I don't remember why I decided to challenge my good pal Curtis to race the 94.7 Cycle Challenge (actually more around 100km than 95...).
I guess I've almost being known to love doing stupid things, especially if they required a lot of stamina, willpower and pain, all in name of useless glory.

This is why I managed to run 10 marathons so far (ok, the first one that I run was because I was a bit bored in the army, and the Los Angeles one was only an excuse to go to Las Vegas ) or survive the Tough Guy in a freezing January in 2007 .

Anyway, in the weeks preceding the event, I've started to experience the thrill of a mountain bike race. With Curtis we took part in some pretty tough races, and even if we finished quite far from the winners (all pros or semi pros), at least we finished long ahead of plenty of racers with bicycles worth 10 to 20 times more than mine (which was the cheapest on the market 2 years ago).

All those races were around 30 to 50km, long enough for us (cycling in South Africa under a 40 degrees sun takes its toll) to train and be ready for the final race day.

I never realized how big it was. If you check on internet, you will soon realize that with around 25.000 people starting it, it's the second biggest race in the world, just after the Cape Argus, another famous South Africa race (yes, if you love outdoor sport than South Africa is definitely the place to stay, unless you love the snow).

So after weeks of getting ready, pimping our bicycle and pumping our wheels, it was time to go. The start was from just outside Johannesburg, where 10-15000 cars had to find a place to unload their bicycles. Leaving not too far from there, we decided to leave very early (our start was scheduled at 9.20, in one of the last groups, almost 3 hours after the start of the pros, no chance to win then!) and we found a parking spot only 2-3 from the start line.

It was insane to witness how quickly the parking filled up, and Curtis and I, with our mountain bike slightly modified (new wheels, enhanced accessories, and a lot of liquids) decided to simply wait in the breakfast area for the start.

Finally at 9.20, under a true African Sun, the race started. In our group of 250 people, some decided to sprint straight away while our goal was to simply finish in a decent time (less than 5 hours) and to enjoy the race.

It was incredible to cycle through Johannesburg with all the main streets closed to traffic. For the first 15km, almost all uphill (and few people dropped already there...) I could enjoy a truly nice city that unfortunately gets an awful reputation because of its traffic and the criminality.

Outside Johannesburg things starting to become a little harder, but we took it quite easily. We stopped at every drinking station and had some fun with the many supporters around us. Curtis struggled a bit on the hills, but he always managed to get back with me. The original plan was to stay together and do a Tour de France sprint in the last 200 meters.

Only after 60km the fatigue started to kick in. Not too much (nothing compared to what I usually suffer during marathons), but enough to slow down our rhythm. Luckily we managed to survive the most difficult bit (a very long series of hills that go on for around 10km, against wind) and to witness more and more people retiring for either dehydration or muscles problems. Also, we wasted quite a lot of time discussing politics with the local supporters...

With 1 km to go, we launched our attack on the last hill, passing hundreds of participants and getting at the 200 meters mark ready to sprint. It was a great sprint, with all the random supporters cheering for these two crazy guys that after more than 95km of cycling still had some will to entertain.

Curtis gave up after 100 meters and I finished in front of him by 10 seconds. I finished in around 4 minutes and 40 seconds at the 11735th place (out of 16471 that finished, almost 9000 retired!).

Then, it was time to get our muscles massaged by the great free service offered by the organization, and then it was time for some final beers to celebrate another crazy experience.

What's next? I heard that the two oceans marathon is quite long...

I don’t remember the last time that I visited Italy in September.
I left home in 2001 (a day after the 9/11), and for the next 8 years I’ve either travelled there from London in May or over Christmas.
From South Africa, where the planning requires considerably more money and time, I usually came back only in July.

Unfortunately death is something that doesn’t really give a crap about your schedule or your strained finances (that are still tiring to recover from the European tour in July).

  Death sucks. It happens and you can’t do much about it, you can just insult it (him/her?) and try to make arrangements to go to a funeral or to see if the situation in the family is ok.

You see, my uncle died. After my grandpa earlier this year, this just helped me think that 2009 is not a great year (let’s not even talk about my dogs’ accidents and me losing the local football league at the last round just some days ago).
Just like 2005 (and my good pal Rob remembers well) I wish I could just delete it.

But I can’t.

So I decided to board the (almost) cheapest airplane and fly to Italy to check on things. I wasn’t too worried about my uncle’s family, after all he has been sick for a while and in the past weeks the doctor warned them that the clock finished its ticking and every other minute was a gift.

 I was more worried about my dad.

Of the three Olgiati brothers, he is now the last.
The youngest, but the most nostalgic of the three. Life for him has been strange.
All his life wanted to retire, live surrounded by family, kids and grandkids, and enjoy his old age, and maybe die in his own garden, in a  Don Vito Corleone fantasy, picking tomatoes.

It didn’t happen this way. Not with my mum (who now goes under a new surname), and not with me, always too far from home.

At least he always had his brothers. The older one died in 1992, probably the year when our extended family suddenly shrunk and our Christmases became a more intimate affair among survivors.

Unlike them, he never stopped drinking or smoking. Tino and Giulo (the names of the brothers) tried to live a healthier lifestyle, but now they are both dead.
I’m sure there is some sort of lesson to be learnt here.

This is why I boarded that plane, leaving South Africa and my life behind for a week, from Monday to Friday.
My goal? To spend some time with the old man, and to try to reconnect again with my past.

Renato, my older cousin, was kind enough to fetch me at the airport and to drive me home. Seeing again my sister, my dog Bart, older but still barking like there is no tomorrow, was a great feeling.
So it was seeing my dad, a little sadder, a little older, and a little more alone.

It was a strange week. Usually I would try to spend at least a weekend in Canegrate, but the lack of time, tickets and money prevented me to achieve it.

The funeral ended up on the local papers. My uncle was the main guy behind one of the most famous cross country races, the Cinque Mulini (the Five Windmill), one of the oldest and most famous appointments in the international calendar. It was all his life for the past 10 years or so.
This is why the church was full, and a lot of personalities from the athletic association were there.

