48 hours to go

I survived the first day of solo parenting with only a few panic attacks. We headed to a park in the city for a picnic lunch and then onto the Natural history museum again. I wrote my cell-phone number on the boys arms.

 We took our normal route home – discovering at about 1 hour past the melt-down, end-of-day, hungry, need the toilet hour – that our bus doesn’t go to the normal stop on Sundays – only part of the way there. I tried not to let the rising panic show in my voice and failed. With the cellphone running low on battery and realising that I have not memorised a single phone number in Italy, I called Roberto (Alison’s partner) for a re routing suggestion and we re-boarded the extremely hot and thronging underground train to take a second shot at finding our bus. We missed two trains while Gwilym insisted on sitting in passport photo booths and ‘boarding’ newspaper stands as imaginary rocket ships and calling people from the public phone boxes.  I dodged melt downs and tantrums (there were many opportunities for rides on ponies, dodgems, merry go rounds, bikes, miniature trains etc) and I listened to a continuous commentary from Silas about everything and anything for around 8 hours and at around 9pm, I lost a little patience.

I volunteered to cook risotto for Roberto (an Italian cook – how brave of me!) and started the time-consuming, laborious process on arrival home with two very dirty, tired, hungry, grumpy boys. Gwilym ate my expensive eye lubricating drops (yes – my eyes issues are still ongoing) while I sautéed the onions but the zucchini risotto was finally consumed and, after around an hour of negotiation, both boys are in bed and I give myself 7/10. My greatest complement of the day came from Roberto who said:” I cannot imagine how you manage to keep this up all day”. Thanks for noticing!

We wandered in the park with around a few hundred other Italian families whose favourite Sunday outing seems to be to head to the park with the kids.  It was a happy scene in the autumn sun, the falling chestnuts and the sounds of children let loose with their families.

 Once again, there were no shortage of mothers with towering high heels tottering after their toddlers and avoiding any traces of dirt on their white trousers while assisting their little ones on and off playgrounds (not to mention their spouses decked out in designer sunglasses, fine shoes, some fine-fitting jeans and a polo shirt). I would honestly love to get some photos to prove this but I am not yet brave enough to break all those privacy laws and put photos of complete strangers into my blog!  I am beginning to realise that the Milanese just do not find the opportunity to dress-down outside of their houses (with the exception of exercising maybe – which is rarer for women than men).

So, I am showing them how. A frumpy, dishevelled, make-up-free, flat-shoed kiwi leading the way. How attractive. Maybe I’ll try some eye-liner tomorrow.

Business matters and milestones

 Tomorrow Rory leaves for France. France. You can just drive there. Living in Europe seems to exciting compared to being able to FLY to Australia as one of our nearest overseas options. Anyway, he heads off for a big conference and Trade Show in Lyon where he will speak on Internal Water Cooling and work on the DRAM stand – the company that our distributor Alison owns, helping to promote La Plastecnica and drum up European business for Dram!

Today has been spent filling plastic bags with pieces of paper to hand out to interested trade show attendees – only hitch is that all the pieces of paper have to come in 7 languages. They cover Italian, French, German, Polish, Spanish, English and some Russian. It brings back happy memories of the first major trade show I attended with Rory when we were first married. We were staying here is Milan and the conference was in Berlin. Now, five years on and two children later and filling the bags is about where my contribution ends as I will be staying in Milan with the kids. Between now and when we leave, apparently Rory (with or without us)  will probably be going to Poland, Puglia (southern Italy), Denmark and possibly UK to run trials on his new invention (SUPACOOL).

But this is my contribution because this is what we are here for and looking after the kids is my part of the job (for the next 3 days anyway!).

I am proud to say that I reached a milestone on Thursday. I took both boys, by myself, on the bus and then the underground to the centre of Milan. We went to Duomo Square, where it all happens in Milan. And we went home again. The only moments I had were in the square when both boys were chasing pigeons in the opposite directions amidst a thronging crowd including hawkers, tourists, beggars etc. Thankfully Silas was more easily talked out of the activity than Gwilym.  In fact it would be fair to say that Gwilym wasn’t easily talked out of any frowned upon activities in the square (climbing on statues, walking in gardens etc). We ate roasted chestnuts, drank coffee and admired (?) dead popes who are lying in display cases in the Duomo (thankfully their faces have now been covered by silver masks but there is no mistaking they are corpses) and gazed at gigantic oil paintings depicting important scenes from church history (??) were dazzled by magnificent stained glass windows and argued about whether to do the climb to the roof (later, later). Silas' quote for the day: This is bigger than our church, isn't it Mum?

note Gwilym, Bottom left. Staunch as.

