Pixiq

Ever been really frustrated and so utterly pee'd off that you thought of changing lives? Well here's the tale of how in November 2003  we  loaded up the car and headed off for Italy..not quite the wagon train out west but we burnt boats in the UK as an 'incentive', just to make sure we made it work, come what may...

Whenever I reveal that “we bought our ruin from a one-legged man who lived in cave” it sounds as if I should precede it with “Once upon a time” But it happens to be the case...And there is more, for home is called Podere Montecucco which we first thought meant ‘cuckoo hill farm’. Hmm, OK but a bit saccharine for our tastes. Wrong, for in Italian cuckoo is cuculo … and, in fact, we live at Nutter’s Hill farm which now seems particularly apt.

To leap into another life takes a degree of desperation, stirred with blind optimism and spiced with a hint of serendipity - lunacy might well be on that list, too. Both hands go up. Yet, on a good day, if newspaper surveys are to be believed, about half of the indigenous British population would quit the country given the chance.

Observations made here are personal and might spur some and deter others but I can say at the outset that we have not once regretted our leap into the abyss…even when trying to mix cement in sub-zero temperatures The move has certainly proved hard at times, both physically and then financially as sterling lost face against the euro. And at times it is even a teensy bit maddening when dealing with endless Italian form filling. But all our Italian friends are in that same boat and there is solidarity and much help to ‘find a way’, Italian fashion!  Being that much nearer the things essential for living makes a huge difference.

Fortunately, we had never suffered from the simpering, rosy-eyed view of Italy that the 'hapless victims' on UK makeover programs (and writers of a certain genre of books) seem to have. There is good, there is bad. The best indicator I can offer is that, whereas in Britain I was angry nearly all of the time, here it is only very occasionally and then mostly with the morons who hunt illegally on our land mindlessly slaughtering anything that flies or crawls. Why, because they can and it makes these pathetic inadequates feel more masculine? As you might have guessed from my ‘measured tones’ I sit firmly at the opposite end of the table from those who seek to romanticize the killing of wild creatures for pleasure. In general, I abhor guns and violence, but finding a guy with a bagful of tiny slaughtered, birds (tits and finches) 'harvesting' our hedgerows the first year we lived here, engendered feelings of anger the like of which I had never before had to suppress. In fact I didn't for I  feel I am charged with the privilege  of protecting this place…it matters to me. He no longer comes around and I’d love to be able to say  ‘and they’ll never find him’ ... but I think he just moved. Better that way...perhaps.

Simple compensations, such as an old house we love, superb food,  cheap, excellent wine and great Italian friends swing the balance very definitley. In the UK we’d try to plan a dinner and have to book people three months in advance – here, it is the day before and we eat and we talk about food: very Italian. Being cooks gave us novelty value for Italians have heard 'British cuisine' is a contradiction in terms - like intelligent Carabinieri. That was the entry ticket and we have never felt we are expatriates - we are immigrants who live and work with Italians and other nationalities.

Lois is (dare I say it) more of a universal apologist for Italian vagaries than I am and things that make her livid within microseconds of stepping off the plane in the UK simply waft over her here. She has been known to talk of the ‘skill’ of Italian drivers whereas I consider that the gene for anticipation is missing and all they do is get out of situations that should never have arisen… and maybe that asshole in the black BMW SUV could get out from up my exhaust pipe? Nothing personal.

Getting off one’s rear

Most of us need a kick in the Gluteus maximus muscles and a series of connected events acted for us as the necessary hobnailed boots. In retrospect, I am not quite sure of the order (maybe the blurring effect of local wine) but we realized nothing could be taken for granted anymore and, anyway, we share the view that this life is all we have and is no dress rehearsal. Now or never.

Lots of things contributed to our dissatisfaction with the good ship Britannia such as the patronizing ingrates we get as politicians (and it gets worse…), the frightening erosion of freedoms and that perverse British delight in the erection up of obstacles to any initiative.  Every time I traveled to the US to give talks the ‘can do’ approach was such a therapy and in Italy it is the same. People are resourceful because for 3000 years they have been governed by cretins and now they have Berlusconi...there is even a song that the faithful sing  "Thank Goodness for Silvio"  (with heads lolling from side to side as they dribble the words) and if you run out of wine at a party just pass him a jug of water...he'll walk across the swimming pool and bring it to you.

Any dramatic change (like moving country) does allow you to recreate yourself. We knew Italy well so it was an obvious choice. Lois had managed walking trips for a major tour company for well over a decade and I had led some of those tours as resident botanist/photographer and had also taken on photo assignments there. She spoke Italian fluently: I learned to by submersion rather than immersion. To think that back in the late 1960’s I had no idea (as I gazed vacantly out of the classroom window on Friday afternoon) how classes in Latin (and carpentry for that matter) would prove so important.

At the time we left the UK my picture sales and book writing were going well and our tours had a faithful annual clientele. However, a year waiting for an estate to be sorted out made us desperate to escape and then Serendipity, that lovely lady, stepped in. We rented the home of a friend who had just completed the purchase on a small house in the mediaeval centre of the  lakeside town of Bolsena... filing cabinets met us a week after we arrived, needing to be carted up a flight of fifty narrow stairs from narrow medieval streets below… we just never make it easy.

Nutter’s Hill

 We searched for a property to renovate, becoming thoroughly disillusioned with prices flying out of reach. Then we found our “ruin”, fell in love with it and severely over-stretched ourselves financially…. Lois saw a large upstairs room with sloping gable to house her mum’s grand piano and become a canvas for her design talents: I saw the old Etruscan tomb behind the house with bats and porcupine. Different priorities same conclusion!

The theory was (and still is) that living here would/does/will prove inspirational – in spring we 'suffer' nightingale-induced insomnia, have nesting orioles, hoopoes and foxes, porcupine and badgers use our caves.

So far, the bulk of my written/photographic work is still directed towards books, articles and picture sales in the UK and USA. Lois has turned her experiences in managing the renovation of this place into a business where she does it very well for others . Yes,  I would like to do more here than courses and tours but initial experiences with payment delays (unbelievable even compared with the worst of UK payers) have made me wary, There is nothing like the UK  Small Claims Court in Italy and cases can and do take ten and more years with lawyers playing for delays. It's a way of life for Silvio Berlusconi but not for me! We get involved locally but it is not paid work - we can pick and choose and a readiness to help brings dividends.

This is a low-wage economy and people understandably do not like parting with money. Plus, we believe wholeheartedly that you have to be born Italian to understand how to work the system – imbibing it with your mother’s milk. The further south you go the more that is true...

In the UK, I sometimes managed to work 'near miracles' with my pen over bank charges and getting the better of bullying officialdom (for myself and for others). I love the English language with a passion and use words to communicate and also to exasperate and irritate when needs must. I accept that I will never have the nuances in written Italian though I manage with most spoken situations - the secret,  never let a lack of grammar get in the way.  In reality, I would be at a distinct disadvantage in any competitive field and that sometimes frustrates me - but not too often, for we have made good Italian friends who have those skills and are delighted to help… we work a kind of quid pro quo. The Italian barter system.

For more read the original article (and others on the same theme of Italian Life)

And if you want to visit Italy for the best in photography, walking and nature check out our website for what we can offer you.... made to measure