Circle, Square, Man

The next day dawned cold and drizzly...so out came the umbrellas and the leather boots. Walking with an umbrella in Venice takes a certain amount of skill as the 'calle' are so narrow, some wide enough for only one person, that there is a lot of tipping- to the side- away from oncoming traffic and raising or lowering umbrellas, like a little pas de deux, as people weave in and out of each other. Unlike here or even in Singapore people generally walk on one side- their right- so the side step is rarely needed.


We strolled purposefully, but still slow enough to digitally record even more charming vistas, around the canal following the maze of calles over pontes past Ponte di Rialto in the general direction of the Accademia Bridge and Galley. Ponte dell'Accademia, or the Accademia Bridge, is one of only four bridges that cross the grand canal in Venice. It joins the sestiere of San Marco with Dorsoduro at the final bend in the busy S shaped Canale Grande.


The long wooden bridge that curves over the waterway was actually meant to be only temporary. The original steel bridge, built in 1854, was substituted for the first wooden Accademia Bridge in 1932 and when it began to fall apart a competition was announced to design a new one. In 1985 the rotting temporary bridge was replaced yet again by a wooden replica despite public preference for a stone one.
More recently Venice's council wants the bridge redesigned to accommodate wheelchair access but is not willing (or maybe able) to pay for it so bidding construction firms will have to prove their abilities to also come up with the estimated 5 million euro sponsorship required. Noone seems too optimistic.


The view from the bridge is enchanting, like many of Venice's vistas. We were lucky, I think, as the morning was so dismal there were few people out. The ubiquitous African men selling fake Gucci handbags and umbrellas far out numbered the tourists.

The lack of people on the bridge translated to a complete lack of people waiting to buy tickets for the Accademia Gallery and yet again despite being warned about queues that stretched the circumference of the building, as entry is limited to 100 at any one time due to fire regulations, we were the only ones there. Out of all the gallery and museum options in Venice we had chosen Galleria dell'Accademia because for the first time in a long time Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man was on show. Such is the delicacy of the single yellowed A4 size page with the iconic pen and ink naked man in a circle...in a square, that it is usually kept behind closed doors. As fate would have it we were in Venice during it's latest showing seven years after the previous outing. On January the 10th it went back into it's climate controlled, darkened room.


Founded in 1750 the gallery houses some of Venice's most magnificent and most treasured works by artists Venetian as well as from some of it's more artistic admirers.

After surrendering our small daytrip backpack at the front desk (you'll get it back in exchange for 0.50 euro at the end) we climbed the huge stone staircase that leads into a kind of foyer, the first 'room', filled with 14th century mostly religious paintings depicting saints and biblical scenes in brilliant golds and rich reds and greens.

They are labelled with the title-which is often explanation enough- artist, date and sometimes the latest date of restoration. At the beginning of this and each of the successive rooms is a stand with helpful and sometimes lengthy laminated explanations of the paintings in the room, in both English and Italian. It would have taken more than one trip to read every inscription and study every painting so we wandered the walls going back and forth between rooms as something caught someones eye and either deserved sharing or required further explanation.

Arranged in chronological order the gallery winds its way around 24 rooms that were once three separate buildings. During the invasion of Napoleon in 1807 it was moved for safekeeping to the Scuola della Carità, the Convento dei Canonici Lateranensi and the church of Santa Maria della Carità- a school, a convent and a church. We dallied through titles such as 'Coronation of the Virgin' and 'Madonna and Child with two Votaries' by Paolo Veneziano 'Christ before Pilate' and 'Kiss of Judas', by an unknown Venetian painter from the 14th century. Then works from late 15th and early 16th centuries including 'Carpaccio’s Crucifixion' and 'Glorification of the Ten Thousand Martyrs of Mount Ararat' by Giovani Bellini. Then Bellini's series of Madonna's painted during the Renaissance period. Considered one of the most influential painters of his time (and he lived to the ripe old age of 90!) there are many of Bellini's works in the Accademia often depicting Venetian scenes. Two of his later works, 'Procession in Piazza San Marco' and 'Miracle of the Cross at the Bridge of San Lorenzo' record when remnants of 'the True Cross' (believed to be actual remains of the cross Jesus was crucified on) were bought to the city.
There are huge rural scenes of the area too, complete with dancing rubenesque women,romantic crumbling archways and tumbling streams. The 10th room is completely dominated by 'Christ in the house of Levi' by Paolo Veronese (Caliari). Plush, decadent and crammed with activity it was originally a rendering of the Last Supper but had to be renamed when the Inquisition threatened to charge him with heresy.