For the next three days though, we will be scaling down our undertakings other than a trip back to the natural history museum to meet up with an Italian woman and her son. We met them last time and she spoke good English, had a son a similar age to Gwilym and so without hesitation, I asked for her phone number and we have arranged to meet there again. Having no shame has worked well for me in the past when it comes to making friends.

Oh, and another small victory. I have found a friendly caffe. One that likes kids, the people smile and talk to me and it is about 30m from our house. So, the coffee’s back on.

Low moments

I am gradually writing off the coffee bar’s around our house. I attempted one yesterday for the second time and found myself stuck with not enough language to understand why I wasn’t given the change I expected. The barman, like the previous time, barely gives me eye contact and looks like he is incredibly pissed off that I am taking up valuable time and space in his café. While I am trying to sort out why I have not been given any change, I have one darting eye on the boys to check they are not standing on the chairs, banging on the fish tank, jumping onto the main road, playing with the sugar, bashing the toy/lolly dispenser or walking into unsteady old ladies. I know I am not relaxed and my ability to smile charmingly is somewhat limited by the circumstances. I would like to be able to change this, but for now, I will abstain from bars where they cannot tolerate Inglese speaking morons who just don’t get it. In the meantime, I drank the coffee on the street and cried the first tears I have had since arriving and I just didn’t care who saw me because I’m from New Zealand and we are not likely to run in to each other again.

My other moron inglese moment was at the market this week. I was picking my way along the vegetable stalls with the kids firmly in hand in the crowd and decided to buy some peaches. I wanted to check that they were not rotten or damaged before I bought them so I picked them up and looked at them. The lady started shouting at me in Italian. It is almost amusing, but you just stand there with absolutely no idea what they are shouting at you, but the most obvious thing to do is to leave. Pretty much now.

I headed down a few stalls and bought some gorgeous fruit (including a carton of fresh figs which are right in season here) and the woman very graciously tolerated all my broken Italian, commented repeatedly on how beautiful my boys were and I was able to make the purchases amidst smiles and pleasantries. Oh the difference a few metres makes.

Oh and tonight – I have discovered that I walk wrong for Italian apartment living. I walk heavily like a hippo rather than lightly like a ballerina. My heel strikes the ground first, rather than my toes. Now it makes so much sense why high heels and I seem to make such a bad combination.  So I will add that to my list of things to achieve this week – learn Italian and learn to walk differently so that the people who live below us will not look at me with menacing eyes (not that I have met them yet) while I disrupt their peace and quiet. Amazing they can hear me walking really over all the laughing, squealing, yelling and shouting that the boys do – not to mention their mother at them. 

Making the most of big city living

Today we went to the Museo Storia Naturale – or the natural history museum. It cost 3 euro total for me and the two kids. I was accompanied by the sister of the woman we are working with which popped me over the threshold for comfort zone stretching, enabling me to brave the metro and bus. Hopefully soon I may be brave enough to do it by myself (with the kids).

What an amazing collection of dead animals! If you try not to remember that every stuffed animal you see has been killed, gutted, transported across forests, glaciers, continents, rivers, seas etc to get back to a place where they could be stuffed and that half of the animals are probably endangered – it was certainly fantastic to see them up close in spectacular displays. Silas spent the entire time jumping up and down and exclaiming: look, look, look at this amazing …..It is wonderful to be accompanied by those who are still wonder-full, constantly awe-struck and always hungry to know more.

When we hit the Triceratops, Silas was apoplectic. He turned around to find a T-Rex just behind him and he had arrived at boy-heaven.

We still have a large selection of museums to work our way through and, obviously, some major art galleries. However, I am already envisioning Gwilyms paw prints on priceless art and my resolve is weakening.

A Ligurian weekend

Liguria is a province on the west coast of Italy – the most famous city it contains is Genova (a major port and home of Christopher Columbus). It is also famous for the very pretty walk around the coast called the Cinque Terra. It is a mountainous area with a mix of mountainous and fishing village perched on hillsides and of course, being Italy is insanely pretty. We went to neither Genoa or the Cinque Terra but visited friends who live in a place called Camogli. Their apartment is perched on a hilltop and, just to make sure your butt remains taut and fabulous having climbed 800m worth of stairs from the sea, you need to climb another four flights of steep, dark stairs (building code eat your heart out) to step into a view to die of…..

and at sunset...

