover your excess. Again, spend the money, the excess is around €1,000 and that will seriously curb your budget. All the cars are dented/scratched. Your rental will be too.
6. You can't drive in any of the old towns. You have to find parking and walk. Good luck figuring out the parking payment system. A good tip is to watch and see what the natives do (the when in Rome approach)
7. Petrol is called benzina (not gasolina, that's diesel and will cause major problems in a petrol car). If you almost run out and have to freewheel down a mountain and find yourself having to put in your own petrol, look for the machine next to the tanks. Put your life savings in (some take credit cards), press the number of the tank you're using and fill up your car.
8. After two and a half weeks we still haven't figured out the road signs. If you find yourself driving the wrong way up a one-way street and are stopped by the carabinieri open the window and ask "Parla Inglese?" Smile sweetly.
10. Even though all the garages on the highway have bars the Italians do not take drunk driving lightly. Don't do it. Your passenger/s, on the other hand, may drink as much as they like.
Take the opportunity to explore the narrow country lanes, there is some spectacular scenery off the beaten track.

The Italians are, on the whole, good drivers. Most South Africans will have no problems driving in Italy (especially when it comes to using the emergency lane so the speedsters can pass)




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The Pisa region

We went to Pisa (as one does) and then on to Lucca, a beautiful old walled town to the north west



Walter ignoring the leaning tower...



I almost got the angle right




Incredible artwork on the doors to the cathedral (free entrance on Sundays, amazingly beautiful inside; no cameras)

The tower was built to house the cathedral bells, is one of the 7 wonders of the world, 300-odd steps to the top. We didn't climb it.

When it was built (starting in 1173 but halted multiple times to try and figure out how to fix the lean) it was on the coast. The silting of the Arno river over the centuries means it is now 10kms inland!

You can comfortably see it in a few hours and the head off to Lucca with its narrow lanes (no cars allowed, park outside the town walls and walk)




Walter, on top of the wall.




Lucca, from the wall.



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Il Dottore and the Fritalian consultation

We've been in the Pisa region of Tuscany for the last week, at the Borgo San Carlo just outside Pomaia, Sante Luce



Where the lack of wi-fi led to me getting sinus and Walter having to put his foot down eventually and insist on my seeing a doctor. On his birthday, no less, the poor thing had to track one down via the receptionist.

The doctor has "rooms" in 2 villages, Pistana and Sante Luce itself. 2 hours per day per village.

It was an interesting exercise "Buonasera Signore, parla Inglese?" "Bocca" (this could mean anything from A little to Badly from what I've discovered)

I coughed and wheezed and pointed to my forehead and said "sinus"

After rattling off his life story to me (or maybe it was a disclaimer, who knows?) he listened to my chest (trying to get me to cough, eventually coughing himself since I wasn't understanding) all the while I'm telling him I get this often and it's just an upper respiratory tract infection. Anyway he clearly didn't understand my Fritalian but he eventually came to the same conclusion.

He wrote a script (asking for my passport, which gave me quite a turn, maybe I was wrong and he was reporting some new bird-flu to the authorities? Or needed to know where to send the body? But no, prescriptions here need addresses too)

I had almost no cash on me, he didn't have a credit card machine, but I managed to scrounge the €15 consultation fee together. In Pinglese he told me "Stay warm, frodo is bad" (hobbits? Bad? Ah! Cold - si)

The pharmacists here don't give advice at all, they merely dispense. Also, the price is imprinted on the box, but there's no indication of schedule or dosage. The contents are, however, written in Braille on the box, which seems like a very good idea indeed.

Anyway, 4 days later I'm almost in showroom condition again. That's what you get for joking your husband has man-flu, you have been warned.
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Note to self; check the train

We spent a lovely day in Florence yesterday, starting with a 2-hour queue to get into the Ufizzi gallery. Well worth it, I took my Kindle along so I could read in line.



The art is magnificent, although we particularly enjoyed the Foreign Artists' section, which includes Rubens, Rembrandt and others a Philistine such as I can't remember.

After making sure we saw Boticelli's Venus (there's a personal story involving the Prado and a wasted day in Madrid, but that's for another time) we decided it was all too overwhelming and headed for the Gallileo Museum around the corner. That there was no queue here is a tragedy, because this museum houses fabulous scientific equipment from Gallileo's time (and his right middle finger, like a relic, in a jar. Which I found quite reassuring)

I thought how both Scientist No 1 & Child No 2 would love this place, with their natural curiosity about all things scientific.