As you can probably tell I devour all things historical especially when they are to do with culture and religion but I also love art. We have collected art from emerging as well as some from established artists for many years now although much of our New Zealand stuff is back 'home' in storage. Thankfully the boys have grown up with my obsessions and are quite used to me heading straight for the nearest gallery or museum, church or temple and will indulge my dilly dallying...for a while- actually quite a while now. I like to think some of my appreciation has rubbed off. M, in particular, enjoys the controversy, symbolism and drama.

Anyway after a couple of hours both feet and eyes were getting tired and we still had not seen what had led us across the bridge in the first place. And then there it was tucked away in a room not much wider than a hallway, arguably one of Leonardo da Vinci's most famous works, thanks to Dan Brown... Vitruvian Man.

Based on the presumption of Roman architect, Marcus Vitruvius Pollio, that the proportions for the structure and arrangement of manmade structures should be based on the natural laws of harmony and beauty which can be best symbolised by the symmetry and proportions of the human body, being the earthly model of divine perfection. His idea was that the human body, arms and legs extended, should fit exactly into both the circle and the square, symbols for heaven and earth(mortal existence). Vitruvian Man is thus the perfect illustration of the duality of man- his potential divinity and grounded mortality- which was an idea originally expressed by Pythagoras at least two millennium before Leonardo da Vinci.

There were plenty of attempts at illustrating this idea before da Vinci but the squashing of the figure into both shapes always resulted in unbalanced limbs. Da Vinci, who spent years perfecting his depiction of the human form by dissecting actual human bodies before drawing detailed diagrams and illustrations, eventually worked out that for the drawings proportions to work the square could not have the same central point on the human body as the circle (the navel) but actually needs to be a bit lower.

Even though M and I had seen the global travelling da Vinci exhibition in Singapore I could not help being surprised at it's small size. It's clarity, though, after all these years is impressive.


Back outside in the cold and the damp we decided to walk to Santa Maria della Salute on the same side of the Canale Grande. She sits right on the end of the peninsula, exposed on all sides to the days creeping chill which seemed appropriate for a 'plague church'.


For nearly three years beginning in the summer of 1629 Venice was hit with waves of Bubonic Plague wiping out almost a third of the population. The city, frightened and desperate that all medicines and prayers were proving futile, devised a plan. A procession around Piazza San Marco was organised and for three days and three nights most of Venice's 10 000 survivors marched, with lit torches, solemnly around the square. In the end a more significant but equally elaborate gesture was called for and a declaration was made-if the city was saved the Venetian Doge promised to build a church, more beautiful than the rest, dedicated to, not just a saint, but to the Virgin herself. The story goes that the very next week the weather changed and the humid conditions that had been aiding the course of disease cleared.

The epidemic slowed and just two weeks later it had diminished altogether.


La Salute's, as she is most often called, distinctive location was chosen because of its easy processional access from the Piazza San Marco, just across the end of the canal. After a competition to decide the architect for the dramatic double domed basillica, construction was begun. More than 300 000 posts support her weight and prevent the octagonal stone and marmorino(brick covered with marble dust)structure from sinking into the lagoon.


This stunning expression of gratitude and piety, considered classic Baroque, is chock full of Marian symbolism. From the outside; the dome- her crown, the dimly lit interior -her womb but from the inside the entire structure of the cavernous space could be likened to an upturned chalise or reliquary (a container for religious relics). The octagonal design and the eight altar niches inside mirror the eight points of the Virgin's emblematic star. The high altar is a beautiful serene Byzantine Madonna and child.

The church was finally consecrated on 21st November 1687.


