Exploring Food, Faces, Places

The front door to our Air BnB

The Local Bar

(The locals must be quite short)

A city of parks

A city of romance (in a Balkan kind of way)

Romance in a particularly Balkan sort of way

Good looking locals (though Mitch doesn’t trust the photographer)

Good choices for vegetarians

Even better for fat-faced pork lovers

Our local baker Stephan (He was a computer programmer 6 weeks ago, is now a baker)

Crap Motors and Ctap Spelling

How sad, in such a beautiful city!

But how happy to be in such a beautiful city!

Farley

Bulgaria or Bust

St Sophia – the patron saint of frisbees.

The Christmas miracle wished for in my previous blog only three-quarter happened. Linda and I arrived safely in Sofia, as did my bag. Linda’s bag however…..

We were greeted at the airport by a carousel lacking one suitcase, but also with an arrivals hall that included Mitch and Grace who had been in Sofia for a day or two. All travel is an exercise in mindfulness – some travel experiences can also provide the chance to learn further problem solving skills. The lack of one suitcase would be a learning opportunity if our glass was half full, however it doesn’t quite seem to feel like a positive learning opportunity at present.

Sofia does seem like the type of city we love wandering through. We have spent some time recently travelling in the Balkans, a part of the world where civilizations meet, overlap, and often coexist gratingly. The Harmony Square in the middle of Sofia is the Balkans typified. From one vantage point I could see Sofia’s main mosque, the Orthodox and Catholic Cathedrals and the central synagogue. (Mind you, I could also see a McDonalds and a gunshop from the same point.) Perhaps also sadly typical of the Balkans – the Catholic church had been burnt down by the Turks in the 1800’s, the Orthodox church destroyed by the Communists in 1924 and the synagogue was ransacked by the Nazis in the 1940s. At least the gunshop and McDonalds have been left untouched ’til now.

In the city centre there is a great market, good coffee, many small food places and plenty to explore. Early days. We are looking forward to getting into a daily rhythm of shopping, exploring and cooking at home in the evenings. Today I doubled my Bulgarian vocabulary (I can now say ‘Thanks’ like a native Bulgarian!) Tomorrow I intend to master the Cyrillic alphabet, which will then leave me the remainder of the holiday to fine tune the nuances of some of the more complex phrases. This will allow me to blend in fully with the locals. How fortunate I am to have been provided with a quality Rosewood education in my formative years.

I am sure my legion of followers are all eagerly awaiting the stories and insights that my immersion in Bulgarian culture will afford them. Both of you, however, just need to be patient. Even a Rosewood scholar can’t do a whole country justice in just a day or two.

F C-S

I’ve Been to Bali Too

Vienna Airport at last!

Farley does Bali

I’ve never had the desire to see Bali. I’ve never had a strong yearning for a three hour delay on the tarmac in Brisbane as the mechanics attempted to fix the fuel pumps and computer systems on a Boeing 767 either. I’ve also never really had the desire to be a passenger in a plane with two faulty fuel pumps and a bung computer – one that wasn’t going make it from Brisbane to Bangkok. And I REALLY didn’t ever want to go to Bali with an airline that knew about the plane’s faults but took off anyway, primarily because they couldn’t find enough cheap hotel rooms for everyone in Brisbane. I suppose it is the season of no room left in the inn and Christmas miracles. At least we made it to Bali.

We weren’t actually allowed off the plane there. In Denpasar it refuelled, some coir matting and sisal rope was wrapped around the one remaining fuel pump to protect it, the tyres were kicked and the Thai Buddhists on board talked about karma. Then on to Bangkok. I usually look up to someone who’s willing to take risks at work, though I find that trait to be far less admirable when that person is the captain of your aircraft.

On arriving in Bangkok we had been on the plane for thirteen lucky hours and I had already used up all of my pain-free butt-cheek credits and exhausted my ‘Please try to sit still without fidgeting’ capacity. This was before we had even boarded for the longest leg – our flight to Vienna. In addition we had been upgraded on this leg to Premium Economy in Brisbane, but missed that flight and were back in Economy…sigh.

