{"id":1580,"date":"2012-06-25T13:18:37","date_gmt":"2012-06-25T11:18:37","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.katebailward.com\/drivinglikeamaniac\/?p=1580"},"modified":"2012-06-25T14:00:23","modified_gmt":"2012-06-25T12:00:23","slug":"return-to-calabria","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.katebailward.com\/drivinglikeamaniac\/2012\/06\/return-to-calabria\/","title":{"rendered":"Return to Calabria"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a>Bloody hell but it\u2019s hot. The coach was air-conditioned, but stepping off it at just after 3pm on a June afternoon in Calabria is like being wrapped in a suffocating pillow of heat. Within a minute the sweat is pouring and it\u2019s hard to take a breath in. I slow my pace and cross to the other side of the road, where there\u2019s more shade.<\/p>\n

I used to walk along this road a lot last summer, on my way to and from choir rehearsals or the supermarket. It\u2019s good to be back. There\u2019s the same stinky bin blocking the pavement, meaning you have to either step out into the traffic or be knocked out by the smell. San Francesco still stands, in statue form, at the top of the hill looking out over the bay, arms outstretched, friendly bird perched on his shoulder for all eternity. The view from here is gorgeous on a clear day, but today the heat is hazing and Sicily and Stromboli have disappeared from view as sea and sky blur together in a closer horizon than usual.<\/p>\n

The arrangement with my host for the weekend, Meg, was that I\u2019d call her when I reached Palmi, but my phone battery is dying. It\u2019s my own fault: I couldn\u2019t resist taking pictures of the sea as we drove along the coast road. Never mind. I head past Piazza Matteotti and the old folks sitting on benches, past Oscar Bar, resisting the lure of gelato, and on into school, reasoning that\u2019s probably where everyone will be.<\/p>\n

They are. Nothing changes.<\/p>\n

Well, maybe some things. Meg\u2019s 7 months pregnant and I\u2019m half the size I was when I left. We joke about sharing out the weight. Apart from that, though, Liv\u2019s hair is longer but her grin\u2019s still the same, as is Carly\u2019s dirty laugh, and the school is as busy as ever. Sam, the boss, comes round the corner and is about to pass by with a quick \u2018hi\u2019 when she stops herself with a chuckle. \u2018I almost forgot you didn\u2019t work here any more.\u2019 There\u2019s a flurry of conversation interrupted by students coming in to collect exam certificates. We promise to catch up properly later at the end-of-term party.<\/p>\n

Meg appears back at the house just after seven. \u2018We\u2019ve got half an hour. Sam\u2019s stressed and we need to be at Tahiti at quarter to eight. Chop chop, Katie!\u2019 We race through showers and make it out of the house just after we\u2019re supposed to be at Tahiti, which is a 10 minute drive away. Oh, and we still have to pick Liv and Carly up. They climb noisily into the car, making rude comments about us being late. \u2018Have you got your bikini? We\u2019re going swimming later. Yes, we bloody are. Oh, and I need cigs. Can we stop at the shop?\u2019<\/p>\n

There are lots of lidos at Tonnara, the beach town below Palmi, but Tahiti is the \u2018cool\u2019 one: all white-painted boardwalks, trestle tables and billowing sails. During the day the bar is full of people drinking beers and eating pizza. Now, however, at eight in the evening, the beach-goers have been turfed out and the Brits are taking over. I look across and see what looks like a load of Union Jack bikinis in Carly\u2019s hand. Has Sam really gone that far?! No, it\u2019s just a pack of bunting. Phew.<\/p>\n

As could have been predicted, nobody arrives much before 8.45. We\u2019re in Italy, after all. We have plenty of time to decorate the place and have a few cheeky glasses of prosecco before the students start to arrive. None of my teenagers will come tonight – it\u2019s far below their level of street cred – but a lot of my adults appear. It\u2019s so lovely to see them all. Chat segues into food and drink. A plate of fritti misti the size of my head arrives. I assume that\u2019s the meal and happily stuff it all down. But no – now there\u2019s pizza arriving as well. And it just keeps coming. I remember why I was twice the size I am now when I lived here last year. The pizza\u2019s so good, though! I take another piece.<\/p>\n

The meal\u2019s finally finished and I\u2019m lining up a camera shot of the bunting. There\u2019s a welcome breeze blowing through the lido this evening after the still humidity of the day, but it doesn\u2019t half make taking photos difficult. As I wrestle with f-stops versus shutter speed someone comes up behind me and kisses my shoulder. I turn round to see Domenico, one of my best friends here. We both yell and throw our arms around each other. Ti voglio bene! Come stai?!<\/em> It\u2019s so good to see him. He\u2019s only here briefly at this point but says he\u2019ll get Emmanuel – another one of my good friends here – and come back later on. \u00a0I return to my fight with the camera.<\/p>\n

Later, having had a good go at drinking the bar dry, Liv and Carly decide they want to sing. Giuseppe, one of the students at the school, is a fantastic pianist, and a plot is hatched for him to accompany them in a rousing round of \u2018Can\u2019t Take My Eyes Off You\u2019. The band is ousted from their spot and the girls take over. Somehow evenings out with the Stamford teachers always ends this way. Everyone cheers them on. Then the call goes out for me to sing, too. I\u2019m a little bit too tipsy to do this, and I haven\u2019t sung in public for a good year, but my protestations go unheard. Giuseppe drops the opening chords of \u2018You\u2019ve Got a Friend\u2019 into a moment\u2019s silence and I start to sing. He couldn\u2019t have chosen a better song. Domenico, my staunchest supporter, appears out of nowhere and sits in the front row grinning up at me. Emmanuel\u2019s here now as well, standing behind him, and as I look around the room I see familiar faces everywhere.<\/p>\n

It’s good to be back.<\/p>\n

Image: Hey Mr Tambourine Man<\/a><\/p>\n

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