Travel writing

Travel writing:

2 over-heard conversations: 1) a) How often?

b) Several times a week.
a) No way, really?
b) No, more like once every six months!

2) a) My mother always like painting. She was quite good.

b) Did she paint in oils?
a) No, she painted in the garden.

3 species of birds: Seagull, buzzard, parrot

2 brand names for food: Heinz, Weetabix

Text from 6 signs: No access, no parking, no dog allowed, toilet, mind the step, one-way

The name of a planet or a star: Saturn

The name of a lipstick: Dior

1 time of day: Afternoon

The title of a book of fiction: Peter Carey's Bliss

The title of a painting: Blue Waterlilies

The name of a dead politician: Churchill

2 types of onion, 1 type of potato: Shallot, red onion, Maris Piper

3 items from a hardware store: Freezer, fridge, oven

A make of gun: Bernardelli

Something a child might say: I want that!

As I arrived in Parsculotti on the mountain train, it was late afternoon. I was tired, hungry and in need of a toilet. My time in the capital had exceeded my expectations, but now I wanted to explore village life. The houses of Parsculotti seemed to grow directly out of the mountainside, and as I walked along the main street, the spectacular view of the ocean lay open to my right.

I checked into The Churchill Inn, which had been founded by a British emigrant directly after the war. Now, it was run by a Mr. Bernardelli. He greeted me heartily in the reception area along with his tame but rather noisy parrot, answering the name of Saturn. The bird was perfectly friendly, but it must have belonged to a rather morose person previously as it kept shouting orders and prohibitions: 'No paaarking!', 'Mind the step', 'No dogs allowed', 'No access – squaaark'.

After freshening up, I was served a local delicacy on the roof-terrace: Maris Piper potatoes baked in a traditional clay oven and served with curried chicken, shallots and red onion pickle. In the distance the sun glittered in the sea, and seagulls bobbed up and down on the bright surface. Ah, this was bliss! That is, until I was told that it was not chicken but buzzard-meat that I was eating. I asked Mr. Bernadelli how often the locals enjoyed this speciality. “Several times a week!” I could not believe it! Did they farm the birds? But he laughed and admitted, “No, no we eat it maybe once every six months. They are wild birds.” He then advised me to visit the local spa, which was the pride of the village. I decided to do so the next day.

To my surprise the breakfast “buffet” consisted of Weetabix with milk from the fridge, Heinz baked beans and toast. Perhaps a legacy of the British founder of the place? Anyway, on a full stomach, I made my way to the spa. It was an old building in front of which a beautiful fountain full of blue waterlilies was situated. Once inside, I was guided through the building via a one-way system and given different treatments. “Do you wish to try our very effective youth treatment, sir?” Why not! “Yes, please, I want that.” Lots of flat stones were then taken directly from a freezer and were placed all over my body. The coldness would allegedly force my skin to contract and firm up. It was an experience that I cannot recommend.

When I returned to the inn smelling like someone from the house of Dior, Mr. Bernadelli wanted to know if I had seen the waterlily fountain. I nodded in affirmation. He then dragged me into his tiny living-room and showed me a painting of the fountain. “My mother always liked painting. She was quite skilled.” “Oh”, I said. “Did she paint in oils?” But he misunderstood. “No, she mostly painted in the garden.”