Searching for Giorgio... finding others

I DIDN'T find Giorgio in Anghiari’s cimitero when I went looking for him. I like to visit this hushed and attractive place when I come to Anghiari and thought I might leave some flowers by his grave. There’s always someone there tending a loved one's spot, watering a potted plant or just standing reverently in front of a plaque, lost in private thoughts.

But... no Giorgio, who reminded me of my dad and, as my neighbour for three months, made my last visit to Anghiari so enjoyable. I did come across several others with the same surname (Mondani), however.

Walking the length of the walls, looking at the pictures and tributes, I became fascinated by the variety of Italian names I hadn’t heard before. For women: Antonietta (love that), Delfina, Annunziata, Derna, Eletta, Adorna, Novella. For men: Amerigo, Lettimio, Aldine, Lazzaro, Assunto, Arcangelo (!), Innocenzo.

In the book I am reading (chosen from the small English section of the library where I go every Thursday evening), both the eldest and youngest brothers in a family of three sons are called ‘Enzo’, abbreviated from Lorenzo and Vincenzo respectively. No one in the story had a problem with that. I imagine ‘Innocenzo’ is similarly abbreviated.

Turns out my friend Giorgio is buried somewhere else. I learned this from Maria, Giorgio’s neighbour of many years. Alessandro, at the kitchenware shop, told me Maria would know about Giorgio, so I asked her the next time I saw her looking out of her window, as she often does. These were heart-warming conversations; thankfully my Italian was up to the task.

Ah yes – I remembered that Maria visited the cimitero weekly to tend to her husband’s grave. Once, four years ago, I had walked back up the long hill to the centro historico (historic centre of town) with her and she told me that.

Making myself understood in simple everyday situations with people who speak no or very little English is incredibly satisfying. Triumphant even. I was inordinately happy last week to get the haircut I wanted once I had found the parucchiere (hairdresser), which I did by asking at the supermarket. (Four years ago I couldn't do that and travelled for 40 minutes each way in a bus to the next largest town for a haircut, not knowing there was a local one.)

Unlike Lucca, and certainly unlike Rome or Florence, Anghiari is a place where one doesn't find too many English-speaking Italians. Quite a few English, American and Canadian people have bought apartments here, but mostly as holiday accommodation. They come, stay for a few weeks or months, and go. So it is a good place to be forced to speak Italian if, like me, you’re learning.

At the library on Thursday nights, they have what are called ‘tandem’ sessions whereby Italian speakers learning English and English speakers learning Italian are paired up for conversazioni. It is pleasant and endearing to stumble along together. I always have to ask my partner to slow down. Per favore.

Last week Antonio started our conversation by asking if he could speak informally. So sweet. I explained how it wasn’t necessary in English. If being strictly correct, it is polite to ask this if you’re an English speaker in Italy, like me: Posso darti del tu? (Can I address you personally?) Strictly, you would address a stranger or older person more formally than a younger person or friend. The ‘you’ (tu) and associated verbs indicate informal speech, as in several European languages.

We laughed about how shocked I would be if someone answered "No" to my "Posso darti del tu?"; and Antonio assured me that was extremely unlikely.

He was curious to know how Italians are regarded in Australia and was surprised to learn we love them and that I had a number of Italian friends, including some at Port Stephens where I live. I promised to bring my silver necklace next week, designed by the much-loved late Florentine artisan and friend, Angiolo Logi, who, with his wife Ilaria, ran a silver workshop and gallery called Puzzle in Sydney's Paddington from the 1990s until 2006. I have thought of them often while I've been here.

What a difference a day makes

The people you meet, of course, are what makes travel rewarding. Last week, in Lucca, I did something I would never do in my ordinary life. Within about 15 minutes of meeting him, I invited a complete stranger to visit me in Anghiari where I have a spare room and bed!

I had whinged a bit in my last blog about eating alone in restaurants, then, on my last night in Lucca a young man eating alone at the table next to me politely asked if I was a resident. (I love being mistaken for a local. Why? I’ve no idea, but I do, particularly when English-speaking people summon their best Italian to ask me directions.)

So, Arman and I (left) then spoke for the duration of the meal, stopping occasionally to eat. Despite the considerable age difference (he could almost be my grandson), we clicked, and, as he was polite and intelligent and travelling around Italy, I invited him to stay.

Turns out my intuition was good. Three days later, Arman, born in Los Angeles of Indian parents, and a recent graduate of a university in New York, came to Anghiari for two nights and stayed for four. We had a fabulous, very special time. And dinners out! Not only together (at the bottom of this page you will see us at Cantina del Granduca) but also with my Italian teacher of four years ago, Elisa, and her friend, Marida, who wanted to practise her English (below, middle, at La Vecchia Stazione pizzeria).

As well as enjoying the eating out, I enjoyed having someone for whom to cook (bottom, right), especially one as appreciative as Arman who had been staying in hostels and eating out all the time. He absolutely loved Anghiari and it seemed to warm to him too.

He is now in Rome, possibly pining for the signorina he left in Firenze (but possibly charming another one), and loving life to the full. By Christmas, he will be in Pune, India, with his family. I wish him – and them – very well. His parents can be very proud.

A recipe for you – Radicchio and Sausage Risotto

You will never see a cooking show like this in Australia (right). Loved the sign-off: “Beato in cucina!” (“Blissful in the kitchen!”)

350g rice; 300g sausage; 2 radicchio; 1 glass red wine; 1 eschalot; 1 litre vegetable broth; butter; oil; salt.

I am sure you can figure out the rest.

A good day is one in which…

• Interactions with people are charming, both parties stumbling on as best they can in a foreign language, whether it’s English or Italian. As the teachers at the language school in Sicily said, the main thing is to communicate, and we do manage that. (Of course I wish I had known at a much younger age that I would be wanting to do this... È la vita.)

• This lovely jazz duet, Duo Sarro, plays during brunch at the Talozzi restaurant and I find it hard to leave.

• New people come into my life. Tandem is excellent for that. I have met Antonio (mentioned before), Peaceful Warrior (he assures me this is the name on his passport), his lovely wife Manuela and the elegant retired doctor Alessandra, whose English is much better than my Italian.

• I am introduced to an excellent pizza place – La Vecchia Stazione, in Anghiari – and a cashier who lived in Sydney and loves Australia. The bill is given in both euros and Australian dollars.

• I decide to use some of the precious abundant free time I have to meditate, which I have promised myself for 30 years and failed to deliver. (Arman was obviously a good influence. He says he wants to be “a better person in three years’ time than I am now” – and he is already a very good person.)

• Also thanks to Arman, I am encouraged to invite some others to lunch or dinner at 'my' place. I have been reluctant as it is always a challenge to cook in someone else's kitchen and without access to one's usual pantry. I'm accustomed to it now. It's time.

I will leave A bad day is one in which... until next time, or not. Feeling too good to go there just now. Love to you all. Thanks so much for reading. •