The story of my broken leg (part 1)

A friend of mine was visiting Rome. We'd spent a relaxed afternoon together; a plate of pasta and a gossip followed by a few pints in the pub. E came and met us after he'd finished work and my friend started eyeing up the two scooter helmets E had carried in with him. "You know I've always wanted to go on a scooter" he told me "but I'm scared something might happen". "What?!! I replied incredulously "nothing will happen. They're actually really safe, and it's really fun. Let E give you a spin around the piazza, go on!". "Hmmmm" he replied, unsure. E and I spent the next hour or so convincing him that nothing terrible would happen and in the end, after a final courage-giving beer he relented, and hopped on the back for a turn around the piazza. I stood there and smiled indulgently like a proud mother as I heard my friend laughing out loud in a mixture of fear and delight all the way round the square. "That was amazing!" he told me excitedly as he hopped off "I'm definitely having another go before I leave. His bus arrived. "See you tomorrow" he yelled as he jumped on the bus to go back to his hotel.

I took the second helmet and got on the back of the bike. "You didn't have to take him so fast" I complained to E as we began the journey back to the village. "He was enjoying it" countered E, and we gently bickered as we made our way home. As we entered the town before ours the streets were still busy at around midnight with teenagers on their way to discos, families on their way home from dinners, and groups of friends crowded outside bars. I was thinking of nothing in particular, half watching the road ahead, half watching the street life around me.

A car up in front on the other side of the road was doing something strange. It looked like it was turning into our path, but surely it couldn't be as it must have seen us coming along at full speed. But no, it was still turning. But I'm sure E can swerve out of it's way. There we go, he's swerving now. It's going to be close, but I know it won't hit us because E is an excellent driver, and...ok now I'm rolling across the ground. The car must have bumped us because I'm not on the scooter anymore. Right, I've finished rolling now, and- shit- is that the scooter 20 metres away? Wow, I went a long way. I feel ok though, and look there's E standing up, thank goodness he's ok too. I quite want to go home now though, think I'll get up too. So I'll just bend my knee, put my foot on the ground and...now why did I hear a crunch? Why can't I get up? E please come over here and help me get up, I want to go home.

I am screaming but I can't quite remember why, I just know that somewhere it hurts. A paramedic on his way home from his shift appears. His name is Paolo and he puts my leg on someone's coat. He won't let me drink water even though I am so thirsty. Somewhere to the right of me E is squaring up to a man who is saying "you didn't slow down when you saw me turning". Paolo calls E away saying "Francesca needs you right now", and I feel like I am in a cheesy film.

An old lady is bending over me and calling me 'carina' and trying to give me tissues, even though my crying isn't really the teary kind of crying but more a hysterical hyperventilating crying. A group of teenagers have stopped their motorinos nearby to find out what's going on. They must be bored of looking, I think, because they are now standing in a circle gossiping. About 5 people are trying to call an ambulance but it is Saturday night and it won't arrive. Finally it comes and I am put on a stretcher and I beg them to let E come with me because I don't think I can remember how to speak Italian any more and I don't know where they're taking me. They very firmly tell me 'no', and I am carted away thinking 'it can't be that bad because there are no flashing lights'.

Part 2 coming soon.

Roman Parking Etiquette

We've stopped at the bar for a speedy breakfast. There's no parking space outside so we block in an already parked silver car and hurry in, leaving the car unlocked. We gulp down a quick coffee and scoff a cornetto and pay. On leaving we notice that our car is no longer blocking in the silver car but is further down the road. "Oh, someone's moved the car" observes E mildly. Then we see the silver car pulling out onto the main road. The driver gives us a big, Italian 'what could I do?' shrug and rolls down the window. "Sorry" she shouts "I waited a bit but no-one came so I had to take off the handbrake and move it". "Don't worry about it" shouts back E, waving as she drives off. We walk towards the re-parked car. "Well that's not really on" mutters E in injured tones, "everyone knows you're meant to sound your horn for a while before trying something like that".

What nonno did next

We've swapped one crazy for another. At our new house the nonno who lives in the appartment above is a little dotty. The first morning I slept here I was woken early by him shouting at the top of his voice at his wife "Screw you, you've busted my balls this morning. I'm going out for a walk". That was the first sign that something was amiss. Then began the complaints about where E parked his car. "Don't park it outside my garden" he ordered us "I don't want to smell your car in my garden". "Si signore" we replied dutifully, then continued to park there (thinking he'd forget) as it was more convenient for me with my leg. A couple of days later he came to the door "Whose car is that? If it's yours you'd better move it, I don't want to smell it in my garden". A couple more instances like this and we realised this guy was serious about not having the smell of our stationary car in his garden.

Another essential housekeeping rule that us cretins were unaware of is that our letterbox outside the gate must always be emptied. If not it 'looks dirty' and nonno is likely to start trying to remove the contents by poking a small stick through the slit as E found him doing the other day.

As I write Nonno is walking up and down the garden. He stopped a little while ago to spend 5 minutes rearranging my crutches which I left in what was probably some objectionable configuration outside the front door. Being somewhat of an slapdash amatuer in the art of hanging out clothes, I am now terrified of the reaction my first washing load will provoke when my efforts are displayed outside the front door for Nonno to judge...!