My cousin Davide read a letter than my dad wrote to his deceased brother. He said that he couldn’t sleep for 3 nights and ended up writing what he felt about him on a piece of paper.
It was short, but totally my dad.
We Olgiati are quite notorious for not being able to express any emotions (unless there is an Italian Anthem playing in the background of some medal ceremony), and so we always end up writing stuff.

I visited my auntie for a lunch session that same week and we spent time discussing, well, the past. The same happened with every single member of my family. The past is a tricky thing. Everything looks just, well, better.
Comparing what we have now with what we lost is always unfair.

I guess it’s just how life goes.

Every evening not spent with my dad was spent with my friends. They were all eager to show me their new houses and we were invited to a dinner (pasta & beer) at Mera & Luciana’s house, my beer drinking, nature loving, left winged friends.

The night was great and very relaxing, maybe a bit too much for poor Max, who, after working long hours, spent the rest of it on the sofa.

The next night was spent at Beppe and Claudia, now living together maybe 80 meters from my family’s house.
This time the occasion was Italy-Bulgaria, for the 2010 world cup, when finally the Azzurri played like world champions for at least 20 minutes. Unfortunately the same evening I destroyed their mosquito nets (just installed) by walking into it...

(By the way the secret that I was told the last time is now public so I can congratulate them here: well done Beppe’s sperm on working so well!)

I also visited Paolo and Verusca, with their three kids, for another round of pasta.

Yes, for once it was nice to actually sit down and eat home cooked food instead of rushing to restaurants before the usual stop at my usual pub.

It seems just last year when for all of us dinner at home meant to buy some take away pizzas, drink some coke (and later alcohol), and watch rented movies.
But time has passed quite quickly. The last time I watched I rented movie with popcorns and drinks in Italy was maybe 10 years ago.

Everyone moved on. Suddenly. While I was in London nothing much happened, and now, 10000km away, everyone decided that is time to make some commitment and stop simply surviving the day.
It’s a strange feeling, since I wasn’t involved in any of those changes, and finding the same guys now with mortgages, kids or wives, well, it’s weird.

The week of perfectly planned meetings got even busier when I met my good old friend Ian who, with incredibly good timing, decided to come to Italy with wife and mum for a 2 weeks holiday. He even landed in Malpensa, 20 minutes from my house.
I promised I would take him in some nice bar for a breakfast, but unfortunately I got lost on the motorway.
I know, I lived in the area for pretty much my whole life and I managed to get lost driving back home (more precisely by being the co-pilot with the map while Ian was driving).
It was a bit embarrassing when we crossed the river Ticino and ended up in a totally different region (Piemonte instead of Lombardia), 50km away from my original destination.
Luckily Ian and family was way too tired to beat me up, and we ended up in some random bar which gave us great coffee’ and a decent breakfast.

It was sad to see him going away again, after only maybe 2 hours passed together. I still remember when we used to live in London , and my trip to New York , and his trip to South Afric a… great memories.

The same evening I visited my old football team mates at A.C. Canegrate, training in the evening. Few of them are still playing, and now one of them is the main manager…

You see? This is what happens when you go back. You end up in a strange place between memories from a time that now seems to be great and perfect, and a future in which you don’t have any place.

Death sucks, true, but hey, memories are great.

When was the last time I travelled without my wife in a far away land? It was 2007 , and I wasn’t married yet. I was already living in South Africa, but my life was quite different back then. No car, no house, no wife, no dogs. Stuck between nostalgia for a past in which I was perfectly fitting, and a future that had no guarantees.

It’s hard to travel by yourself after having spent pretty much the past 18 months constantly with someone. I used to be great at it, but now the silent just kills me. In the airport, the only time I open my mouth is to order some food, and sometimes I don’t even need it, I can just grab the food at the counter, pass the card, pay and go.

It’s a strange feeling. You enjoy your freedom to do whatever you want (within certain limits, obviously), but you can’t take a picture of something stupid that you are doing unless you extend your arm and take a self picture, which is kind of lame these days.

A lot of friends asked me why I didn’t take Lindsey. First of all, it was quite an intense schedule. 11 days, three countries, a lot of internal flights, not much time to visit anyone. London was all about work, Poland was all about my dead grandpa, and Italy was all about alcohol. I don’t think that Lindsey would have enjoyed.

Plus, with the recent amount of extra expenses to fix our poor doggies (the female, Cucciola, suffers from hip dysplasia so we spent quite a lot to correct the hip via operation, the male, Bruce, was ran over by a car together with his master – me – and his leg was in the cast for a while), the budget for so many flights was drastically reduced, so we decided that I should go alone.

 You see, it’s strange to plan a trip and leaving wife and dogs behind. You start worrying about what will happen when you’re away and it’s difficult to relax. Luckily for me, Lindsey has her support system (family) not too far from our home, so at least I knew that she would be ok.

So, with pretty much everything sorted, and my intensive schedule ready, it was time to drive to the airport and say goodbye to South Africa for 2 weeks.

Lindsey packed my bags (she changed the ratio t-shirts/socks/underwear which is usually 3/3/2 per week to a new 7/7/7 per week, or 1/1/1 per day) and I squeezed the usual bottles and gifts that I was taking to Europe. I was ready to go.

First of all I would like to apologize to all those people that I didn’t get in touch with you for even a drink. You need to understand; with only 5 days in London I spent 4 of them working on some big projects that required my personal care. I spent my only free day, Sunday, relaxing at Guy’s house for a fantastic barbecue with his wife Melissa, their two dogs and their friends.

Luckily for me Guy and Melissa gave me place to stay for the week, so I didn’t have to beg accommodation somewhere else (I think it was the first time ever since I moved to London in 2001 that I didn’t have my place) or to pay the silly rates at the local hotels.
I was quite glad to stay with them, for many reasons. First of all, they live in Fulham, not too far from the place I’ve lived for almost 6 years, so I already knew the area quite well. Second, their house is beautiful, way bigger than my small flat, and much more clean (well, you don’t need that much actually). The bed was very comfy and I really relaxed at night.  Third, I work with Guy so I managed to do quite a lot before and after leaving the office, and this helped to get at par with some projects.