It seemed an appropriate place to visit on Christmas Eve but even inside the church the temperature must have been close to freezing so we decided to keep moving. Back outside we made our way again towards the Accademia Bridge and then, as it was beginning to get dark, towards the lights of the Rialto, probably the most famous of Venice's big bridges.

Not all those who wander are lost- J R Tolkien

By the time we emerged from our suite at the Palazzo Rosa in Cannaregio it was more lunch than dinner time so, conscious of having already lost what amounted to a full day, we donned layers of icebreaker (in my case singlet, long sleeved T, cotton short sleeved T, icebreaker jersey, knee length jacket, scarf, hat and gloves)and set off on a mission- to get lost.


There are many curiosities in Venice, or 'Serenissima Repubblica' (the serene republic) as it was once known, one of the most obvious being the fact that it is built on not one but 117 small islands, connected by mostly stone arched bridges with steps on either side which were often occupied not only by winter boot clad feet but also by the tiny wheels one might find on the bottom of suitcases or loading trolleys or of the sort of shopping trolleys the elderly use bumping their way up and down the other side. Either side of the canals are candy coloured multi storey attached houses many with entrances directly off the canal creating picturesque images of doorways to nowhere and little boat ramps often marked by striped poles.

According to tradition, Venice was founded in 421 AD on April 25th, Saint Mark's day. The most important village in the lagoon, at the time, was not 'Venice' but Torcello, where in 639 a beautiful gold mosaic Cathedral was built.

Step by step, as the city grew, more islands were built on and bridges were constructed to link them to each other. To make the marshy islands stable and solid enough to build on millions of wooden pilings were driven through the mud and into the more solid base of sand and clay below. Oak planks were placed on top and then layers of heavy, water resistent marble for the actual building foundations. Over the years the salty sea water has petrified the wooden struts making them harder than stone but the weight of the marble foundations and the stone and brick buildings has slowly driven them further into the sandy base to the tune of a few centimeters a century. To add to the slump the hundreds of wells around the city were once used to remove water from subterranean aquifers eventually 'deflating' the bubble that was propping Venice up.

Because of Venice’s tendency to flood between November and March- the frequency of which has increased markedly over the years due, they say, more to global warming than to the idea that Venice is sinking- many of the residences have abandoned the first or ground floor but 'calle', or street, facing houses and shops still have to cope with the regular influx of the canals not so clean water. Most use wooden or metal barriers across the bottom of the doorway but the water still seeps through.

I woke twice, in the three nights we were there, to the otherworldly sounds of the acqua alta warning tones that echo off the walls of the city and rise melodically with the severity of the expected tide. Christmas Eve, the night before we left, I was again teased out of sleep by three tones eerily reminisent of the alien lure in 'Close Encounters'. I've found an example here press 'tone 3' to hear what we did. We were very lucky that high tide was in the early hours or we would have found ourselves with the prospect of getting our feet wet although the raised platforms you see here



are used by pedestrians which is most people as the streets of Venice are car free. The locals are well prepared with wardrobes of colourful gumboots, hip high waders and even, for tourists, disposable plastic knee high 'boots' to keep your toes dry. Still the prospect of lugging our packs to the nearest vaporetto thigh deep in freezing smelly water and then sitting for four and a half hours in wet clothes on the train to Rome was not very appealing.


Throughout history many have been seduced and enchanted by the fairytale like beauty of Venice with her cobbled labyrintine lanes and curved stone bridges. The water and closeness of her buildings seem to play with the light at all hours of the day and with the shadows at night. We were immediately betwitched. It was hard not to take photos of every canal and from the top of each 'ponte' and around every corner. There is an empyral, gossamer, whimsical feel to Venice. The boundaries between reality and fantasy become blurred in window boxes and plush gondola seats, in leaning bell towers and crooked doorways. Every few steps is a corner and around every corner is a painting.


We walked and walked, stopped for coffee and hot chocolate- which was more like pure melted chocolate- poked around christmas stalls and peered into warm shop windows and then walked some more.


Eventually we rounded a corner and caught our first glimpse of the San Marco Basillica.