Talking of Scientist No 1, this picture of the Gucci HQ is just for her




It was getting late, and our legs were tired, so we headed back to the Stazzione Santa Maria Novella, found the platform for the next train to Borgo San Lorenzo and boarded.

I returned to my Kindle, giving Walter strict instructions to watch out for our stop - Dicomano. (Walter seems to have recovered from his gout and now has a fierce head cold, poor thing) His eyes watered, he sneezed and nodded.

Many stops later a conductor told us (in Pinglese) we were at the end of the line. I explained, in my best Fritalian, that we needed to get to Dicomano. Walter sneezed and looked tearful, which was a good thing. The young conductor took pity on us and, with hand gestures and Pinglese explained we would have to wait an hour before catching a train to Dicomano.

Eco. (this is the Italian version of eintlik, if you throw it in from time to time people think you have a good grasp of the language)

My panic at the thought of trying to buy a ticket from the machine almost overwhelmed me but I spied a bar and ordered due Amaretti, per favore signora and sans the bloody ice in this temperature, grazie.

I wandered outside to think, where I was seized upon by an old duck who started rattling off Italian to me. I looked at him and said "Mi tourista signor, non bloody comprende. Inglese" at which he switched to German and carried on regardless. From what I gathered he was a pilot who had crashed 100 kms from Rome "Mamma Mia!" injured both his shoulders (although he may have been crossing himself) his wife, currently in Hamburg, still flew. I looked at my empty glass, wondering if he was senile or if I was hallucinating. He looked around, grunted "Eco. Ciao" and disappeared around the corner.

Walter, who had been studying the timetable, came to ask me why there were 2 entries for the same train on different platforms, and who was the old man? I explained, checked the entries (1 for summer, 1 for winter) and confirmed the platform. His eyes watered some more, he sneezed, muttered about foreigners and went inside to get warm.

We finally made it back to Dicomano, and the trusty Fiat Panda and a dinner of steak, egg and chips (no salad for Walter).

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Location:Frazione Corella,Dicomano,Italy

Florence. Or not

We really meant to go to Florence yesterday, got up early (well, early is relative anyway) checked we had everything and hopped into our little Fiat Panda by 10.
I programmed the station into the TomTom and we even remembered to drive on the right hand side of the road (and by I, I mean Walter, I have not yet been brave enough to drive)
"Firenze, leetle town. No car. You take train A Dicomano statzione" the farmer told us.
But everything is so distracting.



You just have to stop.

We parked in a little side street to walk to the station, but the building we thought was the station is, in fact, an archaeological museum in the town square. With loads of people milling around, chatting to eac other. And flowers.



It's a little embarrassing to realize our powers of deduction had missed a simple fact - no railway lines running in or out of this hypothetical station.

We did find the station, eventually. It was completely deserted. Spying a ticket machine in the corner we headed over to it and tried our best to make it give us tickets. We pushed every button (including the help button) to no avail.

Eventually we walked back into town to ask someone. "I'll do all the driving if you do all the ordering and asking" said Walter, bless him.

Which brought us to a little cafe, where I ordered "duo capuccini Signora" from a super-model and asked "Inglese? - Touristi" at which stage she called Paolo to help us. Turns out you can buy the tickets (duo billetti A Firenzi, return s'il vous plais) with your coffee. Walter whispered to me that it was already 12, perhaps we should go tomorrow?

So we went for a drive up the road, found a gorgeous little trattoria with full-bloom wisteria draping the verandah and had lunch in Vicci.



One look at the menu told us 3 things:
1. We had no idea what anything meant
2. It was more up-market than us
3. My pigeon Fritalian would not help.