 Their apartment was just as beautiful - built in the late 1700's, it has exposed wooden beams, crisp white washed walls, tiled floors (some original) and piles of lovely NEW ZEALAND art works!

Our arrival was preceded by a last minute detour from our 100% reliable GPS navigating system that came with the hire car (an ultra- modern Alfa Romeo) and another vomit (Gwilym). That nicely topped up the vomiting bag, already half full from Silas. It is not easy looking relaxed and sophisticated holding a bag full of vomit. I digress.

Andrew treated us to a lunch of fresh caught local fish and potatoes before we headed off down the many steps (past many beautiful houses) to the sea for a dip (in the Mediterranean no less) while the sun shone. At this stage I won’t digress into how unbrown and unskinny I felt but the water was cool and delicious – similar to the gelato we consumed shortly after. Gwilym and Silas both chose chocolate and proceeded to ensure that most of their upper bodies were well covered before we headed home.

Andrew and Rory head to gelato at right

Andrew and Marina had graciously invited us to stay before allowing us to gate crash on their night away (they have a 6 year son called Leonardo) at an Agriturismo. They had, rightly, thought that combining the sea and mountains in one weekend would be most satisfactory and they turned out to be right. Before we left however, we headed back to the sea again on a walk that wound around the hillside and down the cliff (again on many hundreds of steps) to the sea. En route we stopped for a snack. The region is well known for its focaccia (foh car chee ah) and it is to die for (and so was the shop pictured below!).

Foccacia

The coast is spectacular – very steep and the villages dot the inlets around the coastline – all muted pinks, yellows, reds – you know the postcard stuff…

Often the only access to some remote areas is by boat or on foot and it is rare, in Italy, to be able to drive to your house. As Rory and I have noted, in New Zealand, we expect to be able to park our car beside our house and unload our mountains of groceries conveniently straight into the kitchen. In Italy, it is not abnormal to struggle to find a park in the same street as your apartment (you have to remember where you last parked the car), then to have to carry your groceries from the car or the supermarket to your home which may be up 4 flights of stairs. Hence – my latest fascination – Italian people just don’t have our version of pantries. They simply do not store large quantities of food but buy small and fresh (firstly it satisfies their desire for good quality food and secondly – they can’t carry a vast quantity of food). The country people would be different I am sure! When I asked to see Marina’s pantry, she showed me a tiny cupboard in the lounge, otherwise, it’s just the fridge?

So later in the afternoon (timed perfectly with the boys need for a sleep and hence the ability to avoid more vomiting on an hours drive on winding, steep roads) we headed for the Agriturismo. It was located further on from an amazing village which claims to be the first ‘organic region’? in Europe and they pride themselves on organic food production. The Agriturismo is run by a couple who wanted a change of lifestyle so did up (they literally started with a stone shell of an old farm building which even the roof had caved in on) an old farmhouse and started growing organic food. They provide accommodation and food (a restaurant runs on the weekend) – providing amazing food in a warm, rustic, relaxed mountainous setting. Check out our room!

Our lovely room - full of quirk, beauty, rustic edges and old things

Gwilym patiently awaits a Ligulian feast

The boys loved the animals and the open space although the sound the donkey made failed to correlate with their parents woefully inadequate impressions, and the sea-fog-horn-like noise left Silas in tears with shock!

The dinner was wonderful. I won’t bore you with all the courses (it is usual in Italy to have at least 4) but it included most of their own produce including bread made from their own grain and pasta made from their own grain! Oh and some wild mushrooms found that morning, and preserved zucchini, fresh tomatoes etc. Fantastic. Marina and I managed a walk before dinner around a circuit which included a bumpy dirt road and up to the top of the hill to the little village and we enjoyed admiring lush, productive vege gardens, overflowing with food and inhabited by the usual (I didn’t take offence to this) slightly odd, hard- working farmer types. All around us were dotted villages perched on ridges of hillsides, always with a church and the accompanying bell tower and a cluster of buildings. The next morning we gaily suggested we drive our route in the cars before heading home – forgetting how rough it was. Rory sat tensely by my side, the 900 euro excess for damage at the front of his thoughts while I carefully negotiated the alfa romeo around the track until we reached the tarseal. 

