O, Calabria!

So I'm not very good at keeping my word. Photos have not appeared on this blog for quite some time and I am afraid that it will be a bit longer until they do. The internet here is so slow that it is hardly worth the hours of waiting that it takes to upload even a few small pics. To make up for that lack I will regale you all with a few highlights of what I've been doing.

Calabria was... interesting. I had a great time staying with Jamie and Armwrecker. We were basically on our own, since the farmer where we were staying took off for a conference as soon as I arrived. Food was a bit scarce but we were able to sustain our WWOOFer camel bellies with some wild salad foraging, lots of beans and chickpeas (we constantly had beans soaking in our tiny kitchen, and bread bought from an unlicensed widower who sells it out of her basement.

Calabrian culture was very different from the Tuscan one that I am used to. Tourism is not as large an industry down there so us three Americans were something to be stared at. Especially when we rolled around on 3 shabby bikes that Jamie slapped together from scrap, wearing our dirty farm clothes and boots with eukalelees, cameras and sketchbooks slung over our shoulders. We weeded oregano fields, cared for the animals, pruned vineyards, threw oranges at the marauding cats, and made music in the nights. We were often conscripted by a Bulgarian gypsy named Avramo (the apparent Godfather of his extensive family) to help him move furniture around. He would show up at the farm in his ratty old car or worse van, blasting warbling gypsy music and slowly snapping his fingers overhead. If it was past noon he was likely drunk. He had no license or insurance and who knows who owned the car. We would help him move stuff around or slap together cheap furniture (always a hilarious enterprise). He would 'repay' us by showing up at night with 5 liters of wine and speak in his broken Italian which I translated (freely) to Jamie and Armwrecker. We would sing and play American folk music and he would sing along and dance until he was nearly too drunk to stand and then he would (somehow) get into his ratty car and drive home. We were always worried about him but there was nothing we could do to stop him. Mostly because he was a champion boxer who fought in the US, Bulgaria, Russia, etc. Oh, by the way, he was completely full of shit.

Our other companion was a good ole local farmer named Antonello. He always wore a bright blue jumpshit with huge rubber boots and a fannypack across his chest. He had long greasy black hair, a strong chin and a belly. He spoke no English (like everyone we met) and he loved to insult us. He and Armwrecker became great friends- or maybe great enemies. Luckily our patron farmer had instructed Jamie and Armwrecker in a few choice curse words of Italian so they were able to hold their own even before I showed up.

Other Calabrian highlights include swimming in the chilly spring sea in the nearby town of Tropea, watching our farmer's old mother stack her chicken on top of her goose to amuse us, making pizza in the outdoor stove which was built only to heat water for bathing, pushing cars and caravans around with a gaggle of local bumpkins and gypsies, participating in these and other hairbrained jobs at the urging of Avramo, playing hackeysack in the streets amid the heckling of local teenagers, trying to teach a German 3 year some english that wasn't 'Fuckyouuuuuu!', and enjoying incredibly seaside cuisine whenever we were invited to meals at the farmer's house.

When I next get a few minutes I will tell you all about my days with the Elves, those wonderful aging hippies who live in the mountains nearby. As soon as I finish my sculpture here at Louise's (I'm carving the head today) I will be returning to the Elves for the warm weather and smiling faces. Until then, I love you all! Take care!

Ciao, Chris