Remembering that I had done a deal regarding the driving, I consulted with the owner (very stylishly turned out)

Fortunately he could speak Inglese quite well. "We have decided to put ourselves in your hands, chef, it all looks so delicious we can't decide" I gave him my biggest, brightest smile. "Ah", he said "you don't understand the menu" and brought us wine (which, since I wasn't driving, I could drink)

We then had what was quite possibly the best food I've ever had anywhere. Walter, seeing Michelin guide stickers in the window, and a sign we had missed earlier announced authoritatively "This chap is one of those Michelin star chefs"



Which, if he isn't, he most certainly should be. It would also explain our initial, frosty reception when we arrived a little before opening without a booking.
By the time we left he had warmed to us considerably (I whispered to Walter that he was eating rabbit; quite possibly the Easter bunny himself. "what's the black stuff on top?" "Truffles")

We drove home much later for a quiet evening of reading by the fire, the clouds have lifted so we can see the snow on the mountains




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Tuscany

How did I not know how beautiful the countryside is in Italy?
We travelled north on the A1, following the signs to Firenze, listening carefully to the TomTom's instructions.
If you're thinking of hiring a car here a GPS is not optional, the roads are just too confusing without one.

Even the one-stops make an effort



This cheerful little basket is on the office counter at the forecourt.

We bought lunch, I couldn't resist the caprese roll with real buffalo mozzarella and sweet tomatoes. At a one-stop. It's all so civilized.

Leaving the highway just past Valdarno we made our way along impossibly narrow, winding country lanes to our first home, I Nidi Di Belforte, near Corella




It has been unseasonably cold with snow still visible on the high peaks to the east, but the apartment has central heating and a fire place.

Having had little time or opportunity to stock up I made a simple dinner of baguettes, cheese and preserved meat (bought at the one-stop) We washed that down with a wonderful bottle of Rosso Di Montepulciano 2010



And settled in to read at the fire




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Location:Frazione Corella,Dicomano,Italy

Pasquale a Roma

Walter drinking Italian beer. It's really good, who knew?

I assumed there would be church bells, given that we aren't far from the Vatican. And it is Easter Sunday. But just the dawn chorus (with the odd tone-deaf crow joining in)

Today we need to catch multiple trains (tickets not on sale in stations, it's a mystery) to get back to the airport and pick up the rental car.

I bought a map of Italy for the TomTom. Heaven knows what she'll do this time, she freaks out if I switch her off in Durban and on in Cape Town, this might blow her mind-chip entirely.


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Location:Via Massimi,Rome,Italy

Johannesburg to Cairo

Cairo airport, yesterday

Easter falls on the first Sunday after the Equinox, following the full moon.
I awoke to a full moon shining on the wing, darkness covering the Sahara desert.
A little later I could make out the green ribbon of the Nile river 30,000 feet below us.
We followed the Nile into Cairo

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Location:Via Alfredo Serranti,Rome,Italy

I've given back the iPad...

I was fortunate enough to be given an iPad at work last year, which allowed me to do cool things like send emails that said 'sent from my iPad'. 

Picture courtesy of Mashable.com

I was initially under the impression that a tablet could replace a laptop - and more than a little miffed when I realised it couldn't. Between the laptop (work) the netbook (home) the back-up removable drives (work and home) the TomTom, the Kindle, the digital camera, the iTravel car radio-thingy and the iPhone 4S I have more than enough technology to keep me busy. And I find it difficult to justify R3,000 per annum in insurance just to have '-Sent from my iPad' at the bottom of my emails.

-Posted from my netbook

My grandmother's garden

My 'grandmother' has the best garden, full of hidden treasures and quiet places to sit and think







and interesting things to look at while you sip your first coffee of the day

and bug-eating flowers

 and, being my grandmother, she told me this is a Stapelia. Of course.

Thanks for having us

Airport chaos

Yesterday was one of those days....

The flight booking I thought I had (12h50) had not been confirmed. The next 3 flights were full and I could only get onto the 16h00 flight. The airport was chaotic, irate passengers practising the life-threatening sport of queue-jumping and most airlines playing advanced gate-swapping to cull the unfit from all flights.

"The flights are all over-booked" I was told when checking in (which explains why I try and get to the airport early) The shell-shocked mother behind me simply gave up on the screaming, purple-faced toddler who had taken exception to all the noise and rush. For a moment I considered adding to the toddler's sit-in but thought better of it.

When we finally got to the threshold of runway 21R we sat there for what seemed like a very long time. Eventually the captain explained that a light aircraft had wandered into the commercial airspace putting a temporary hold on all activity by commercial flights. A maintenance vehicle spotted the gap and carried out a quick runway inspection (looking for potholes, I believe) which delayed us further.

