The truth, the whole truth?
It is tricky. I'm doing this blog because I want to be able to produce a record of some of things that go on here. It's partly for me. I already find it hard to believe some of the things we've achieved and some of the mad things that have happened. But it's also for people who've been here before and want to keep up with our day-to-day dramas. And for newbies who've never been but want to get a taste for what goes on here before they decide to join us in our oasis of Tuscan calm and serenity.
So what do I do when things go wrong? Do I come clean, 'fess up, spill my guts, weep like a baby (virtually, of course). Do I lay into 'problem' guests and flay them alive on-line? Am I being fair to rant at people that can't rant back? Would it be right to do so? And what about when things do go wrong, when it really is our fault? Won't telling the truth put people off from coming here in the first place?
Tricky.
On the subject of problem guests, I am going to have to err on the side of modesty and compassion. So I'm sorry to say that you're not going to hear about particular guest problems right now. You may hear about them in the future, and tomorrow you may hear me talk about some of the real hum-dingers we had last year (heavily disguised, of course).
As for other problems that start and end with us, well, I think they're fair game, don't you?
X-treme washing
So, let's paint a picture. I'm in the middle of a course on safety considerations in wine-making cantinas when I get a text from V: call as soon as you can PLEASE, we have no hot water and guests getting antsy. I make my excuses and call V from the corridor. I talk her through some immediate tests, but it's pretty clear the boiler is, in some non-trivial way, buggered. There is, as V so expertly pointed out, no hot water. None. I go back into the course and panic for a few minutes about what to do next, before deciding I couldn't understand more than 10% of what was being said in the lecture anyway, and my time would be better spent getting my sorry arse back home ASAP.
Good move, bad move. Necessary, but once I had managed to pacify a couple of none-too-pleased guests who had been forced to rudely shed their Chianti hang-overs by having a cold shower, I was not feeling so full of the joys of spring. The boiler was indeed kaput, but some cunning plumbing surgery meant that I managed to get the hot water back on-line within 30 minutes or so.
Still, every time I face an unhappy guest (and I can count them on the fingers of one hand, minus a thumb, and a little finger, and another finger) I do end up feeling somewhat depressed. I just haven't managed to grow a thick enough skin as yet. Not enough practice. I end up taking comments personally, I get defensive, angry, and it's as much as I can do to keep a calm exterior façade and try to mediate between the concerns of my guests (justifiable as they probably are) and the angry Mr.Hyde that just want so club them over the head with a spade. Still, I really, really forced myself to confront the issue head on (rather than sulk in my office), to embrace the pain (metaphorically), to disarm them (through gritted teeth) and you know what, it worked. I diffused the situation and felt much better for it myself, and they were happy too.
The reality is that almost everyone thought the whole cold shower thing was cool, a brush with rural living, another story to tell when they get back, a refreshingly dangerous way to start the day. But it's not those ones you have to worry about: it's the few who don't think it's funny, who don't think that waking up to thick fog after a chilly night and having to have a cold shower, is romantic, rustic, and charming. Those are the ones you have to watch.
All a bit cryptic, I know, but I may revisit this one at some future unspecified date and kiss'n'tell.
L'Aquilla
And, of course, relatively speaking, all this is trivial. Completely trivial. 220 dead, and the body count rising steadily. 14,000 homeless, without a shower, hot, cold or otherwise. This is not trivial.
The weird thing is that yesterday I managed to go to the doctors and do a small shop at the Coop without hearing a whisper. It wasn't until I got back at 10am and checked my email that I realised what had happened. Emails from concerned friends, past guests, and guests to come sent me to the Beeb to find out what was going on. Why had no one said anything? Why weren't there groups of people huddled around TV sets in the supermarket or at the surgery? I am not sure if I am generalising, but I am starting to worry that the Italians take their NIMBYism too seriously. Don't get me wrong, the TV and radio stations were full of the coverage, but from people on the streets, in the supermarkets...?
It felt very surreal to be watching this all on TV as if I were watching yet another 3rd world disaster, when in fact I could get in my car and be on the outskirts of this medieval-city-turned-hell-hole in around 3 hours. And of course, the thought of making the trip lamely crossed my mind on several occasions, but oh so much more pressing pressures, like finding someone to fix the unfixable boiler and calming a tetchy guest beat me into submission. And I couldn't leave V alone with 2 kids and 20 demanding customers. Anyway, can you imagine the scene? "Hi there, I've come to help." "Oh really, you a doctor, a trained rescue worker, a nurse...an engineer, a fireman maybe?" "Well, actually, no, but I can get hot water from of broken boiler, will that help?"
Or is that just another excuse?
Podere Patrignone
www.patrignone.com
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