A Tuscan View - from Umbria

The rule of threes

20th April 2008

I know things don’t happen in threes, no more than they happen in twos or fours, but people keep mentioning my two recent building site incidents and mentioning this ‘three’ thing, and I am starting to wonder. So this morning I was extra careful, hoping the third thing might happen to someone else.

Me, being extra careful.

The second thing was a nasty cut to the head, requiring stitches.
My friend interrupted his holiday with us to take me to the hospital in Citta della Pieve, careful not to get my blood on his car seat. Once there I may have made a mistake. I assumed that because someone works at a hospital and wears a uniform, he or she must be a doctor.
Two men in bright orange uniforms quickly gave me a combination of; head-shave, local anaesthetic and stitches.

It was only later, when I was leaving the hospital after the obligatory cranial x-ray, that I noticed two similarly dressed men putting up a wobbly wooden fence around the town walls. Then I saw them again, on the motorway, painting white lines, quite badly.
Now I look at my stitches in a different light. They are the sort you draw onto a face when you’re 6 years old, or the sort you would do if you had absolutely no medical training and were having a bit of a laugh while the doctor was at lunch.
I will spare you the photos.

Spring, in our garden, seems to have sprung - by the way

The stupidest thing I did today;
Watched ‘Cloverfield’ – where do I go to claim those 84 minutes of my life back?

Tufa

18th March 2008

I made a rather foolish decision a few days ago. The job was to smash down a small building attached to the house to make way for a large terrace. At my disposal was a very nice, orange digger (see picture) which is designed to knock down small buildings in a matter of minutes, or, alternatively I could choose to spend the rest of my life taking it down by hand to save the bricks for later.

Me and my digger

That was the first bad decision. Then, yesterday, when deciding where the drains and septic tanks need to go, it was decided that the perfect spot would be where I had just spent 3 days piling up those 562 big, water-heavy bricks (trust me, I did count them)
So now I have to move them to the other side of the garden, by hand, which gives me another chance to count them, I suppose.

Tufa - beautiful, but heavy when wet.

Who would have thought that the main topic of conversation at my 6 year olds parents’ evening would be the fact that of all the children in her class, only Lorenzo eats his vegetables and absolutely no-one eats the minestrone. Those parents who weren’t busy chatting on their mobile phones looked most upset except, of course, for Lorenzo’s mother who almost felt the need to stand up in her moment of pride. This was, fortunately, the only moment when individuals were singled out. Most of the parents were cowering in fear of the public humiliation at the hands of a teacher who was literally foaming at the mouth as she explained her exasperation at coping with such an ‘unruly’ lot.
However I managed to escape unscathed from both sets of teachers, now I just have to work out how our two children manage to transform themselves into little angels between 8.30am and 4.30pm.

The stupidest thing I did today;
See above...

Bones and stones

9th March 2008

Real life seems to be taking over from blogging here at the moment as, finally, the building work seems to be moving on a pace, which is good, as our first painting course starts in September and the apartments and studio need to ready for the summer.
Hard work, however, doesn’t come cheap and this is a point in the project when we seem to haemorrhaging cash.
The house is changing and evolving almost daily and it seems to me that sometimes it ‘talks’. By that I mean it makes it’s spirit felt. When you take a building back to it’s origins and strip away the layers of man made rubbish we like to surround ourselves with; the polyurethane, vinyl, plasterboard and pebbledash to reveal the beautiful bones and stones and brick and wood you set it’s spirit free.

The spirit of this house soared free yesterday morning when marito and Vlad began to chisel off the sombre render on the front of the house and revealed this.

Best thing I ate:

Here, for my friends Maryann, Finding La Dolce Vita and Marie, Proud Italian Cook, is my contribution to Festa Italia

Pasta al forno con pomodoro e mozzarella

This is one of my favourite Italian pasta dishes. I love the way a few humble ingredients like cheese, tomatoes and pasta can be made into something rich and sustaining.
When I take this out of the oven, fragrant and bubbling, it always makes me feel like a sexy Italian ‘mamma’. You will find versions of it in almost every Italian cookery book and it is a regular feature at celebrations all over Italy.
Marito and the girls would gladly eat this everyday of the week given half a chance. It is straightforward to make in large quantities so perfect for a festa. The fact that Italians choose to celebrate with such a simple dish and then to lavish so much care over its preparation is for me what makes Italian food truly great.