My best friend at school (Rosewood of course) was Steve Clark. He was one of sixteen children, and for them to have their annual camping holiday at Cotton Tree Caravan Park it took two cars and three trips to get everyone and everything there. Times have changed, but still, for us to have a holiday in Bulgaria it will now take three planes and four trips and two days. Plus I bet the Clarks never set out knowing both fuel pumps in their Holdens were suspect and not knowing where their bags were going to be when they all finally made it to the Sunshine Coast. And I’m sure Steve was never told he was going to be sitting in the front window seat, only to be shunted to the back middle when the family was delayed by mechanical problems with the car he was in.

But then Farquar, where’s the adventure in a smooth, safe trip? What’s more, now I can really relate to Ian Schuman and Redgum, because I’ve been to Bali too. Perhaps our bags will arrive in Sophia when we finally get there as well? Miracles do happen – and not just at Christmas!

F C-S

Last Leg

When Panasonic and Hitachi are your toilet manufacturers, then you are definitely in Japan, and your toiletting is always going to be high tech. There you enjoy the complexities of adjustable seat warmth, choice of background music and options around the loudness of the flush. I can choose between ‘Bamboo forest’ or ‘Mountain stream’ as surround sound to conceal the more earthy tones that may be projected during my visits to the bathroom. In Rosewood we had an outhouse until I was 15, the choice was between editions of newspapers, and any sounds were masked by our neighbour’s dog barking furiously whenever anyone went to the dunny. However the smell, although bad, didn’t match the smell of the person beside me on one of our Milan to Tokyo legs. I suspect his recent diet had involved copious quantites of roadkill or wolverine.

This man weighed approximately 0.75 Zm (Zm is a unit of measurement of body mass. One Zm is the heaviest weight an ex-colleague of mine attained in any calendar year- although variable it was usually in the 200-220kg range.) My seat-mate was young, Nordic and gagworthy. There is nothing you can do when trapped in the middle seat by a young, obese stenchbucket – except hope that there is deodorant served with the meal. There wasn’t. Or hope that your wife has pity for you and offers to change seats. She didn’t.

Tokyo has been a great stopover. We are staying in a familiar neighbourhood, we have eaten at our favourite restaurant and we have coffee each morning at a nearby coffee shop that we love. And we have used the time to go back over this set of travel adventures. Some awards;

Best place visitedPietrasanta

Best momentseeing the clouds lift over Barga

Best timeSeeing Nat arrive safely in Lucca on Christmas Eve (a homing pigeon she is not).

Best MealLinda’s meatballs in Lucca or pork tonkatsu at a restaurant found sulubriously within the Roppongi Metro station.

Best reunionSeeing the excitement of the crew at Bluebottle Coffee, Tokyo

Best purchase5 rice bowls.

We have already started looking at next Christmas. Any time we go online the possibilities seem to grow. The Baltics and the Balkans have been mentioned. Portugal and Morrocco would fit the bill. We’ve never spent time in France outside Paris. We have Irish and Scottish ancestors that call to us. And the list grows

So much to see Remington, so much to see. I guess we’ll just have to keep planning and travelling for some years yet!

F C-S

Louis and Leo in Milan

In 1969 all my friends in year 8 at Rosewood High had done their primary schooling at the local convent. I was the odd one out. Most Thursday afternoons we would head over to the Catholic church where Father Brown would hand out air-rifles to my friends to shoot the pigeons that nested under the eaves of his church. But not to me. Finally one afternoon he said ‘You’re Ted’s son?’ I nodded. Then he handed me a slug gun and said ‘Just shoot the Protestant pigeons son.’ It was wonderful for a 12yr old. But he never asked me to paint the church.

Louis asked Leo to do a bit of work on his churches in Milan, our last stop ’til Japan. In 1482 Ludovico Sforza, the Duke of Milan, invited a young Leonardo da Vinci to Milan from his home town of Florence in response to a shower of letters sent by Leonardo to the Duke. The Duke invited him to decorate a convent and to help with the design of his cathedral. One became ‘The Last Supper’, the other became one of the most recognisable buildings in the world.