The difference between an Italian and an Englishman

At school we teach that the more polite a person wants to be in English, the more words they must use in their question, so for example 'How old are you?' becomes 'Excuse me, would you mind me asking how old you are?'. The following is a very good example of English politeness in action compared with typical Italian directness. (If you are English, see if you too think the English exchange reminds you painfully of 'Fawlty Towers')

It's also very telling that in England the only time a stranger was able to face approaching a potentially embarassing conversation was when that stranger was drunk!

Setting: Bar, Italy

Italian stranger, staring: Oooh, that leg looks nasty, what did you do?
Me: Broke it in a scooter accident
Italian stranger: What did you break?
Me: Tibia and fibia
Italian stranger: Ouch. Happened to my brother once. Be carerful on scooters. Good luck then, bye!

Setting: Pub, England

Drunk English stranger: Wow, that's quite some contraption you've got there.
Me: Yes
DES: Look at all the bits coming out of your leg everywhere. Do you mind if I ask you what happened?
Me: No. I broke my leg in a scooter accident.
DES: Ah, doesn't sound too nice. Sorry, I don't mean to ask lots of questions, but when do you have to keep it on until?
Me: A couple more months probably.
DES: Sorry, I don't want to embarass you, I've just never seen something like this before. Sorry, is this really awkward?
Me: No, not particularly
DES: Sorry, you didn't want to talk about it did you?
Me: I don't mind, honest
DES: Look, if it makes it any less awkward I've been in hospital too
Me: Oh?
DES: Yes, I had a testicle removed
Me: Um. Oh.
DES: Oh God, now it's even more awkward. Sorry, are you embarassed? I just thought it might help to tell you about my hospital experience. I had to wear special pants for a month afterwards. God, I've made this really awkward haven't I?
Me: (speechless)
DES: Right, well, I must go. Sorry about all the questions. I didn't mean to be rude. Well, my friends are just over there, so...um, yeah, bye, nice to meet you.

Returning to Italy today.

Misplaced Irony

I'm off to England for a couple of weeks, see you when I'm back!

ps, My doctor is somewhat misguided about the English character. Last visit he told me that I would only have to stay a few days in hospital when the time comes to get my leg cage removed. 'Hooray' I replied. In mock hurt he asked, "why, didn't you like your month stay with us last time?". "Well, you know" I replied, "it was a beautiful exerience and all, but...". "Aha! You have just demonstrated exactly why you are English through and through" he said "look at how diplomatic you were"....

5 pleasantly surpising discoveries about Italy

1)A sugary coffee and a pastry is considered a nutritious breakfast
Yep, order that cappuccino, chuck in at least a sachet of sugar and then order that greasy cornetto with nutella oozing out the sides. Because everyone knows the Mediterranean diet is one of the healthiest in the world, right?!

2)'Getting drunk' is not part of the culture
...unless it's with dinner, and even then it's not a British 'getting drunk for the sake of it' type getting drunk. Don't get me wrong, I love drinking, but these days I save all my serious drinking for trips to England because here they don't really get it, and drunkenness isn't considered very acceptable in public. At first I missed my social crutch but I've come to appreciate that it's possible to stay out late without the aid of booze and still have a good time. I swear it's true! And the next day isn't a write off either.

3) The willingness to 'overlook' problems
Tell the doctors at the hospital you're strugling to afford all the lotions and potions they are prescribing you? Don't worry, just slip these things from the stock cupboard into your bag, but make sure you don't flash them around on your way out. Get caught on the bus without a ticket? Not to worry this time love, there are plenty of fare-dodging Romanians we can fine instead. If it works to your advangtage the 'willingness to overlook' can be a time and hassle-saving wonder.

4) Scooter riders are not always cool
Think of Rome, think of cobbled streets filled with impeccably dressed, dark-haired handsome people radiating cool as they buzz around town on their sooters? For the most part your image is fairly accurate. However come to Italy in winter and you will witness the 'moto blanket', a blanket not unlike a common dog basket blanket, attached to the front of the bike and spread over the knees during the winter months to keep off the chill (probably about 10 degrees). It is pleasantly surprising to fnd a chink in the Italian armour of 'cool', and this spectacle never fails to raise a smile from me because, frankly, the moto blanket looks ridiculous!

5)Public holidays are treated as actual holidays
People get dressed up in their sunday best, visit friends with trays of pastries, and go on strolls round the city with their families. If you've ever been to England and spent a rainy bank holiday traipsing round a crowded shopping centre you will undrestand why this is a pleasant novelty.

The Great Escape

Looks like my new-found arguing skills are going to become redundant, as E and I have found a house. It's in a nearby town in a small block of flats. Living in the block are the couple who own our new house, the parents of the wife and another couple. I checked the cupboards and found no crazy Romanians. The couple who rent the house are friendly enough even though the husband is one of those types who knows five phrases in English and keeps trotting them out in the presence of an English-speaking person, accompanied by lots of self-conscious haw-hawing. "You're in pole position for this house" haw haw haw, he informed us. (Is this actually annoying or am I just really intolerant?).

The house is small but sweet, and the residence is fenced off from the road and has a garden which is full of flowers and a vegetable patch. My blogging is likely to slow down (...even more) for the moment as we have emptied our pockets and bank accounts to pay the deposit (a painful 3 months' rent here). This means that paying the internet subscription might go down the list of priorities for now, however there's always the internet cafe, so I will endeavour to keep the posts coming.