London in July, when it’s sunny, is beautiful. Wimbledon was on its way to a final (Murray, as Henman some years ago, raised and killed the hopes of thousands of supporters by losing in the semifinal), the Ashes on again, the weather ...everything was just brilliant.
I enjoyed doing stupid things like simply walking in the park, remembering how I used to walk in the same park to go the pub with Rob many times until 2007.
Yes, coming back here alone brought back a lot of memories. 

It’s strange to imagine that I’m nothing more than a tourist now. I’ve even tried to get to Oxford Street to buy some gifts for everyone, but my trip was shortened by the festival of freaks and weirdoes called as Gay Pride. Sorry, now apparently it is called LGBT pride (Lesbians Gay Bisexual and Transformers or something like that) but it’s an appalling show whatever name you give them.

Tell me, why lesbians are so hot in those nice movies and on the free intent videos but when they parade they are so damn ugly? And fat? And hairy? And all of them have the same stupid haircut? Where do they keep the hot lesbians at these parties? And why there are only male bisexuals?

Yes, I had to escape and run back home. Actually I went back to the office to do some more work simply because I needed some distractions, and work on Saturday is much better than a freak show on any day.

My visit was cut short though, since I had to fly to Poland and visit my grandma, some weeks after my grandpa passed away (yes, I missed the funeral).

It has been a while since the last time I went to Poland. It was 2007 (again, I did a lot that year...). As some of you know, I was supposed to get there in 2008 with Lindsey , but an outbreak of chickenpox in my body stopped us from going there. And so my granddad never had the chance to see my wife.

I left London on Tuesday, with a trip back scheduled only two days later, on Thursday (on Friday I would leave to go to Italy…), so I tried to do as much as possible in these two short days.
It the 4 days spent in London brought back a lot of recent memories, the 2 days in Poland brought back those distant ones. Poland was never my home, and yet I used to spend up to three months almost every single school holiday until I turned 18.
Then my wasted time at university began, and later my army service, and then London.
And yet, I always feel some a deep connection, with Poznan in particular, which reminds me of a time that holidays meant more than 2-3 days away from a computer.

Yes, it was another wave of nostalgic moments. My grandma greeted me at the airport, and she looked much smaller than usual. She has always been an incredibly strong woman, but the death of her late husband left its toll on her.

She found some energy to cook and generally look after me for those 2 days (even sewing some of my well-worn clothes…), but her house seemed different. Everything was exactly at the same places where it has been for past 20 years, and only some new pictures of Lindsey and me on the memory wall were the only addition.  The papers were still in the same spot where she used to leave them in the morning, but they were still folded. There was no more a man who unfolded them, read them and commented over a cup of tea. I also noticed how she stopped doing the crosswords on every single edition.

Yes, it was quite sad. It’s strange to talk with a person that you see maybe, if you’re lucky, once a year but that she used to take care of you in a time that you can’t even recall.

So, after a quick visit to the cemetery to say goodbye to my grandpa, I decided to get out of the house and spend some time with Dominik and friends. It wasn’t the best time for neither of them, since it was the middle of the week and everyone was working, but they all made an effort to catch up with me.

Dominik’s sister, Ula, moved with Marcin to a new house in the countryside (these days everyone is buying/moving houses!) and we spent some time there to generally chat about a over glorified past. This always happens with me. In Poland, in Italy, and now even in London.
I’m stuck in the past, and I have nothing to say about the present, simply because there aren’t enough memories worth sharing. It’s quite sad.

After few drinks, and another evening spent with my grandma talking by my bed (for hours, it was more of a monologue but I think she needed one), it was time to get ready, fly back to London, and leave Poland behind for God knows how long.

I forgot to mention how even in Poland I had to find an internet café to do some work that popped out while I was away. Maybe this is why I wanted to get to Italy and do nothing else than eat, get silly drunk and generally talk all kind of crap with my oldest friends.

Did I say that I’m stuck in the past? Yes I did. And every time I meet my old friends, this is exactly what I want to talk about: memories.

 

It’s weird also because the last time I was here with Lindsey, and you can’t say certain things or behave in certain ways if someone who doesn’t share your same background (including stupid cartoons, jokes and language) is around.
I just hope that one day she will be able to understand what  is going on around her, because I really don’t like to make her feel uncomfortable around a table of people that don’t really master the English language. So, for few nights only, my friend had the old Olaf Meister back, with his full collection of creative swearing, stolen and translated catch phrases, and capable of drinking litres of alcohol until death comes to knock at the brain door.

I’ve also managed to squeeze some sort of house warming party at the new Giamba’s place, a little flat somewhere in Bareggio, where we enjoyed a night of homemade cocktails with Claudia, and battles with that great videogame that is Guitar Hero. Apparently the more I drink the better I am at singing.

So, there isn’t much to say about that lazy weekend, culminated in my sister’s 31sy birthday on Sunday. I spent what I would call a quality time with friends at the usual bar, with family at the usual summer barbecue, and with my dog at the usual parks. Max tried to kill me by removing the chair from under my ass but I survived. My dad enjoyed the newest addition to his bar, the vuvuzela , and Olga received a fantastic sodastream machine for her birthday.I played more Wii at Beppe's new place with Claudia, and I must say that I'm quite good at the (virtual) farting game.

I didn’t do anything else. Just like in London and in Poznan, I didn’t even bother to pretend to be a tourist and go or see stuff.
All I wanted was there, either around me at the table, or in front of me in a glass bottle.

I’m a terrible tourist, but Europe is my home. And, at home, I like to do nothing at all…

Only one week before the start of the short tournament, highly regarded by Fifa, Brazil and South Africa but pretty much ignored by the rest of the world, champions included (more of this later, I’ve realized that, for me, regardless of the results, it would have been a great experience.

I’ve never watched Italy live. Or any world champion. Before 2006, Italy was ruling the world in 1982, and I was too damn small to convince my dad to take me the matches. Plus, pretty much like now, the team was ageing not very well and Italy kept touring around Italy but not very often they were playing around Milan.

It doesn’t happen that often that your team is the current world champion, that they play a minimum of 3 matches within a radius of 50km from your house, and that you can afford the tickets. Yet, this was one of the secondary reasons why I moved down here in 2007.