The kids found an old stone wall to launch from - in true Gwilym style there was no holding back

At the col we stopped and picked fresh blackberries just to eat on the spot, extracting Gwilym at one stage from a full submersion into a blackberry bush with the accompanying tears. Silas and Gwilym enjoyed having a new friend in Leonardo and they walked along the road holding hands which was very cute. A number of photos of wild flowers later (other countries wild flowers always look so much prettier than the ones we are used to seeing), a few stolen grapes and fresh figs and we headed down to the town for a wander before heading home. Check out Varese Ligure:

Courtyard in Varese Ligure

If you search for ‘Varese Ligure’ online, you will find some images which give a birds-eye-view shot which suddenly makes sense having walked around it. There were heaps of very cool, narrow, old paths to get lost in with porticos to wander under.

So back to Milan and rain and entertaining small boys. Worth it though. I am not complaining although Gwilym says that Daddy is his special friend and he wants to put Mummy in the rubbish tin. A thankless task!

Kiwi ragamuffins

I am steadily helping our family to build a scruffy, gypsy (Romeni), dirty reputation. Yesterday it was very hot (muggy) and Silas was given a bucket and spade by a generous stranger. The only sand we have nearby is at the park so we headed there. So did a large crowd of sun-loving, presumably retired Italians who in the middle of a weekday afternoon, were decked out in bikinis and speedos, catching some autumn sun and chatting cheerfully with each other. Have you ever seen this in NZ????

Anyway – the sand playing was great entertainment but it progressed to paddling in the lake until the clothes were all wet, the gumboots water logged and the kids were sitting chest deep in the water. They were squealing and running around and inventing all sorts of happy games between them while the Italians watched on with amazement and some mirth. I failed to notice the ‘do not swim in the lake’ sign.

The session ended with both boys racing home on their bikes, wearing only wet undies and sodden gumboots with their mother in hot pursuit. Pretty much everyone we passed thought the sight was hilarious – our little comedy duo performs again!

The day before, again hot, we headed to a nearby fountain in a small square. I took the boys togs and a towel and let them run back and forth, laughing and playing for a very happy hour. The old lady beside us politely enquired if we were Romena ( eg from Romania) which was her way of checking whether we did deserve the gypsy status she was giving us. When I explained we were from Nuova Zealanda, she looked surprised and smiled – so I guess I just tarnished the kiwi reputation as well.

Italian lessons

It is ashame I never learned English grammer properly.

I am sure it would have stood me in much better stead for learning Italian. However, I am battling away. Or rather, Alison is battling away while I stare blankly at her, feeling like (as Rory put it today) a person wandering around in dense fog. But I can, I promise, already say quite a lot of stuff and recognise heaps of words and I am boldly using them on unsuspecting people. I feel like I am making quite a lot more progress than when I was here last time.

Each lunchtime, I go down to have a lesson with Alison and Roberto makes me a café. But the grammer is a problem. Who has heard of auxiliary verbs? (don't answer that please). Guess I should be re learning it in the evenings rather than writing blogs.

Old stuff with young ones

Sunday 16/9/12

The National Science, Technology and Transport Museum:

Bet you all stop reading right now!

This museum may be more interesting in my next life when I can be born with another brain that gets excited about physics and maths. In the meantime - Silas was fascinated and brimming with questions, Gwilym was interested (until he got hungry) and Rory  - well, he's an engineer. The easiest things to enjoy with small boys, were NOT the reconstructions of Leonardo's ideas which could be easily touched in view of waiting museum staff, but were the less easily broken things like cool old areoplanes, an enormous ship (inside), a submarine (outside!), steam trains and the like. It was a big de ja vu having been to the same museum with Richard Wesley 5 years earlier! 

Had I had another 2 years in the museum by myself, I may have expanded my knowledge in how technology we use today was developed. But I didn't. So I don't. Sorry about that.

getting to grips with the finer workings of helicopter flight

After managing about 4 hours (with a lunch break), we exited into the late afternoon sun and found we were in the courtyard of an ordinary looking church front (actually, the church doesn't even make it into the guides!). As is often the case in Italy – you wander in and are immediately GOBSMACKED at gold pillars, original art plastered all over the walls, ceilings, amazing statues, the sheer size of the place and, as a bonus, a group of young, friendly, slightly geeky, bell ringers taking tours up into the bell tower (50m) to stand under the gigantic bells while they play them for you. Somehow, my head for heights has disappeared along with my brain for physics and I found myself thinking quite a lot about earthquakes as we ascended an ancient brick tower, strengthened with ancient logs and not a lot of safety nets beside the rickety stairs. At the top, the keen young man rang (well actually he probably played an amazing rendition)  the ginormous bells (they play what looks like a mini keyboard with their fists pounding on the ‘keys’ which through some rudimentary system, smack the bells). As expected, Gwilym had a go, showing no fear and Silas held his ears.

