I'm old enough to know that I don't have any answers, but that won't stop me talking
This beautiful church is subject of a pilgrimage from the city of Bologna up a nearby hill every Easter. The area commands amazing views of the city.
It appears to me that green copper coated domes are a major thing here in Bologna.
Chalice is not really used in common parlance. It’s a quaint word from another time. If you’ve ever heard it, I bet it’s probably in the final act from the Danny Kaye classic The Court Jester:
‘The vessel with the pessel
Has the pellet with the poison
The chalice from the palace
Has the brew that is true.’
Chalice, or more to the point, Calice, its Italian equivalent, means wine glass. It’s not a word I’m used to hearing or using, and nor were any of the other Italian Australians I was hanging with in Cosenza last week. When we order wine by the glass, we use ‘bicchiere’ which means drinking glass.
I guess that is because our Italian wax taught to us by parents who migrated in the 1950s, and who did not know words like ‘calice’ because any drinking glass would do and who could spare the money for fancy glassware. (I’m proud to say that my family used to save its vegemite jars to use as drinking glasses.)
But here in Italy today, in bars and restaurants, when you order wine by the glass, you ask for a ‘calice’. I like it, and it is my favourite word I have learned on this trip.
This shows how all class Richmond supporters are.
The Western Bulldogs (aka Footscray) are also a club based on working class battlers, but we don’t behave like this when we have something to celebrate.
Indeed, their behaviour Saturday night makes me grateful Collingwood didn’t make it through as well, and makes for a great argument as to why Medicare should not be extended to dental treatment…..
No one in Australia drinks Fosters Lager. That is mostly due to a marketing decision made about 30 years ago to gradually withdraw it from the Victorian market (back when we still had our beer allegiance on a state by state basis).
So finding it overseas like this at Hamerica – a restaurant with an obvious purpose and theme – makes pleasant sense.
So, here’s to the silly 18 year old version of me, who thought Fosters really was good beer because he didn’t know any better, and who was at least four years away from learning the meaning of the Ancient Greek word Hubris….
I occasionally have what I call ‘wow’ moments – when I see something that causes my jaw to drop. My first trip to Italy was like that when I saw Venice as my plane prepared to land.
I think I had a few moments like that in Bologna this afternoon, when I saw some of the amazing buildings in the heart of this medieval city – home to the oldest university in the world (although currently ranked well behind Monash on most of the ratings tables).
There is a certain optimism and freshness to cities like this, where they leave their mistakes standing incomplete next to their triumphs, and their masterpieces waiting hundreds of years for some magnificent benefactor to finish them. I love it.
I’m sitting in Bologna reading up on my AFL news, as you do. Reading that Tayla Harris came third in a contest on grand final morning sinking a torp is great, but also goes to illustrate that the torpedo punt, that most beautiful and spectacular, and riskiest, of kicks, is next to extinct, saved only for exhibition contests, rather than used on game day.
I’ve long lamented the disappearance of the torp from the modern game. I wish coaches would risk it in their game plans again, as they did in the 70s.
I must say, Salerno is everything Naples is not. Clean, civic minded, friendly, and with a great sense of joy of life. Compare that to the squalor, passive aggressiveness, and general apathy on the slopes of Vesuvius.
I walked down the Via Vittorio Emmanuele as it got progressively narrower and narrower til I found myself in the narrow medieval laneways of old Salerno, a place of restaurants, bars and all sorts of cheap and cheerful shops.
I really like Salerno, and the worst I can say about it is its proximity to Naples, which I loathe.
When I left my B&B in Salerno this morning to head to the station I happened to have a closer look at the hill overlooking the town and noticed a castle ruin on it.
You don’t see that sort of thing in Australia, that’s for sure.
This is the view from my accommodation in Salerno. Obviously they feel great love for their neighbour Naples, although I hope it is more than just soccer rivalry.
Reggio is the province my mother migrated from, so I suppose it is one of my places of origin, but for me home is Australia. So imagine how pleased I was to see lots of Norfolk Island pines and Moreton bay figs lining the seaside esplanade in Reggio.
Lost For Words!