Lindsey knew I was very excited by finally seeing her husband breaking the usual work routine and for once forgets about real life and the pressure at work. Just like a kid, I had my Italian shirt ready to me shown to the world, together with my flag and my lungs.

The first scheduled match was going to be Italy against USA, in Pretoria. Never been to the city or the stadium, so when David agreed to come with me (I had 2 tickets for each game) I was more than happy to go with someone with the knowledge of the area.

Lindsey decided to stay home for this first game on a Monday night, knowing that the next day she would have found some problems waking up the next morning. Not a problem, I said. You can always enjoy watching the world champions destroying Egypt and then play in a classic match against Brazil. How wrong I was.

Italy has never been famous for playing like Brazil or, recently Spain. They have always won the hard way, and only with the right motivation. Ask Italy to play Malta, and they would win 2-1 just playing decently enough to get the victory. Ask Germany to play them, and the score would have been 8-0.

Then, in the tournaments, everything change. Somehow the Italians find motivations when they play as underdogs or against a team that is more supported, loved or just plays better. Think about the last European Cup won by Spain. Who was the only team that Spain failed to beat? Italy, who lost only at penalties.

So I thought I knew what to expect. A lot of heart, runs and few goals, with the usual antics that make Italy so hated abroad, by male supporters. The girls couldn’t care less, as long as they are good looking they are ok.

The first thing that I noticed by driving to Pretoria and parking in the designated area was the lack of congestion and the incredible organization provided by the local authorities. Everything just run smoothly,  it felt like Switzerland, just with more blacks, less mountains and cuckoo clocks.

The second thing was how damn cold the evening is in Pretoria (which is warmer than Johannesburg). When they gave the world cup to South Africa I think no one really thought it thoroughly. It’s winter down here! Yes, it’s still nice and warm during the day but as soon as the sun sets down you are freezing! It will be the coldest world cup in history, and, in the area, the next one after Mexico 1986 where the lack of oxygen will test the players at this altitude.

After approaching the parking area, we jumped on the buses for a short 10 minutes drive in the emptied area around the stadium. The Loftus Versfeld stadium is a structure commonly use for rugby and getting some revamp for next year.

It’s just small, but, unlike most of the awful Italian stadiums, this is inspired by the English model: no athletic track, no barriers and very close to the action.

My cheap tickets as South African residents (5 Euros each!) were located behind the goals, and I could see the action (as long as it was in the last 20 meters…). Luckily, all the goals happened where I was sitting.

There isn’t much to say about the game.  Italy won 3-1 after trailing 0-1 at the interval, thanks to a penalty given away by the idiot (Chiellini) in the centre of the defence. Only when the USA got a red card then Italy, 11 against 10, started playing decently and getting some confidence, but only when Rossi (a young player born in the USA from Italian parents) came in as substitute to score 2 great quick goals then I could relax. Nice way to start a tournament, but it’s hard to believe that Italy played so badly and uninspired in the first half… after all, as world champions, they should play much better!

So, few days later, I was back on the road with Lindsey, Jill and Curtis (who swapped their tickets to come and watch Italy with us) to go to Ellis Park, another rugby stadium, and watch Italy Egypt.

Unlike Pretoria, closing the area surrounding the stadium wasn’t that easy. The constant flow of traffic of people going back home after a hard day of work didn’t really help. To get there it took as almost an hour more than to drive to Pretoria…

While I was impressed by the stadium (and by sitting in the top tier I could enjoy the game from a Sensible Soccer kind of view), but the stinky area around it was terrible.
Worst, unlike in the USA game, there were more supporters cheering for Egypt just because they were part of the same continent (I would never cheer France against any other extra-european team, but that’s just me). Come on, Egypt and South Africa have as much in common as Italy and Iceland: they belong to the same continent and they have McDonalds. 

Again, I won’t spend much time to discuss the game. Italy was crap, and they lost. Egypt fully deserved the victory because, if a team of opportunistic like Italy can’t score in 15 chances in 10 minutes, then they shouldn’t even try. It was quite humiliating. I come here,  I take my wife and friends, I sing the national anthem and those 11 + manager + bench don’t even bother. What the hell?

Anyway, with Brazil winning the first two games, Italy had to win or at least draw against the South American team. Sure Italy will find some dignity and, as usually, step up to the appointment when it’s a win-only situation?

This time the game was scheduled back in Pretoria, on Sunday night. I took Lindsey again because I wanted at least once celebrate with her an Italian goal, even if the score was going to be 1-6. We were in the stadium quite early and I’ve even met some of my football teammates. The stadium was the only total sold-out of the competition, and it was obvious from the start that this was going to be a great night of football, if only the team in the pale azzurri shirt (who chose the colour for the competition? It looks awful) decided to play.

It was another disaster. Not even my vuvuzela could compensate from the major disappointment of losing 0-3 against Brazil. It could have been 0-21 and at least most of the players would have never played for the Italian shirt again. Even useless players like Camoranesi (probably Lippi’s lover), Toni (1.94cm and is down at every single contact?), Gilardino (Toni’s lover?) and pretty much everyone in the back four (Grosso excluded). Give me back crazy Materazzi…

My final thoughts:

• Italian players deserved to be tortured. They played without any character, and as soon as they lost 0-3 they just decided to hide in the changing rooms without even saluting the supporters that waited all their life to cheer them until the end (when even a goal would have qualified us). Unfortunately when the torture manager went into the changing rooms, they were already gone on the holidays that had to postpone because of this tournament
• Forget Ronaldo. Kaka is a superhuman player. A German body with Brazilian skills. And none of the arrogance of his new team mate
• South Africa can pull it off easily. The people loved the tournament, and they were proud of the team, even if they lost 3 times in 5 games to finish 4th.
• It will be a freezing World Cup, bring down some autumn clothes!
• Did I say already that I wish I could kick some Italian players?
• A lot of Arabs went to the Muslim hell probably. Apparently Egyptian got robbed in the hotel by whores, and I’ve never seen so many Arabs drinking beers to celebrate their team’s victory over Italy. Fewer supporters to worry next year.
• I wish I could celebrate at the next world cup (start booking the tickets…) at least one Italian goal with my wife and not ending up like France in 2002 (when they were world cup holders and crashed in the first round without scoring much…)
• I can sing the national anthem. And well.  This is why probably everyone filmed me at the stadium when I was the only one doing so.
• Forget about all the other sports in the world. Football rules.