View from the bell tower - The Duomo - Milan's most famous church, is in the top right corner

Chasing pigeons has become Gwilym's favourite pass-time, or geese, or ducks...

Sant' Ambroggio

Sant' Ambroggio

We wandered into another nearby church (Sant’ Ambroggio) – apparently one of Milan’s oldest basilicas. Gwilym immediately found a small boy to play hide and seek with in the atrium. Kids don’t need language, they just play with what or who they find. In the church itself, a wedding was taking place and it was filled with what felt like, beautiful, modern, worship-full music. The words didn’t seem important – it was a lovely moment.  I know we will get ‘churched out’ – too much beauty and history for a head to take in, but for the moment it is lovely to admire ancient, intact (well, mostly) buildings and soak in the atmosphere, especially in the early evening autumn sun.

IKEAHHHHH.....

I have returned un-triumphant from an overwhelming trip to Ikea. It finished with a headache and a serious need for a sit down and a long drink. Oh MY GOODNESS. I didn’t realise you could fit so many desirable things under one roof. Or that you could suddenly ‘need’ so many things that until now, you hadn’t realised existed.

I think it took us (Alison and I – thankfully, no children were in attendance otherwise I would have been reduced to a migraine) about 2 hours just to walk around the building (not stopping a lot) and I didn’t find many exits. Thankfully any claustrophobic tendencies I have were kept under control as I lost all bearings and any sense of where the start or finish was. The building was acres in size.

For those of you who belong to the apparently small group of people not familiar with IKEA (of which I was one) – this is a shop which contains every household item required for a home. But all of them are cool, relatively cheap, well designed and desirable. I can only be thankful that IKEA has not made it to NZ because we would be leaking thousands of dollars a year into their coffers. And all for stuff we have previously lived without.

Seriously – this shop has EVERYTHING, with the exception of clothing. You can buy a whole kitchen, an IKEA oven, flooring, a Persian carpet (!), pictures for the walls, bedding, utensils, office equipment, storage solutions etc etc. It has taken Italy by storm – even the Italians are willing to buy Swedish design over Italian design. I am sure that somehow, somewhere there is some dodgy production going on, or that some poor people or poor forests or poor earth is being ransacked ( I am happy to be proven wrong), but in the meantime, the headache has subsided and once I’ve recovered, I’ll have another go. Any friends keen for some IKEA stuff, I am sure organising a container of stuff to be shipped back would be no problem. There is a desk for that as well. Oh, and finance.

All within a stones throw...

I am gradually testing the waters of Baggio – the local area where we live. As with all new places, you start by tentatively making small steps into the immediate area, gradually becoming braver and venturing further afield. At first I am afraid of becoming lost. Then there is getting mugged. Not being understood.  I don’t know any landmarks. I have no idea where north is and it wouldn’t help me anyway. But within days, I’ve got a few streets sussed, got my bearings a little, feel bold enough to just try.

Yesterday it rained all afternoon. Thunder, lightning, torrential down pour rain. The boys and I sat it out until Rory came ‘home’ (and the rain was subsiding) and then we donned the gumboots and jackets and headed out. The boys jumped in every puddle they could find until we found a fountain in a small square which they were able to really finish the soaking off. So ‘un-italian’ – letting kids get wet and dirty! The walk in the rain helped me to push the safe limits out further and discover more about the area.

view from the balcony after the rain filled day

We’ve found we live near some great food joints. Today we lunched with the ‘DRAM’ team. DRAM is owned by Alison and they sell our products. She employs about 4 women who help run the show and she put on a lunch to welcome the Jone’s family. So we’ve ticked off the long Italian lunch already. 3 courses and coffee. Amazing food. And about 50 metres from where we live!

Last night Rory and I did pizza while Alison babysat! I love watching the waiters work the tables. They are such pros. Remembering the orders, carrying loaded plates at speed, the banter with the customers.