It feeds four greedy people;

2 large cloves garlic squashed
1 peperoncino crumbled
Extra virgin olive oil
3x 400g tins of good quality plum tomatoes
2 bay leaves
Sea salt, black pepper
Big bunch of Basil leaves
2 or 3 balls of good quality mozzarella cheese
Lots of freshly grated Parmesan cheese
Nutmeg
400g Penne pasta

Pre heat the oven to 200 degrees and put a large pan of water on to boil for the pasta.
In a large deep frying pan heat a good glug of olive oil and sauté the garlic and peperoncino for a few minutes but do not colour. Add the tomatoes and chop them roughly, then add the bay leaves and simmer it all for about 20 minutes until it’s thick and reduced. Mash in the garlic, which should now be soft, and remove the bay. Check the flavour and season with as much salt and pepper as you like.

When your water is boiling add some salt and cook the Penne until just ‘al dente’ then drain, reserving a small cup of the pasta water. Toss the pasta with half of the sauce and use the water to thin down the remaining tomato mixture.

In a large baking dish layer the pasta followed by the tomato sauce and 1 torn up mozzarella ball, some basil leaves and a good grating of Parmesan. Repeat these layers until you have used everything up. Ending with a layer of mozzarella and Parmesan and topping the whole glorious thing off with a grating of nutmeg, don’t hold back.

Bake in a hot oven for about 15 mins until crusty and golden.

This is a perfect sop for large quantities of good red wine. Buona Festa!

Sounds simple enough...

2nd February 2008

When we bought the house, one of the main attractions for us was the fact that much of it had remained untouched for many years. The rust, the peeling paint and the beauty of its decay are bound up with its unique character. We are now making decisions which will affect the way the house will look for at least the next few decades and we don’t want to spoil those things that made us love it in the first place.
Sounds simple enough, but it’s not.

One good example is the doors and windows. They were made of metal. Old rusty metal and, according to most, must now be changed into ‘traditional’ hardwood with double glazing and a protective polyurethane seal to prevent wear and tear. We are suggesting to our builder that we quite like wear and tear and would ideally like rusty metal windows and doors, just like they used to be.

The floors. Many years and countless euros have been wasted trying to make ceramic tiles look like traditional handmade cotto ones. The argument is; pay more, lay them easily, and you never have to touch them again, they will stay like that forever. Aaaagh! We are suggesting to our builder that we would like to see them change over time with successive, deepening layers of wax, just like they used to.

Now it looks as though we are going to be ‘on our own’ for the floor, and that means choosing, buying, laying and treating it all myself.
Sounds simple enough, but that won't be either.

The stupidest thing I did today;

I'm not sure, but I think I may have killed my new best friend

Makita - my new best friend (possibly deceased)

New Year

12th January 2008

New Year and a time to reorganise, revitalise and prioritise. First of all (and most importantly), new boots - steel toe-caps, acid-proof, burn-proof, water-proof and rubbery. Next I have to start thinking about the year ahead. This is the big one and, if our project is going to work, we'll probably know by this time next year, so we have to get ourselves sorted. My job has now been split into two halves; morning and afternoons building (with new boots), and evenings trying to figure out how to use Dreamweaver and Flash to get our websites going (probably still in new boots). Not sure which is the hardest but, on balance, the frustrations of technology seem to outweigh those of a sledgehammer. My brain is being stretched and it doesn't like it.
Of course the antidote to all this is only about an hour away from us and is one of the reasons we are here. Florence.

Piazza della Signoria, Florence, at night.

We had to go over the Christmas period just to see what was going on and we weren't disappointed. The lights and the lighting proved to be as captivating and magical as we could have imagined, and even the children stayed the course with barely a murmur of discontent.
I haven't yet become used to, or complacent about, the fact that we are lucky enough to get onto the motorway a few miles from our house, and our choice of destinations, according to the big green signs, is as below. How could anyone grumble about that?

The stupidest thing I did today;
A new year and, so far, completely stupid-free.