Saint Mark, an Apostle who is said to be the author of the biblical book of Mark, is the patron Saint of Venice. He is also the Patron Saint of insect bites! The story goes that Mark was asked to write his 'book' by Peter. He did this in Rome. The Venetians chose him as their Patron Saint because of his ties with Rome which allowed them to declare their independence of the Byzantine Church.

The original Patron Saint of Venice was St.Teodoro (Saint Theodore of Amasea) whose body, when he was usurped by Mark, was moved to Brindisi. Mark's body was originally buried in Egypt after a particularly brutal very public death that was rumoured to have coloured the streets with his blood-literally! The story of San Marco's remains says that two Christian merchants smuggled him out of Alexandria to protect him from desecration and, alledgedly to deter detection by Muslim boarder guards, hid him between slices of pork. His remains were initially buried in a chapel in the Doge's Palace but later a church was built that was to be his perpetual resting place.

The majestic San Marco Basillica has, over the years, undergone many modifications including after a fire during the rebellion in 976 that was thought to have destroyed the saint's remains. They were eventually found in a pillar by a Doge in 1094.


St.Mark's main facade is unique. Modelled on typical a Byzantine design it is really more Gothic with soaring columns, ribbed arches, vast reverberant domes and fine spires ... oh and the reliefs, incredibly descriptive reliefs like pages of a story book. The five arched entrances all have richly tiled lintels with more tales told, this time of Saint Mark himself. During the Middle Ages owning a saint's remains assured attention and prosperity. There would have been just as many tourists crowding the churches corridors and spacious belly as there are (or are usually)today. Venice didn't possess just any Saint either- Mark was one of only four Evangelists- and they had his whole body! A feat almost unheard of.


Of the five arched doorways only two were open whenwe got there and, in complete contrast to what we had been warned, there were no queues. Two guards stood at the entrance doorway checking bags (usually backpacks are not allowed in but J was able to take in the small one he was wearing) and we passed a sign saying no photos so although they are supposedly lax about enforcment we respected the rule and our cameras stayed in our bags.

Just past the guards is a long hallway that runs horizontally the lehgth of the front of the church. Just as with all the other churches we were to encounter in Italy the structure was magnificent in the omnipotent sense of the word. Inside the five domes create a space grandiose and commanding which it needs to be to accommodate the brilliance of the 8000 sq meters of golden mosaics that depict scenes from the Gospel. The tiny squares of colour lean in different directions in order to catch any light there is which makes them appear to glitter like stars. The Basillica has one of the most extravagant and treasured altar screens in the world too. Covered in more than 3000 precious jewels and icons it is inlayed entirely in gold.


The square outside, Piazza San Marco, is the only square in Venice big enough to be legitimately called a piazza (the smaller ones are called campo's) and can sometimes be heard refered to as 'The Living Room of Europe'. It is the lowest place in Venice so is one of the first places to flood during an acqua alta and as the 'centre' of Venice is also one of the first places tourists visit. Here it is the night before we left, on Christmas Eve.


Shining bright in the rain like a Christmas ornament.

The bit that runs from the Basillica past the Doge's Palace, which we ran out of time to visit this time round, towards the lagoon is called Piazzetta San Marco and used to be a dock but was filled in in 1177.


This was a stance oft seen in Italy, necks bent as far back as possible, eyes trained skyward gazing at all the embellishments the roofs, spires and towers were holding. The boys are standing with the Doge's palace behind them. They are probably looking at the clock on the clock tower opposite which is distinctive in that it uses the signs of the zodiac.


The lion you can just see on the top of the pillar at the end of the Piazzetta is the symbol of Saint Mark.



At the end of the Piazzetta is a wide promenade where you can catch ferries to the islands or gondola's for a ride back through the canals. It is here where, on Ascension Day (40 days after Easter in the Christian calendar), a Doge and the city's most important members sailed out from into the Adriatic and to the Lido port where he threw a ring and pronounced: 'We wed you oh sea, in the sign of true, eternal dominion'.

A very long day

After a busy day of last minute chores and a few final market purchases our flight to Bangkok left the ground on time at 8pm. We waited out a couple of hours dozing in transit then were finally on our way to Venice, Italy via Malpensa airport Milan and a 3 1/2 hr train ride on the National Eurostar- not to be confused with this Eurostar- or so we thought.