Being the great polymath that he was, he went on to work on a huge range of other projects for his sponsor in Milan. There were weapon designs, new, improved, water-powered wool looms, drawings, glorious art works, writings about flying machines and submarines. There were scientific and mathematical insights. There were sculptures and letters; all of these are now part of our precious Western heritage. Milan was special for Leonardo indeed.

We have only ever used this city as an airport, as a pause before heading elsewhere, but at each visit we feel a little more intrigued by its food, its people, and the unexpected (and expected) moments of beauty. Milan – we, like Leonardo did before us, feel a growing affinity towards you – an urge to design a church, a castle, or the like …. though nothing as grand as Rosewood’s Catholic Church of course. After all, some things are simply not able to be replicated – ever.

We have only one more day here to explore this city and its museums and art galleries before we head to Tokyo and the land of high tech toilets…..that is unless I’m offerred a slug gun to shoot pigeons at the cathedral. Only the Protestant pigeons of course!

F C-S



The Duke’s front gate.


If ever a deli had my name written all over it, this is it.







Milan’s version of Harrods or KaDeWe



Of course every capital city in the world (except Lima) has an Inca playing Andean tunes on a wooden flute beside a stuffed llama.

Slow Food, Even Slower Train

Goodbye Farquar of the Hinterland

Our dear friend Farquar left us today for his next destination and we accompanied him as far as the city of Pistoia where we took our leave. He took the fast train from Florence to Venice, later we took the world’s slowest train back home to Lucca.

Pistoia where we spent the day is a gentle city, one that shows off some of the traits of Italy and Italians that we have come to love. The restaurant where we had lunch has a sign that says:

We have WiFi, but wouldn’t you rather just eat with you friends?”

The place was filled with families sharing a meal and the sign seemed to sum up this place and our day.

All our meals today were so, so simple. Slow cooked pork in tomato and fennel sauce and a spinach and ricotta ravioli for lunch in a Pistoian market trattoria. Later back in Lucca we had a meat and cheese platter served with local wines. Bread with olive oil, a simple pastry or biscuit with your coffee, fruit on the table to have with cheese. All of our meals today were relaxed, simple and all of the ingredients so very good. Even the train journey home was unhurried.

Trenno Regionale actually translates as ” Shit, this is the slowest train I have ever been on.” The journey from Pistoia to Lucca wound its way past vineyards, flower farms, little railway sidings where no-one got on or off – but the driver waited anyway. Linda had a very long, very deep sleep at one stage on the homeward journey- and woke up much later at the next station 10km up the road.

There are some who said the railmotor from Ipswich to Rosewood went 15 miles forwards in distance and 50 years backwards in time. Today we travelled (slowly) through Tuscany’s Wulkarakka, Walloon and Thagoona. There were vineyards and vegetable farms rather than the cattle and piggeries of my childhood. In the distance were small hill-top villages and snow-capped peaks rather than the Marburg Range. But whilst the names and the geographical features were unfamiliar, I did feel that I had some deeper understanding of what it would be like to grow up in these places – surrounded by relatives but suffocated by safety.

I have a deep love for Italy as you know. I suspect Myrl may have actually been Sicillian but pretended she was born in Ipswich just to snare Ted – this might explain my seemingly innate affection for this place. The food, the wine the scenery, but above all the people keep bringing me back – and I always do feel so much at home.

But I couldn’t help but wonder if today, on a train between Ipswich and Rosewood, I had a doppelganger. I wonder if a travelling Rossini leaned over to his wife Lindetta and said “You know dear, living in Rosewood would be just like living in back home in Castello-Montibello, except here they have pigs and beef cattle rather than olive trees and flower farms.”

I wouldn’t be at all surprised if this happened. After all the wonders of travel, Remington, must be experienced to be fully understood. They cannot ever be explained with mere words!

Farley


Felice Anno Nuovo Amici Miei

Happy New Year to all my devoted followers.