But we got here eventually and I awoke to this today



I think the 12h50 flight was probably cancelled, in any event I got here faster on the 16h00 flight


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Location:Signal Hill Rd,Cape Town,South Africa

Living in Johannesburg

I love this picture the Border Collie sent me, it's the second one in the series I've seen so far. The Cape Town picture has a wine glass in each square

Congratulations to whoever puts these together 

One year on

I went to Durban on Thursday, my first business trip of this year.

It's still there. At the back, near the hangars. No other bits have been removed.


Having successfully avoided business travel since October last year I was a little out of practise. Yes I printed out my itinerary. No I did not take it with me on the actual trip.
My complete lack of interest in detail has implications in these situations - arriving at Avis to pick up a Budget car, for instance.
Or trying to check in to British Airways for the return flight when it's booked on SAA.(This is not the first time I've done that, once demanding they check me in for a flight to Bloemfontein. British Airways doesn't fly to Bloemfontein)

Scientist No 1 suggested I fire the minions. Tempting, but it wasn't actually anyone else's fault.
I'm off to Cape Town next Thursday and have already stored the itinerary in the car for easy access.

Little children, little problems

This saying used to annoy me immensely when Scientist No 1 and Child No 2 were little. People would give me that knowing look entirely dismissing the lack of sleep / teething crying / homework crisis problem I was talking about.
But while I was sitting at King Shaka International in Durban last Thursday the children sent me pictures of where they were

Scientist No 1....

Child No 2....


700kms away, doing mortal battle with the elements.

This is why parents of adults are grey.

The Resolutionites are back

Let me be perfectly clear about this; I am not a natural exerciser. My lifestyle and body type are not designed for athletic pursuits and I come from a long line of over-indulgers, wild drinkers and party animals (tweezer-lipped ancestral photographs notwithstanding)

Meet Scale-e; my nemesis. A spiteful distant relative of Wall-e

See the resemblance? Picture courtesy of Softicons.com


But I absolutely refuse to be punished for my lifestyle by my body. Which means there's a price to pay - so at least four times a week I get up at 4am and head for the gym up the road.
My cunning calculations resulted in a regimen of 1 hour on the recline-o-cycle to deliver maximum calorie advantage for the day. This allows me to eat (pretty much) and drink whatever I want without becoming the size of a comfortable dwelling for four (needs some fixing up).

This is not my gym. This is a hotel gym. 2 criteria for hotels - must have a gym and gym must open by 5am.


January is a tough time for those of us used to almost-empty gyms at 4.30am - it brings out The Resolutionites. They come in search of salvation, but few survive beyond February.

'And lo! The Resolutionites appeared to slay the fat monster brought upon them by their feasting ways.
And the Personal Trainer rubbed his hands in glee and said unto them "Go forth and stretch" for they were deep afraid.
And they did. And a mighty groaning rang out and there was much gnashing of teeth and cursing of muscles and some of them wept with pain.
And the gym companies were joyful and there was a great ringing of cash registers in sports equipment stores throughout the land'

Row, row, row your boat...

A peaceful stretch of the Crocodile River, near Hartebeespoort Dam.

My "Let's go river rafting" suggestion was met with some trepidation by the family. Child No 2 looked shifty and muttered darkly about "commitments". Scientist No 1, usually the first to be up for an adventure, said "When, exactly, do you want to do this?" and Walter (bless) looked at me over his reading glasses and just said "Great idea, let's book"
By "Let's book" he actually means I should go ahead and book it, so I did.
The first booking didn't turn out well. We were due to go on the 30th December, but the owner of the company called me late on the 29th to inform me the guide had just broken his ankle kloofing. No, they didn't have another guide. No, he didn't know when we could do it.
I requested a refund and jumped back onto Google.
There were some sighs (plans had been changed, people put out, and so on, you'd think I'd planned it that way) and more "what time, where, who"-type questions when I tentatively booked the 7th January with their social secretaries.
Of course this required specialised equipment. I bought water shoes and a heart rate monitor.

Not like Scientist No 1's water shoes, but then she does that stuff for a living

I packed a picnic lunch for afterwards, put on a whole bottle of sunscreen and we were off. With Walter it's a good idea to, um, be economical with the truth when discussing times. I told him we had to leave by 7am which meant we got onto the road at 8 and arrived in good time.

Actually we were early and had time to sit around waiting for the others

Child no 2 was NOT amused. Could have spent another hour in bed, at least. This is his FML look.