Alison, Katia, Jane, Enza, Alessandra and Elise - Rory taking picture

View from the dining room

The local old church

Gwilym tries the door..

And – my mother will be thrilled to hear this – we have a second hand shop just near our house as well. Today I bought really really expensive Italian shoes (the DRAM ladies knew the label) for 8 euro. Well done me.

We are still buzzing about the park( Parco delle Cave). Check out the link to see some images of it:

https://www.google.co.nz/search?q=parco+delle+cave&hl=en&prmd=imvns&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=rTFSUJOyIPP64QThtICwCg&ved=0CDgQsAQ&biw=1517&bih=655

Food - mundane Italian fare

Our distributor and host stocked our fridge before we arrived and it amazes me that within days I have almost forgotten how to eat like a kiwi and have effortlessly weaned myself onto Italian fare.
Currently in our fridge (not exhaustive):

Well of course there is cheese:
Asiago, Caprini de Latte vaccino, Gorganzola, parmigiano, Provolone, Mozarella

ANd then cured meats:
Salami, Proscuitto, Mortadella

Liquids:
Acqua Frizzante - Mummy - why do all the Italians drink fizzy water? (Sorry I don't know but it just seems to taste nicer), Latte, Prosecco/red wine

Yoghurt (starting research for Josh and Fleur..)
Chocolate
Fruit/vege

And in the pantry - pretty much stuff all because Italians have such small kitchens you just go shopping all the time. But the essential staples are coffee, pasta, balsamic vinegar, olive oil, a couple of tins of something and especially for the Jones family - muesli.

Silas and Gwilym enjoy their first gelato in central Milan. Fashion capital of the world....

Tonight I made Pasta e fagioli (recipe passed on by Roberto)

Fry onion and bacon (cubed bacon pieces) until done. Throw in a couple of tins of drained fagioli ( or borlotti beans) and some stock. Boil up for 15-20 mins until thickish. Cook some small type of pasta separately (maybe small macaroni or something). When bean mixture cooked - mash slightly and then mix with the cooked pasta. Boys demolished it.

Where are we living: check it out

http://maps.google.co.nz/maps?q=12+via+eligio+brigatti+milano&hl=en&ll=45.461545,9.092753&spn=0.009105,0.021136&sll=45.46186,9.092739&sspn=0.009105,0.021136&hnear=Via+Eligio+Brigatti,+12,+Milano,+Lombardia,+Italy&t=m&z=16

Check out the link above to see where we are living.

The biggest asset of the area is a massive park - it has two lakes, heaps of tracks through the woods and open road-like biking/walking tracks. It is well used by the locals for exercise and I have started running again - going for morning missions with the family. Tonight we biked around the park after dinner - visiting a small farm with lots of animals for the kids to look at and then had a gelato on the way home. Boys collapsed into bed and asleep within minutes. My head feels clear. It is so devoid of things I should be doing or people I should be seeing. Its just us and life today. What a gift.

Here are a couple of photos from the street we live on....

A trip into central Milan: people watching

People watching

Wandering through the Milano castle, we cross paths with a foursome and a boy. Two women and their two partners? The two women are dressed in the usual tottering heels, short dresses/hot pants, amply showing off their leggy assets and of course, make up layered on like a face pack. At every photo opportunity, the group pause and one or both of the women pose as though they are on a Milano vogue shoot, complete with pouting, arranging their legs and their bodies over the props available and then look in all seriousness at the camera ready for the shot. They appear to have no awareness of the hundreds of tourists making their way past them or concern that they may look either reasonably stupid or at least vain. Their slightly overweight, older, unremarkable partners grab the 'shot' and they head on to the next photo opportunity.

The Italian women are amazing. Many have tanned, faultless complexions, amazingly slim bodies and a surprisingly generous cleavage to match. They have full lips which they coat with lipstick and pout readily teamed with designer sunglasses. Oh, and the hair. You know, the hair that is tossed over a shoulder and falls glossy and bouncing down an exposed tanned back. Apparently wandering around central Milan for the day is absolutely no problem in stilettos/platform shoes. We saw a relatively elderly woman on the way home wearing pink spandex tights, platform shoes, dyed blonde hair and a tight white top. No worries there.