I think I was awake when it was midnight in Mumbai, and I was certainly woken at midnight by the church bells and fireworks here in Lucca.

I hope the new year brings calmness, perspective and even more to love about your lives.

Farley Cunnington-Smythe

ps

(Because some fool introduced the cactoblastis moth to Australia we are unable to decorate our houses, sporting fields and paddocks with prickly pear. Unbelievable! Not in Lucca though. The Italians have an eye for beauty, that’s for sure!)

You Can’t Go Home Again

You can’t go home again.’ (Tom Wolfe)

I don’t know if any of my reading public have shared an experience similar to mine a day ago. Yesterday we decided to visit an old friend. I know her quite well, in fact we spent a month together when M’lady was writing her doctorate, and I was so excited to be catching up with her again after a number of years apart. The whole day was such a profound disappointment. The Florence we went to yesterday was not the Florence I remember.

Florence is still as beautiful as ever- I can only name Paris as a city that might shade her for sheer beauty. Around almost every turn in the old town centre holds the potential for another heart-stopping, absolutely breathtaking scene. Every corner brings anticipation. It is my favourite city in the world by far – when there are fewer tourists.

It was a struggle to walk there at times, such were the crowds. The Ponte Vecchio was shoulder to shoulder, the Duomo the same. The queue for the Uffuzi was probably 500 metres long and growing. Yes I do understand the hypocrisy because I too am a tourist. But yesterday wasn’t spent with the Florence I remember. It has changed, or I have changed. I can’t see myself visiting her again, and that made me inordinately sad.

Today, perhaps in an attempt to remedy that sense of loss, we went an hour by train in the completely opposite direction – not to a city but to a small town called Pietrasanta (St Petersburg would be the Russian equivalent). It is a medieval hillside town that looks out over the Mediterranean. There are remnants of its walls and watchtowers that still fill that role as protectors – not of people but of the olive groves that dot the western slopes. And more importantly there were no tour guides, no horse-drawn carriages, no ticket touts – no crowds at all.

There wasn’t a Santa Claus to be found and very few Christmas trees, but instead tastefully decorated streets and witch costumes for sale. (It is a witch, la Bafana, who brings gifts to the children on the 12th day after Christmas – the Epiphany is the day the Wise Men arrived in Bethlehem with their gifts.) The magnificent church that featured priceless artwork by Florentine masters was free to enter, and the few people inside appeared to be mainly locals. Our delicious lunch was shared with extended families enjoying the day out together. It was indeed a much needed day, one to refresh the soul.

I hope my three readers do get to Florence on a day when you have at least part of the city to yourself – but sadly now I won’t be your guide. No doubt you are aware I have been resisting the relentless pressure to lead pilgrimages to the very special sites around Rosewood and Tallegalla – a task for which I am uniquely qualified. The open-cut mine, the piggery, the bridge over the Seven-Mile are all attractions that must be seen with a guide to be fully comprehended. However our recent trip to Florence makes that journey with me as your host even less likely to happen now.

You just can’t go home again Remington because it won’t be the same and you won’t be the same. You can’t ever go home again.

F C-S
















Beautiful Barga


Barga is a one of the many medieval villages in the Appennines about an hour by bus from Lucca. When we went there yesterday the drive up the valley to the town was exquisite. The road follows the river valley and goes through numerous small towns – each with a church, a shop or two and an African guy trying to sell umbrellas to any tourist who stops. Barga itself, when we finally got there, was clouded in mist, stunningly beautiful, – and essentially closed.

Historically it was more closely aligned with the Lombards than with the Tuscans. As is the way in this part of the world, the town still celebrates the time they beat Lucca in a 12th century punch-up – or at least kept Lucca out of their town until the Florentines threatened to intervene. (That means they’ve had that same party now about 1,000 times!) Mind you, they also have a day to celebrate the time they joined with the Lucchese to keep out the Florentines. Sadly they were unable to keep out the more recent invaders – the Poms.