A semi horizontal, relatively comfortable few hours fitful kip, thanks to a half empty plane, were broken a couple of hours before landing by the sounds of our small airborne village making it's way one by one to the teeny bathroom cubicles and the smell of sausage and cheesy omlette snaking it's way down the aisle- not exactly a vegetarians favourite wake up call. Being only about 5 am at our destination it was still black as night outside so to get my bearings I flipped my screen on and clicked till I found the flight plan map. Our plane, it showed, was slightly more north than I had expected and an announcement about half an hour later provided the explanation.

While we slumbered the already arctic conditions in Milan had blown themselves into a fierce snow storm necessitating a diversion to Zurich to wait for the all clear. We landed a while later, at dawn, and watched the light leak over the alps from the plane as the authorities decided what to do with about 200 odd visa free interlopers(although techniquely as Kiwis WE do not require visas to enter Switzerland). Eventually we were let into the glass terminal with vouchers for 'lunch' which we should have realised was a pretty clear indication of how the day would progress.


The view as stunning as it is could could only sustain a restless holiday ready mob for so long.


After changing our train reservation to Venice to the 5-30pm instead of the 11-30am we were obviously not going to make, numerous games of card Scrabble, Egyptian Rat Screw and Spot That Chalet (ok that last one doesn't require cards) a tedious drawn out 8 hours later we were back in the same seats and



flown over some incredible scenery (we would not have seen otherwise) to a newly scraped runway banked by a good half a meter of snow and a still well below freezing Milan, in chaos.



In what was the first of a series of lucky catches we purchased shuttle tickets and squeezed into the last four seats on the crowded shuttle into Milan Centrale Statione. The usual 40 minute journey turned into a 2 hour ordeal on clogged roads punctuated by the intermittent sound of huge clods of snow hitting the roof as they became dislodged from power lines and tree branches. We hit the station running (very carefully on the slippery marble tile) a pack each front and back, towards the platforms a good hour after our revised train was supposed to have left.

'What do we do?' J asked our e-ticket clutched tightly in his ungloved and by now almost certainly numb hand.
The 'Tourist information booth' was helpfully closed.
'There', I huffed between chattering teeth pointing to an open door with a sign that read 'Passenger Assistance'.
'Try in there'.
I watched him disappear into the muddle of displaced humanity bitterly conscious that if we got separated without a working phone we would be forced to stay put helpless and freezing until he found us again. It was incredibly cold and in the rush none of us had had time to put nearly enough clothes on for the conditions. I was beyond shivering.
Then suddenly he was back.
'She said to just get on' he flung over his shoulder as he plundered past.
We all followed in silence.

A train sat mutely at the end of the tracks it's doors steamed firmly shut. The digital sign above the platform said Venezia SL and, I think, 5-30? People were fading down the platform then reappearing still dragging bags or lugging, like us brightly coloured packs. After a few minutes someone managed to open the first door and we all fell in and rolled into the first four seats that were facing each other around a tiny bench table. J was sent on a sortie down the length of the train to see if we could get into our reserved seats but quickly came back after finding the through carriage door still locked and the rest of the train still dark. Too tired to do anything else we just sat and slowly the carriage filled. At 9pm almost unbelievably and without any fanfare at all the train began to move.



The conductor who checked our tickets didn't say anything about the fact we were supposed to be on the 5-30 but he did point out we were in the wrong seats.

'It's no problem' said the Italian man opposite, 'the snow...it's Italy...they tell us we should bring sandwiches for tourists on the train (he flung his arms in the air)...this is Italy...' he said by way of explanation.
We sat wordlessly, no longer cold just relieved and exhausted beyond belief. The next 3 1/2 hours we sat eyes propped open with failing toothpicks watching the snow piled landscape pass as the train hissed through deserted dimmly lit stations and the carriage slowly emptied again. Finally I saw 'Mestre'.
'Next station' I prodded.
Venezia Sainta Lucia was wet AND cold. Piles of dirty ice were heaped in corners and the canal in front of the station entrance was full of choppy inky water. We headed for the vaporetto dock and tried to work out the stops, the directions, the lines. Our B and B directions said clearly line 1, stop Ca'd'oro. We bought 4 tickets from the machine and debated whether to 'validate' them in the yellow box at the end of the bobbing gangplank. Deciding against it for the moment and realising we had just missed our boat we could do nothing but wait. Thankfully a few minutes later another boat turned up and we tumbled on with sleep deprived lack of balance and damp numb toes. The boat captain did nothing more than glance at J's fistfull of tickets before going back to his wheel, there are usually big fines for unvalidated tickets.