I love road trips. I think that everyone should at least in their life, make a road trip somewhere far, in a different country or continent, surrounded by the people he/she likes to spend time with.

I was never a great driver within the city limits, but once on the road I always loved the monotony of the engine and the change of scenery.

I still remember one of my favourite trips, in 2004 in America, from Los Angeles to Las Vegas and back. Yes, they look quite close on the map but once you drive through the desert, the distance seemed to be multiplied by 10.

I remember driving with the hired Cadillac with Jonny, Guy, Robert and the crazy Spanish guy David, all five of us extremely excited to go and visit the capital of sin. Then, on the way back, the excitement was replaced by the silence of the hangover, with Jonny sleeping in the back and me and David literally sitting on him.

Another great road trip was in France, in 2005, with my good Irish friend Rob, following the story that Alain Fournier left behind in the Grand Moulniere.

They all seemed such a long time ago.

So, when the occasion was right (Lindsey and I got married 1 year ago, and our two dogs were old enough to travel), and the excuse was perfect (Kirsten's wedding), I couldn't say no to Lindsey's idea to a long road trip through the central and western parts of South Africa.

After all her little sister was getting married and the last I've been to Cape Town was in 2005, on my first trip to South Africa.

Weeks before the departure, most of the people I know said that it was madness. Drive to Cape Town? And then to the Wilderness? With two dogs who have never travelled more than 30 minutes? With luggage? On a small Toyota Yaris?

But hey, I'm the kind of guy who likes to do crazy things just to brag about it or just to have a nice story to tell in years to come. So, after a consult with the dog trainer (yes, we spent the first 3 months of the year going to dog's obedience school. Bruce failed, Cucciola passed) we realized that wasn't an impossible task.

Packing the car in the evening, with the plan of leave town in the early morning, to avoid traffic, was like playing Tetris with luggage.
If the car was a game console, I would have scored many points.
The first problem happened the same night: one of the tyres was flat, and I've never checked the spare tyre since one of the many small accidents I had with the car.

So, departure was postponed by many hours. This was good, none of us was really happy to wake up at 3am and jump into a car and drive.

8 hours later and with the sun already high in the sky, Lindsey, Bruce, Cucciola, a lot luggage and I were on the way to Kimberley. The plan was to drive there, spend the night at Shari's house, and then drive then next day to Cape Town. The dogs thought that they were going to a park, and when, after an hour, they were still sitting in the car, none of them seemed too happy.

Cucciola, the female, suffers from car sickness, and spent most of the trip with her head under the passenger's seat, just like an ostrich. Bruce, instead, loves to drive as long as you stop somewhere for a walk or a run. None of them was impressed when we stopped for our first dog break somewhere outside Johannesburg, in a tiny park by a shopping mall.

After a long day of drive and too many road words, we reached Kimberley around 8pm. Shari and her two dogs greeted us in her new place, somewhere in Kimberley, and we crashed for the night.

Some hours later, in the morning, it was time to leave Kimberley and drive to Cape Town, for the longest stage of our tour. Shari joined us in the car (she was invited as well), and we somehow managed to squeeze inside the car.

Driving from Kimberley to Cape Town was probably one of my favourite moments. The road was empty, nobody drives there (only few trucks), and you could drive at 140 - 150km/h through the Karoo desert.

With the iPod blasting songs to keep everyone up, memories of my trip to Vegas, driving through a similar desert (with plenty more cars, drinks and casinos on the road) flashed into my mind. I'm a nostalgic man, I like to remember the good old times, and I accumulated plenty of them in my first 30 years.

After deploying Shari to her cousin's house, we drove to Hout Bay, where the whole Thomson Family was setting the HQ to get ready to prepare the wedding.

The whole clan was there: Stella, the grandma, David and Jenny, my father and mother in law, Jill with Curtis and obviously Kirsten and Andy.

We decided to spend the first evening, after a great fish braai made by David, taking Cucciola and Bruce to the Atlantic Ocean and the beach to let them experience for the first time in their life that strange experience that is the ocean.

You see, I've always lived far, far away from any sea. In Milan it was 200km. In London technically I wasn't too far but you wouldn't go to a beach by the Thames, would you?

Even in Poland, in Poznan, I was hour away from that cold piece of sea that is the Baltic.

So the excitement wasn't just with the dogs. I was quite happy too. Bruce and Cucciola ran into the water and only moments later they realized that it was moving, it was cold and it was too salty to drink. The look on their faces was one of those priceless moments. Lindsey and I tried to go knee high in the water, but the Atlantic was truly freezing. Still, the surroundings around us (the little towns, the bay, and the mountains) were breathtaking, for someone not used to it like me.

After a good night of sleep, it was time to pack up our bags and move to Rieebek Wes, the location of the wedding, 80km north of Cape Town. The dogs (all four of them, Kirsten's Lucky and Dub and our two) travelled in another car while we collected the flowers.

The day was fantastic, no sign of clouds in the sky and the long drive to the countryside part of the Western Cape, far from the Ocean but still on the nice side of the mountains, where wineries keep popping along the roads, was relaxing enough, with Lindsey driving. I was just holding the precious flowers and decorations for the wedding in the back of the car. No pressure.

The farm chosen by the future Sprawsons was incredibly nice. I didn't even look at the brochure or the pictures months ago, all they told was that they were getting married in a barn.
So in my mind I imagined some strange and hilbilly-ish place on the mountain where dodgy Afrikaners would squeeze us in a small and smelly place, surrounded by cows and pigs.

Luckily I was wrong (and this happened a lot during the trip).

I don't remember much of my own wedding's preparation. Probably because I wasn't there. While the Thomsons were checking up the arrangements made by the professionals, I was in a drinking and swimming in a pool with my overseas friends. So when I volunteered myself to help out with the preparation I was expecting to just sit around, sip some local wine, and spend 10 minutes helping with the decorations.