This part of Italy has quite a large UK expat community, but one that is now reeling with the uncertainty of Brexit. It could mean that all those who moved here from England and Scotland to take advantage of the cheap housing, mild climate, and ready availability of African umbrella salesmen, could suddenly become holidaymakers rather than residents and who are therefore unable to stay in their own house, (sometimes only house) for more than four months in any calendar year. No doubt this will have a flow-on effect on the English, Irish and Scottish themed pubs that also dot these valleys.

Upon our return to Lucca we had the best meal of the trip so far – not at an Irish pub but rather a Sicillian restaurant just round the corner. Every dish was first class; pork with artichokes, octopus with an unpronouncable sauce, even the simple green salad that accompanied the meal – followed by traditional Sicillian desserts . It was fitting way to farewell Nat who was with us for Christmas and is now staying with friends in London.

There is still so much to see in this beautiful part of the world. We havn’t yet seen the coast and there are a number of small hillside villages each with their own market day. Tomorrow however, we are going back to Florence, and that Remington, is almost always a good idea.

Enjoy the photos!

Farley et al.










Genghis Khan, Spanish Sheep and the Medicis


I know about half of my followers are history buffs, and both of them would be fascinated by the link between Genghis Khan, Spanish merino sheep and the incredible wealth of ruling families like the Medicis, the Sforzas et al. Let me explain.

By the 13th century the Mongols controlled everything between China and the Black Sea. So long as you paid their tolls, for the first time in history it was possible to travel overland in relative safety between the Mediterranean all the way to China – so the Italians did. Marco Polo is the most famous of the 13th century Venetians to make that voyage – he wrote about it, and others followed. By the start of the 14th century the Genovese had a series of trading ports all around the Black Sea and were bringing silk, spices, and ideas back to Italy from the East.

The Tuscans at this stage were already renowned for the cloth they had been making using Spanish merino wool. They had workshops all through the Arno River valley producing fine woollen fabrics – then Chinese silk became available. And the wealthy classes of Western Europe went nuts over their cloth. When bishops could afford wool, the archbishops had to buy silk, which meant the cardinals needed to wear velvet with gold thread inlays. And the great trading familes of Italy became wealthier and wealthier. They could afford anything they wanted. (Lorenzo Medici didn’t like the smell of the markets on the Ponte Vecchio, so he had them cleared and replaced with goldsmiths. He then had a private, covered walkway built above the bridge that led to his office – the Uffuzi. On the walls of his walkway was a great number of paintings by the Italian masters just to make his stroll to work enjoyable!)

Today we had one of those chance days that can happen when you travel. What started as a ‘Let’s go part of the way to Florence with Catrina.’ ended up with a visit to Italy’s textile museum in a town called Prato. This museum traced the development of the textile industry in the Arno Valley from the Medieval period to the present. Apart from its array of cloth, it also has a collection of machinery. A whole section of the museum is devoted to looms designed for this trade by Leonardo da Vinci himself for the Duke of Sforza’s workshops, and there are working models of some of his machines. I didn’t even know he was into weaving, but he had a deep fascination for the way light fell on different types of cloth. Wonderful!

Today also helped explain the incredible wealth that is obvious in the churches of Lucca, particularly from the 15th century onwards. A church near the cathedral has an excavation underneath that shows the remains the 1st century Roman building under its foundations, through to the 13th century church above. This church and the adjoining cathedral are both decorated with priceless artworks by some of the masters such as Lippi, and has a museum that displays examples of the gold threaded vestment garments that we learned about today.

It was another great day today, a day filled with wonderful surprises and real learning. Linda’s parents would have loved the museum, Myrl would have enjoyed lunch I guess. It is a day that helps explain the role cloth played in bringing the genius of da Vinci, Michelangelo, Lippi, Botticelli, etc, etc, to the world.

In fact, I might even take out the old Singer sewing machine when I get home, who knows?

Farley


The Roman floor under the church.


Medieval graffiti! (It says ‘Giovanni has big feet, but a really small shield’)





Just stunningly beautiful!


So is our daughter, except when she wears that bloody cap backwards!








Our Luccan Lifesavers/Barristas