At our stop, which was clearly marked even in the post midnight darkness, aware that tourists often get hopelessly lost in Venice's tight lanes even in the daylight, we followed a bunch of locals who looked like they knew where they were headed for the length of a couple of alleyways and through a small square and then we were abruptly alone.



'Where to?' I asked.
'Maybe back' mumbled J rereading the instructions. 'It's supposed to be only minutes from the stop.'
We backtracked, tried the opening in the little campo that had been previously obscured by a large round fountain and were immediately rewarded by a picturesque little arched bridge and alongside the canal on the other side the door of our little B and B.
'Watch the water' whispered J as he buzzed us in.

We were greeted warmly, even at 1am, and quickly in hushed tones in exchange for our passports were given our key.
'You can do the rest in the morning'

Later that morning, after a long sleep-in, we were to learn we had 'just missed' a meter high tide- the acqua alta- which had flooded the ground floor by half a meter. In fact as high tide was during the early hours although there was an even higher meter and a half rise the night before we left we never had to wade as the locals do or use the boardwalks that are placed helpfully along the main oft flooded throughfares. Just as well as there wasnt any room in the pack for 4 full sized gumboots and 30 Euro each for new ones would have meant a lot less gelato!

Look who flew into Phnom Penh this morning

Look who flew into Phnom Penh this morning at about 9am.

It is B's first trip to Cambodia and he gets 3 days before we are all back at the airport ready for another 10+ hours squashed into an economy class bench. So we hit the town. We surrounded ourselves with a bit of history...



...had a decidedly one sided conversation with a monkey who was too busy concentrating on his rambutan to even notice we were there.



Climbed the steps of Wat Phnom...



...and watched some sure footed boys do an impossible task at the end of an almost rungless ladder.



And later after the sun had disappeared over the hazy horizon we danced with the evening traffic and the disco fountain at Botum Park...




...before dinner at Fish and an early night.

XL

(From here)

Its my 40th birthday today so it's fitting, I think, that by tuesday I will be the closest to the place that I was born than I have been yet. As I think I've mentioned in a previous post I was born to a couple of young Kiwis finishing a PhD at Birmingham University in England on the 17th of December 1969. Six weeks later, at the end of January, my brave parents left the fog and drizzle of a brummy winter and moved to the thick 30C humidity of Makassar, Indonesia. Indignant and probably a bit confused I immediately embarked on a nursing strike and loudly refused to sleep. Eventually a Dutch doctor was called in. He sedated both mum and me and we all began again.

The first almost decade of my life was spent in South East Asia, outside of both the country of my birth and the country which passport I carry (although techniquely I could carry both a Kiwi and a British passport) making me an Adult Third Culture Kid (ATCK), a relatively new term used to describe someone who has spent significant amount time outside of their own culture during their developing years. Like many ATCK's, when we ended up 'back' in New Zealand the sense of belonging I had expected didn't happen. I looked the same, talked with a similar accent, spoke the same language but all the unwritten rules, the expectations, the unspoken cultural lingo that becomes a part of our psyche, absorbed by osmosis from the day we are born was, at best, patchy. I often felt exposed, different, slow and confused. I rebelled, self medicated and stopped eating, anything to try and regain control of a situation I didn't really understand. Then I turned 20 and we suddenly had B and I was responsible for more than me. I didn't fit became we didn't fit.