The Thomsons literally took over the place. Everything was arranged by Kirsten's close and extended family (like her cousins Debbie and Bronwyn and her auntie Della), who arranged flowers, banters, tables while trying to get ready for a wedding.

After spending some time hiding with Curtis, to avoid girlie duties (you know, I hate flowers), we decided that maybe it was time to help a little. I spent some time setting up the camera (I brought all my kit to film the special event) and then just doing the bits and bops, like taking care of my way too excited dogs.

The camera was ready, the lights in the barn were ready, and almost everyone was there (Andy's family arrived maybe 1 hour before the ceremony, to keep it exciting): it was time to start.

Andy arrived with his brother (who was playing the guitar), and the door at the bottom of the barn opened to let the bridesmaids in: Bronwyn, Nicola (Andy's sister), Lindsey and Jill. Then it was Kirsten's time to walk the aisle with her father David (who just 1 year and 1 day before walk another aisle with another daughter). She looked wonderful, and you could see Andy's face finally relaxing and letting the tension fly far, far away.

The special guests at the ceremony were Lucky and Dub, Andy and Kirsten's dogs, who were decorated for the occasion and brought the rings with them.

The ceremony was probably the quickest I've ever seen (15 minutes top), and I must say that I really liked it this way: short and sweet. No too many songs, no too much preaching, just the usual words and a nice exchange of vows (I wasn't really listening, I was too focused on framing it, but Lindsey told me the vows were cute).
Since I was filming, I didn't take many pictures, but you can check the official pictures in the link at the bottom of this page.

After the usual session of photos, it was time for me to swap the cameraman's hat for the master of ceremonies' hat (yes, I'm a multi task man, you can hire me for your wedding, all I need is a ticket, some cash and free food and booze).

The reception was outside, and the weather was perfect for the occasion. Very hot to start with (when everyone was still in the cold barn) and gradually turning to a pleasant 25 degrees, while everyone was eating. The food was great, and the speeches (David, Andy's brother and Andy) fitted the occasion.

Andy then got the acoustic guitar and sang Adam Sandler's I want to grow old with you (here's the link to the original video, from the Wedding Singer's movie).

Then, it was time to party. Back in the barn, converted now from a church to a disco, we plugged my iPod and Andy's computer and danced the night away.

Few hours later, it was time to go to sleep, and in the silence of the valley, the only thing you could hear was the dogs barking (Cucciola apparently doesn't really like people with a different colour of skin).

The next morning, before everyone went back home, we had a gigantic breakfast together and then we said goodbye to the newly married couple who left to go to Paternoster, somewhere by the sea in the Western Cape (I think).

Lindsey and I were assigned to stay at the Sprawsons' cottage, house sitting their dogs. For me, after days of travelling around, it was a nice occasion to finally do some work and relax for a week.

I was so wrong.

I've had animals for most of my life. When Segugio, our family dog, died back in the early 90's, I couldn't stand to have another one. It was too painful when he died while I was on holiday.

We had a cat for 10 years, Pulce, who fought all his life and killed and raped in the whole neighbourhood... it made me so proud!, and while I was in the army, my sister basically replaced me with a new dog, Bart, who still lives and prosper in Italy (he's now 10 years, Pulce, unfortunately, died after 12 years, in 2005, trying probably to kill a car).

Then I moved to London. I had Rob, Jack Daniels, an internet connection, football and not much else. I didn't need anything else, I thought. Maybe a place bigger than 40 square meters. Maybe a bidet. But at the time, I was happy with what I had.
Then, moving to South Africa, and suddenly owning a big house, and being married, I felt like I needed a dog to keep me company during those long days at the office. Lindsey was keen too and so we got ourselves two puppies that grew quite quickly, surviving any kind of disease and problems due to the initial malnutrition they had when they were abandoned.

Living with dogs is an experience that everyone should try. Yes, they piss everywhere at first, and their poo is either too liquid to scoop or too smelly to face. They also eat, fart, and bark in random succession during the course of the day (and night). And don't forget the insanely expensive veterinary bills!

But their unconditional love forms a bond with the owner that is difficult to experience in any other relationship.

So our trip to Cape Town with Bruce and Cucciola was a risk. We just wanted to have some memories that in the future we could share with our friends, family and kids. Everything was fine until the day after the wedding. Then, suddenly, on a Monday morning, the whole experience almost turned sour.

Lindsey and I were sitting at Kirsten's home. I was finally connected on internet and all I need was some credit on my phone to be able to finish some works that required my urgent attention. So with Bruce house sick (there wasn't much garden around the house to run freely with Cucciola) and bored, it was a nice chance to take him for a walk to relax a little. As soon as I left the house, Cucciola started crying and crying. Lindsey even phoned while I was crossing the road, noticing how desperate to get out she was.

So I crossed the road. And at the local Caltex, I asked for the location of the closest cash point. Then, for some reason that still today I can't explain, Bruce freaked out. Maybe was the smell of the petrol station, or the strange local accent used by the colored guy who was talking to me. Bruce backtracked, managed to get his head out of the collar, leaving me with a limp leash, and crossed the road. In the middle of the traffic. Just when the lights turned green.

It's strange how something that happened in probably 10 seconds, replays in your head like it was really 10 minutes long. I remember thinking "Fuck, I need to do something" and then "Fuck, that car is not going to stop" and "Fuck, that car just hit my dog" before I moved. Bruce was already screaming in pain, but luckily the car was just off the light and its speed wasn't too bad. I stepped on the lane, and Bruce, jumping on three legs, decided to run back home, and crossed the next lane. Again.

This time my brain finally stopped thinking (when you swear in your mind it takes forever to actually react) and I crossed with him, trying to grab him.
And so another car saw me, and slowed down. Bruce crossed the road and jumped his way home, ale 300 meters of it, and I was hit on my hip, or my big ass. No time to swear again, and here I am running behind a dog still too quick for me and thinking "I'm so unfit".

Two people tried to stop him but he managed to avoid them. And finally he ended his run at Kirsten's door (which was only two corners away, dogs have a great sense of orientation apparently). I shouted at Lindsey, who was at the phone with her mum, and we took a bruised, scared and bloody dog to the vet.