The fog (part 1)

3rd December 2007

The fogs have begun.

I used to watch football from Italy on Channel 4 in the 90's in England, and I was struck by how often you couldn't see one side of the pitch from the other, and also by how often players wore gloves and earmuffs. Now I am beginning to understand why, though I'm still a little perplexed by those earmuffs.

The view of Chiusi from the house as the fog begins to clear

The fogs bring with them a number of changes. The cold is the most obvious change, but it is so much colder than I had ever imagined. We fight over who does the washing up, because the sensation of plunging your hands into hot, soapy water is about as good as it gets here during the Winter. We have tried to increase the amount of heat we produce in the house but, as I now realise, it's not how much heat you produce, it's how much heat you lose that counts. We lose a lot, with our high, uninsulated ceilings making the sky above the house quite warm, but leaving us stone cold.

The back of the house in the fog, (photo taken by our friend George)

The days have a different rhythm now; starting with how to get warm in the morning, then the wood run begins, sometimes just schlepping it from one place to another, often chopping it into smaller sizes, always hoping it's the good stuff; not too young, not too wet, not too dry and, preferably oak. In the evenings it's all about keeping the fires going and, finally at bedtime, it's about retaining as much heat as possible until the next morning.

The wise heads around here use inside/outside thermometers to check whether or not you should have the doors and windows open as it's often warmer outside than inside in these big, draughty houses. However, wherever you go and whoever you spaek with, the conversation inevitably turns to heat, or cold, or heating, or insulation. Underfloor, solar, back boilers, wood burners, open fires, geo-thermal, the cost of having the roof done in euros, the cost of not having it done in degrees and unhappiness. It becomes the sole topic of conversation after olives and before Christmas.

The stupidest thing I did today;
Well, this was actually many years ago, but only really affected me today. I was reminded that I had once said that I would never wear thermal underwear...

Beams, boots and beans

9th November 2007

Now that the new/old walls are starting to ‘grow’, you can almost begin to see what the apartments in the old stables under the house might become. I squint and then close my eyes, trying to conjure up images of cool, clean, furnished spaces with new shutters thrown open onto shady terraces planted with lavender and pots of basil, the sound of laughter, wine being poured and enticing aromas wafting from the kitchens.
But it’s still difficult.

For a few days now we have had no builders here as they are rushing to finish replacing a roof while the skies are still blue. Valiantly, despite wearing two pairs of trousers and an unfashionable top, mio marito works on. He has cleaned and restored the old steels in the more ‘modern’ apartment and they gleam with an industrial shine. He has also uncovered a beautiful internal arch in the more rustic, beamed apartment. He works alone, only appearing for plates of pasta, the odd espresso and to check the head count behind the oven.

The best thing I ate today;

Zuppa di Farro e Borlotti

As a kind of mid-week treat, if we have both been working (because I do help – sometimes), we occasionally go out for lunch. The place of choice would be described, in England, as a ‘builders caff’ or a ‘greasy spoon’. The food is cheap and the tables are wipe-able, no cloths, no candles. There are usually 3 dishes on offer for each course and no written menu. The waitresses have attitude and it would be a very brave ‘muratore’ (bricklayer) who asked them to repeat the choices or lingered over his decision. They want to feed you, and feed you fast.

The soup is thick and swampy, the Borlotti beans a rich brown, the colour of the newly turned earth in the surrounding fields, its taste is earthy too. The farro has a nutty ‘bite’ and in its depths the subtle, rounded heat of peperoncino. Savour every steaming spoonful and wipe the bowl clean with a ragged crust of saltless Umbrian bread.
This is Italian soul food.

Farro, know as ‘spelt’ in English (a bit like pearl barley), is a type of hard wheat grown in Umbria and Tuscany and used in the distinctive soups of this region.

Where to get it;
Bar Pineta, Panicarola

Tip; The dress code is strickly builders boots and overalls.

Rubble, rubble, toil and trouble.