Eventually, after a few years of working on J (an Adult Lived Here All My Life Kid) he took a position in Apia, Samoa and I expatriated, again, 20 years on. It dawned on me sometime during that first year that I was much happier being different, where I wasn't expected to be the same, that I am comfortable boarderless and wear adventure and chaos like a favourite sloppy Tee. Two and a half years later I came back to live in Singapore and discovered despite her metamorphasis, her glamourous new clothes, like an old friend, she and I still fit and we had plenty to talk about! Cambodia too has a familiar feel, probably because she resembles Makassar in the 70's.

It has taken 40 years to begin work out who I am. It'll probably take another 40 to work out how to articulate it and by then I hope to have seen a lot more of the world and lived in a few more countries starting with the little boot shaped bit above the African coastline.

It's gonna be cold!

(from here )

I have been googling Wunderground every other day (which I found thanks to Leone) watching the temperatures in the parts of Italy we are a week or so away from visiting with a mixture of fear and amusement. They are dropping like the preverbial stone and while theoretically none of this is unexpected practically the idea of sub ten celcius sends much, much more than a shiver down my tropically half cooked bones.



Today wunderground says this week Venice manages a high of 5C dipping on friday to an inconceivable -6, which I have absolutely no point of reference for at all anymore, minus 10 by saturday!

Sure it was cold in New Zealand in July.

Freezing in fact.


But there was no snow!

Wunderland declared Venice is expecting a coating of the white stuff today and Rome on Saturday.

Thankfully it's Italy and being a huge Christmas fan I may very well be distracted by choirs in churches, rich and beautiful presepi- nativity scenes- some with real people, twinkling duomo's, toy and ornament markets, pannettone and possibly a sprinkling of tiny super cooled droplets of crystaline water.

Our first ever white Christmas!

Bring on the icebreaker, the warm puffy jackets, the hats, the gloves and scarves as big as knee blankets we are ready!

A confession

(from dianasneighbourhood.com)

I hate pasta.

There i said it.

I think I must be one of the only people in the world but I really truly don't like pasta...any pasta; wheat, egg, rice flour, barley, corn flour, noodles, spagetti, gnocchi, lasagna, farfalle, canneloni, fettucini, macaroni, linguini, soba, udon, bean thread, vermicelli, tubed, pillowed, flat, frilled, stuffed, smothered, oiled, green, red, black or white (actually usually really more of an off white) organic, store bought, homemade or made especially for me (in which case I'd probably just eat it and pretend to like it because thats how I was bought up). I just don't understand the fuss.

I'm only saying this because we are about a week away from a 2 and a half week trip to Italy, pasta capital of the world, and while I am aware there is plenty else to eat in Italy it is the worlds largest producer and consumer.

(from stevennoble.com)

So what is the big deal with pasta anyway?

Like tofu, which I confess to liking in most forms (except perhaps the famed 'stinky tofu' which I have yet to try), pasta is used mainly as a carrier of added flavours, rather than it's own flour and water with an optional hint of egg taste, which combined with its huge range of incarnations makes it one of the most versatile staples available and gives it global appeal.

Pasta's recorded history predates the Romans. It has been found depicted in tomb drawings of the mysterious Etruscan peoples of ancient Italy and was probably being made and eaten in a similar form in China at about the same time.

Pasta is considered a nutritious food; low in fat and sodium(depending on what you add to it) and high in complex carbohydrates, the kind which because it digests slowly gives you an energy release over time as opposed to simple carbs which are converted quickly causing a rapid rise in blood sugar levels leaving you with a 'sugar rush' and then the inevitable crash. Generally speaking whole wheat products with minimal processing are considered better, the more interference a food has had, the smaller the chains of starch become and the easier it is to digest. Pasta, while still being a 'processed' food has molecules packed so tightly that only about half is rapidly digested when the pasta is cooked 'al dente' leaving the other half to be absorbed at a slower rate.

(By Stefania Ferri from allposters.com)

None of this is changing my mind.

I'd still rather eat rice....risotto anyone?

Although eventually it might not matter because according to a report by the British Met Office, last month, scientists predicted that Italy’s durum wheat yields (the best wheat varietal to make pasta semolina from) are at risk of being effected by projected climate change, raised temperatures and decreased rainfall.

I wonder if anyone would notice if I just licked off the sauce?