Few hours later he was out from the hospital, with a big bandage of his leg but in decent condition, considered what just happened.

My ass got the worse, it was painful for few days.

Suddenly the whole week changed. Bruce got used quite quickly to the cast, and all we had to do was taking precautions when walking him in parks on in wet grass. I guess that since he was alive and just annoyed by that white thing surrounding his left front leg, everything was almost ok for Lindsey and me.

The week in the cottage was slow, and mostly was a routine after another: wake up, take the dogs for wee, take the dogs for a walk, back home, breakfast, work, lunch, work, take the dogs for a walk, get a take away dinner and go to bed, surrounded by 4 furry friends, until the next day. One evening we decided to go out and watch Marley and me... a dog movie (very well done by the way) 
Strange to say, it was quite relaxing. I've even managed to meet my old friend Dermot, from my London days! (he got married, had a kid and now took a year off to travel around the world with the family. Great plan)

The next Sunday Kirsten and Andy were back (thankfully their honeymoon was only a week long!) and after spending the last day with them with another huge breakfast - Andy and I already look quite pregnant - , we said goodbye to the one week old married couple and, with Bruce and Cucciola in the car, we started another leg of our long trip.

I never spent much time on the southern coasts of South Africa, and neither did Lindsey. We spent a lot of time in researching the ideal place that would allow us to stay with our dogs, possibly by the sea, and we found the perfect match in the Mes Amis guest house. Still, while driving from Cape Town to Wilderness, via some mountain and some sections of the Garden Route, we had some doubts. With Bruce in a cast that wasn't allow to get wet, would we still enjoy a hotel on the beach? Would we still be able to walk by the sea, with our dogs, and generally relax, as we planned?

We had a lot of questions that filled our long stage of the trip (around 6 hours to get there!), but we were literally blown away by the place and the owners. Gerhard, the owner of Mes Amis, moved here from Germany many years ago. He decided to adapt the big house on the ocean to a guest house, and the final outcome was spectacular.

Luckily the place wasn't literally on the sea, but on a small cliff with access to the private beach via a long, wooden staircase.

They gave us a room at the end of the building, with a garden so our dogs could stay there, isolated from other guests. The room was very comfortable and so were the bed, and the only noise you could hear were the waves constantly breaking on the beach below. We arrived there around 10pm, very tired, and after a quick tour of the house (an honesty bar with cheap prices and snacks was available in the common area) we literally collapsed on the bed.

The next morning, after a fantastic breakfast, we took our dogs on the beach, after tying a plastic bag around Bruce's injured leg. He still wasn't allowed to run freely on the beach, but at least he enjoyed the walks with us. The whole beach was stretching for kilometres, but the amount of tourists was limited (the Easter break was behind the corner) and so we could enjoy it all for ourselves. Swimming was a bit difficult, for someone like me who generally swims only in pools and lakes, but nonetheless was nice to dip in an ocean warmer than the Atlantic.

We tried to do as much as possible, but with two dogs with us we soon realized that most of the attractions, included the entry to the national park, were forbidden. We drove on the nearby mountains to visit the Map of Africa, a curious natural formation that reminds the southern section of the Africa's continent. Almost all the restaurants didn't allow dogs, but we found some places that let us stay there with two grumpy and racist dogs (by now they just wanted to go home).

It was relaxing. Sure, I still had to do some work at night and during the napping time, but it was worth it.

The final night Gerhard provided us with a gigantic and delicious steak and a small barbecue. We sat by the pool with Cucciola and Bruce sleeping on the deck chair, and enjoyed our final meal in Mes Amis.

Then, it was time to start our long journey back home. We said goodbye to the place and the owners, hoping to come back some other time, and started our long drive through the small Karoo e and the exceptional Swartberg pass. Driving through the long pass, in a sunny day, surrounded by such old rock formation, in a deep narrow valley, was probably the best moment of my driving sessions.

The pass was quite long but it was literally mesmerizing. You don't find many countries in the world where you can drive through a pass and meet monkeys roaming freely around you. Like some sort of Switzerland with an African climate.

We reached Kimberley, for our Shari-stop many hours later, and after a good night or rest (thank to Shari who also cooked a delicious roast), we left to face our final leg: Kimberly - Johannesburg.

On the way to Johannesburg, after spending our final cash on drinks and food, we managed to get to the toll gate and be forced to drive back 50km because they wouldn't accept any card, debit or credit, to pay the tollgate fee. Lindsey at that moment had to replace me as a driver because I was so incredibly upset with the local idiot attendant at the station that I was very close to commit murder. The girl didn't even try to swipe my card and when I asked to talk with the supervisor just closed her little window and disappeared, leaving me with no other choice than reverse through ha queue of few cars in the same situation and a very angry truck.

Luckily, with Lindsey now driving home, I could let my blood flow streams better and relax, and, few hours later, we finally arrived at home, with a dog in the cast, another still car sick (Cucciola spent the whole trip hiding behind the passenger's sit, a very upset Italian and a very tired wife).
But, after quickly downloading and seeing all these pictures again, we realized that we truly spent 2 great weeks, driving around in a beautiful country.

My football career here in South Africa has been great so far. Maybe it's because they are not used to the intensity of European players (especially after so many years in England and Italy), but in my first season for the Panorama Football Club I made a good impact in the midfield, winning many times the man of the match award (which consits in free beer) and literally taking my team to the final of the cup league (thanks to a great goal from distance).
If we win the cup, expect one of those bragging articles. If not, forget I've even mentioned it.

David, Jennifer and Ania

 

Giuseppe and Eugenio

 

Lindsey

 

Olaf

 

Back in 2003, before I realized I could go to the cinemas in Fulham to watch movies as much as I wanted with the ugc card (and I was still paying 8 pounds for a ticket!), I missed a film directed by Tim Burton, Big Fish .

I've never been a great Tim Burton fan (and maybe the fact that the first film I watched in London in a cinema was the awful remake of Planet of the Apes didn't really help), and the only thing I loved about his Batmans was Catwoman (aaaah.. Michelle Pfeiffer...).