October 14th 2007

You can go so far with a digger and a shovel, and feel that you’re getting somewhere. We can put in a good day’s work and be pretty satisfied with ourselves, knowing that we are further along than we were the day before. Then you have a meeting about progress with the builder or the geometra and suddenly it’s all gone horribly wrong.
It might seem rather naïve or hapless, but it has honestly taken this long (about 9 months) for us to get a true picture of how much this is all going to cost. And it does always come down to cost.
So, we have had to take a deep breath and reassess our plans, moving not-so-smoothly to plan B, not a radical re-think but another series of compromises. I imagine that when it’s all finished we’ll have forgotten about plan A, and probably plan B too and will be happy with plan X. That’s what the wise heads tell me anyway.

So, I have been limiting myself to what I know I need to do, and hoping that the new drawings I am doing will work, or at least will save us enough money for us not to have to start looking at the Ryanair schedules quite yet.
Sport has been another issue with which I am struggling at the moment. You get the odd weekend in England when the national side is playing rugby, football and cricket all on the same day. These used to be exciting days for me, I suppose like those days for an Astronomer when planets are aligned on a moonless night. But then try to get excited about ‘watching’ it on a text printer via the BBC web-site. No commentary, no video, nothing except a refreshed page every 2 minutes, hoping that your dial-up internet access doesn’t crash, again.
There is an alternative. Sky. It can be done. But there is another problem. Right now England are doing well in rugby, football and cricket and I am strangely convinced that if I get to watch it all on Sky, something will happen and it will all start going wrong, and it will all be my fault. Sorry, can’t explain it, but it’s true.

The stupidest thing I did today;
Tried tuning in to Five Live for full commentary on the rugby just in case they had changed their mind about overseas broadcasting rights, or maybe my friend at the BBC had persuaded someone to not pull the plug...no chance.

Jenga

26th August 2007
Most of my knowledge of, and confidence in building comes from being undefeated in all forms of Jenga (including ‘human size’). So it came as no surprise when the builder encouraged me to take out all sorts of huge bricks in important and strategic locations of my wall. I knew it would still stand.

My newest job is to make the holes for the air pipes which go under the floor which, according to him is apparently quite simple, but the walls are about three feet thick and made of solid stone. This is obviously another challenge set to make me realise that he’s the top dog around here, and that his team is making fast progress and I’m not allowed to hold them up. So soon we will have a concrete floor which will look almost exactly like it did before we started, but this one will be flat, damp-free, reinforced and expensive.

Trouble is that when you then have a big empty space there are just too many options and I’ve been spending the sleepless hours between 4 and 7am fretting over how we can divide the space so it works best; where doors should go, where windows should go etc. But most of the fretting is, as usual, about budgets and the bottom line…

The stupid dog is settling into a nice routine of an early morning walk followed by breakfast, a quick play and training session, and then I just sit back, relax and wait for the inevitable, “Daddy! The dog’s done a poo in the house again!”

Anyway, however hard his latest challenge, and despite the fact that he probably thinks I’m an idiot, I know that I could still beat the builder at Jenga.

The stupidest thing I did today;
Rather pleased with myself today - stupid-free.

Three little words

10th June 2007

It had to happen sooner or later.
I thought I was prepared, but you never really are.
When the builder tells you to ‘clear the site’ he means business. Suddenly all the pretence is over and I have to start doing some real work. I had told him that I wanted to do as much work on the house as was possible, and he gave me a rather withering look as though he’d heard that one so many times before. Now I know that I need to impress him during the next two weeks before he comes back to check on my progress.
He also reminded me that every brick counts, as the old ones cost up to 4 euros each from a builders merchant and so, if I can carefully excavate each one I find, I can save myself thousands of euros. But brick is as nothing when compared to old stone, every one of those counts too, and sections need to be arranged for the builders in careful piles; stones (called ‘baby heads’ for obvious reasons), full bricks, half bricks, one-faced bricks and rubble. Finally I’ve found a use for my sledgehammer.
I have also now bought an angle-grinder, despite mistakenly translating it as ‘ankle-grinder’ in the DIY store. It is the most ferocious and scary piece of equipment I have ever used and I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it or even begin to start enjoying it, but it has its purpose and makes for an impressive photo at least.

The stupidest thing I did today;

Making the foolish assumption that sunglasses are an appropriate equivalent to safety-goggles.