There is, admittedly the odd fat italian woman. And old, frumpy italian woman. These are a rare breed in central Milan. If they are fat, they are still making the most of their ample bosom and will have a slash of lippy on, a rinse through the hair and probably a 'do' . They just don't seem to know the 'I just put on what I found on the floor this morning and headed out the door without looking in the mirror' approach which has served me so well for so many years.

The men vary. Their fashion sense seems quite uniform. Polo neck shirt, navy or coloured tailored shorts, slip on shoes or else the 'exercising attire'. Many are in a great shape although just as many have a gut and seemed to have managed to pull a woman about 20 years their junior who is impeccably turned out.

Being a mother, I tend to notice bellies. Those bellies you get when you have wrecked your stomach muscles and even slim women retain after a pregnancy. And yes, you guessed it, the italian mothers (we saw a crowd of them today at a fun park) seem to bear no physical evidence of previous pregnancies. And pushing prams in stilettos is completely normal. So are white trousers.

The bikes (around parks) are super cool cruisey affairs. Sit back and relax. Pedal if you need to. A basket in front, a carrier behind. Some coloured jeans, absolutely no helmet but sunglasses are key.

Gwilym and his new bike

Day 1: We arrive in Milan (mid morning). We come home for a spot of lunch. Then we drive to Decathlon (big outdoor store here) and buy a small pedal bike for Gwilym (aged 2 ½ yrs). We go on family outing to park and Gwilym learns to ride it in the first hour.

Ed note: yes we noted the handle bars are around the wrong way before we started biking

Silas' new bike which he LOVES

This is surreal. He can even do running dismount on day 2 and by day 3, he is tackling small mountain bike trails and attempting to keep up with Silas.

Gwilym is really astounding me with his ability to adapt and take up the challenges put in front of him. As per usual - lesson for mother - never underestimate your kids. They will astound you at every turn.

Sensory deprivation

I am feeling a little cheated. I have started this soujourn in Italy partly devoid of many of my senses. Following a last minute cold in NZ, I can't actually taste my first slice of pizza. Following an eye condition that has gone on for weeks, I can't actually see anything by about 5pm so have to close my eyes. I certainly can't smell. Oh and my ears are blocked after the flights so the kids yelling is pleasantly dulled. I wouldn't be calling Italy an assault on the senses just yet.

Smile - it might not happen

A fresh season. A change of scenery. A chance to take stock.
I've said no to so many things over the last couple of years - it seemed timely to say YES! So, like my recently passed Grandmother - Nina Vivienne - I said yes to the opportunity to import my little family across the world, across cultures and time zones, crashing through comfort zones, throwing caution to the wind and landing in Milano. 

All things considered, like so many things in life - the journey went well and all the things I had worried about didn't happen and the things I had never considered were dealt as one does.

The day before leaving - I checked the itinery and discovered that the 5 hours we had planned for in Singapore was in-fact, 30 hours so a budget hotel was quickly booked and the first curve ball caught.
After so much packing and worrying about all of Silas' health issues, I managed to pack just one, empty ventolin inhaler for carry-on: carefully packing all the spare full inhalers and the blood- oxygen measuring device (generously loaned by a friend) into the checked luggage. Needless to say - the first hurdle was asthma in Silas that had started the night before and became apparent just after tearfully waving our family goodbye. Only a few hours of counting his respiratory rate and discussing with cabin crew - we managed to get them to crack open the airlines emergency kit and my vet degree passed the medical requirements for their paper work - and finally we got some ventolin on board and the asthma came under control. A big, sigh of relief.

The boys got henna tattoos in the Indian 'quarter' in Singapore

Singapore botanical gardens: orchid garden

In Singapore, we survived all potential food allergy issues but didn't foresee a flight cancellation after dutifully filling in 24 of our 30 hrs in transit. So nek minute - we were on our way to Athens rather than Frankfurt. The kids finally crashed out on the floor of Singapore airport about 4 hours before the flight left - and so did their mother.






From Athens, we were assisted in a mad dash across the airport to jump on our connecting flight to Athens.
What astounded me about the whole journey was how the kids just coped and kept on coping. No melt downs, no screaming, just taking it all in and managing it in their little strides. Turns out all those worries I had were an unnecessary waste of time. Guess I will just have to learn that lesson for the one millionith, four hundred and fifty fourth thousand time.

Oh and by the way - any of you that saw our 'Trunki' cases for the kids - they were so worth it!! They can go really fast, especially on marble floors and certainly helped making our connection in Athens!