Sometimes you can be lonely even if you are surrounded by loads of people. We only need to look at cities and the amount of lonely people who occupy a sprawling urban mass, all chocker block on top of each other, unaware of life taking place around them. Some of these lonely people find solace in writing, some in getting take outs every night, washed down with a bottle of wine. Some spend all their time online, talking to their cyber friends. Some just stare at the wall and wonder what the hell went wrong. Sometimes even a neighbour you've had for twenty years is a stranger. If you think about it, have you ever gotten as far as saying 'hi'? In fact, have you ever had eye contact? That is far too intimate for anyone quite happy festering in their own comfort zone. I am happy this way. Eye contact is overrated.
So many people, so many characters, singletons, playboys, playgirls, office workers, artists, hustlers, and street vendors criss crossing the streets of every city in every country. So lets think of ways we could potentially (and we'll leave it there) bring people together in a city. There are all sorts of community groups that have been created by the good, happy, and annoying. These groups involve people i.e. Pre-natal groups (is that a community thing?), book clubs, Alcoholics Anonymous, knitting clubs which are for people who thin they look cool, knitting. Knitting club is about being seen, not so much about knitting. Knitters often wear vintage, arrive on a bicycle, and are probably enrolled on the Textiles & fashion course at the local uni. If you don't knit, you are certainly not cool. Yoga - you can take up a yoga class, and go for a spirolina smoothie (or whatever is the new super food or lets say trend) with your new found health freak yoga obsessed friend afterwards. Or how about a mega workout at the gym. A spinning class perhaps. Spinning consists of cycling on the spot with pumping music and a highly energetic trainer pushing you beyond what is humanly acceptable regarding exertion. After a spinning class, you, or another newbie may fall over when you get off the bike, so watch out. The problem with spinning is that you are cycling in a hot sweaty box of a room (the one I am in) As soon as I get on that bike I know I have made one of the biggest mistakes of my life, I look around me, the instructor is there, I could do a runner, but I'm too damn polite, and not quick thinking enough to come up with a feasible excuse. I lose my opportunity to flee, and am now stuck in a box room, no beautiful trees to look at, or ponds to avoid. Just sweat noise and shouting. One of my ideas of hell. I am in hell.
When you are stuck out in the countryside, and a foreign one at that, things aren't much better. Foreign land, foreign language, foreign culture. At first it's lovely and wonderful and the sun shines a lot. Then that creeping feeling edges in 'Why am I here, what the hell am I doing?!' Frustration at the lack of city style things available sets in proceeded by a bout of severe grumpiness. Then the frantic online hunt starts for any other same language speaker. Where do I start? Ex pat forums I suppose. I am not an ex pat myself per se, I flit between countries, I am nomadic, cool, out there. Or so I delude myself.
I trail a few forums looking out for anyone in Le Marche. They seem few and far between, and any foreigners living the good life here are hours away from where I am. Trail trail trail. Click click click. Nothing nothing nothing. Oh, something. Finally. I spot an interview with an American couple running an agriturismo in Piobbico - that's not horrendously far! Excitement replaces melancholy and I browse the article. The agriturismo is aptly named 'La Tavola Marche' (www.latavolamarche.com) and it looks rustic and fab, just what you'd expect from an agriturismo. Welcoming and cosy, and the people who run it sound lovely too, I think that they are almost Italian, plus the guy is a chef. They have been in Italy for two and a half years and moved from New York where they had been living for the past eight years. Great, city folk, I am definitely getting in touch with them. So I write an email detailing pretty much how sorry for myself I am feeling, and that surely there must be some more English speakers around? And that I would love to swing by their agriturismo to meet them. Signed, Best wishes, Becky.
'Send'.
Now that I am feeling a bit more alive I can get on with things other than vegetating. A few days later I open my mailbox to a ping and find amongst all the junk I receive an enthusiastic response from Ashley at La Tavola Marche. Before having a read I check out my spam box. The usual emails are languishing in limbo, emails from Reverends in Nigeria informing me of an enormous inheritance, and the 'FBI', also in Nigeria funnily enough. In fact, the 'FBI' uses gmail (very smart), and if I do not report my details to them, I 'will surely be in trouble'. Very interesting how the 'FBI' uses ticking off style language to trap their suspects, it must be a highly effective method. I must also be on their top wanted list, I have had about ten emails from the 'FBI' this week already.
After a few seconds worth of entertainment and a childish urge to respond to the spam emails using Bart Simpson style humour, I get back to the email from Ashley. She sounds really friendly and tells me to swing by any time, as they are usually in. Great, my pathetic and self pitying email is the best thing I have achieved all week in terms of being vaguely productive. I say that I'll come round on Monday afternoon, boyfriend in tow.
On Monday afternoon we merrily set off towards Piobbico. I don't know much about Piobbico apart from that fact that it has a Hollywood style sign saying 'Piobbico' in the hills above the town. The sign adds a touch of glamour to this small and charming town and conjures up memories of me hanging out in Franklin Village, Hollywood. Good times. After taking a wrong turn, we arrive at La Tavola Marche. A beautiful rustic farmhouse sits away from the dirt track road set amongst the trees and hills. A tall and friendly looking person pops out of the doorway with bundles of energy and a smiling face. Ashley! She greets us warmly and accepts my bedraggled looking bunch of Salva and goes off to find a vase. Jason is upstairs somewhere finishing off some of the cleaning while the guests are out. The wine is appears on the table within minutes of being there, so we feel right at home. Some aged pecorino cheese and some prosciutto make for a great aperativo and we chat merrily about the local area, the warmth and friendliness of the place and the two chefs have a gander round the garden exchanging cooking tips. We meet the chickens, the cat. After a few hours we hit the road to head back for dinner. We leave Jason cooking up a scrumptious meal for their guests, say our goodbyes to Ashley and off we go. We are definitely meeting up again
In the car we both agree we had a lovely time, and you know what, getting the wine out immediately is very Italian and a sign of hospitality. They got it right on. Success.
Www.latavolamarche.com
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