I watched it only by chance some months ago, recorded by my pvr thinking it was something else, and soon after I regretted giving it a miss 5 years earlier. What a great film.

The ending in particular is one of those scenes were grown men are allowed to shed a tear: the son finally telling a story on his own, the story that ends them all. The death of Edward Bloom, surrounded by all those strange people that he met during his life.

Flash forward now to the night of the 27th of March 2008, a day before the wedding.

So far it has been a very busy day for me, collecting and driving family and friends from different locations to Glenburn Lodge, where I booked in advance rooms for them all. I'm tired, slightly melancholic, but mostly tired. In only few hours a chapter of my life will be closed forever, and another one will begin.
I'm tired, and I can't find the keys of the car, and none of my guests. They are all gone to the pub, some of them arrived later and couldn't make it the safari I organized.
I haven't heard from Anna, Peter, who arrived earlier, and Johnny and Liz, who landed few hours ago from Atlanta.

I'm tired, didn't I say that already? And I smell funny. I don't think I had a shower this morning, and the swimming pool was a bit too cold.

Where the hell is the pub? I've been to Glenburn few times before, but in dark evening, trying to approach it from an unusual way, I can't find it. Finally I hear some laughter, and some Italian words: my sister is toasting someone, or something.

I finally walk into the pub, and there it goes, my Big Fish moment. Yes, the pub is quite dark, but how can I not recognized those faces? How can I not recognize those voices, if for so many years they have been part of my adventures?

I see Olga, my fantastic sister , complaining about a cocktail that probably hasn't been mixed properly, with Sara, her colleague from the Texas Pub. My dad is watching, talking in Italian with Dominik , who as usual is not drinking anything else than a coke. He's probably talking politics or history with my old man. But hey, with his Larry David 's charm he's quite someone to talk to.

Anna runs towards me, shouting my name with that high-pitched shriek that it's so familiar and easy to recognize. She looks tired, but happy, and Peter is just behind her, probably talking about his Jaguar collection!.
Anna quit her job to be able to travel to South Africa and be part of the wedding of an old friend. We met in the summer of 1991, on my and my sister's usual polish holiday, and we spent more summers together, trying to stay in touch in Italy too. And when Rob, the missing guest , the missing friend, was gone forever from London, she shortly replaced him in my last months there.

Thanks to Anna, everyone realizes I'm there. They don't approach me straight away, probably I smell funny or probably they are just waiting for a queue to form and to greet me formerly.

Beppe and Max are having another drink, and they are the first to put something in my hand. You can always rely on friendships that survived primary school, the masturbation age, football battles and adulthood. Only Mera is missing, stuck in Italy.

Paolo and Veruska are talking with my sister now. Damn, she's so tall. And he's not (but hey, fuffa is his name). But he's the one and only true friend that I made in Italy in the later stages of my life there. We both lost our job in the early summer of 2001 and instead of bouncing back straight after, we decided to plan our future by relaxing at the empty Aquatica in Milan.
I saw him playing around, and then deciding to take things seriously. 3 kids and a wife later, I think he took things a bit too seriously.

Obviously at the bar the Londoners are sitting: Jonny and Jason. With Liz (Jonny's wife) and Roy (Jonny's dad). Jason is the guy who hired me in the December of 2001, and this was probably the only reason why I stayed. Later, as a thank you gesture, I used him as my main cowboy in the western I shot in 2004, the Game they Play.
Just look at the credits in that film. You will find so many familiar names. Jonny and his dad were part of it. Jonny, who moved to America and married Liz, one the guy I missed the most when he left.
Only Guy wasn't there, stuck in London. I owe so much to these three guys!

Someone is touching my bum. It must be someone who had a drink too much and likes to touch my bum. It's Ian . He knows my bum, after years of shared changing rooms and showers while playing football in London. Ian, who moved to America in 2006 and made me realize that I was left with really few friends in London.

Where is my cousin Renato? Probably hiding behind his mighty Canon (apologize, Nikon!). And there he is, drinking too and looking very tired after a day where he probably shot around 1000 pictures...

All those names. Talking to each other, connecting, sharing stories. Some of them embarrassing, some of them too incredible to be true, but yet still memorable. (You know, I like to tell stories, and I like to tell them the way I want).

I'm here tonight ready to get married because a chain of events took me here. And the links between those events were these people. Which I love, and respect, and miss every time I feel like I need someone to drink with, or to talk to.

Some hours later, my big fish moment became even more similar to the one in the film: Max, Beppe and Ian tried to see if I could really transform into a big fish by throwing me into the hot and not-so-clean pool at Glenburn. With my camera, wallet and mobile phone. I survived somehow (even if I was spanked hard), not my camera, which died the night before the wedding.

There is a line from Wear the sunscreen that says: Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on.

How true.

I don't think anyone is really ready to get married. Paolo , my dear friend, will get married this Saturday, just before spending the honey moon in Africa, so he can come at my ceremony (congratulations, by the way). He seems and sounds ready, but probably after living together with Verusca and going through a pregnancy with two twins nothing really scares him anymore.

Am I ready? Again, I don't know. Pre-wedding courses, books, advices from others (married, but even unmarried or divorced friends) they just give you an idea. It's probably difficult for a selfish guy like me deciding to think as "we" instead of the usual "me, Olafmeister".

These are strange times. My mum discovered skype so she's now in touch with me more than she ever was. I phone my dad once a week as usual and I end up talking for more than 20 minutes, which is a shocker for someone like me who believes in silences and 2 minutes phone talks.

I talk a lot recently too. At football, with Lindsey's parents, with Lindsey's sisters, with Lindsey.
Verbal diarrhea, popping up usually in the evening, after a day of total focus in my lonely office.
Every time I phone the customer centre (for banking, booking, checking stuff) I end up talking with some Indian guy about the rains in London, the sun in South Africa, the curry in India.
I'm back again playing lists from itunes where the newest song is probably dated 1995.

I even cry. Watching films. I'm becoming like my father. He gets moved by WWII and western films, and generally any film where real men face big trouble in the name of a country, a flag or the family they are fighting (and dying) for.

I cried for Rocky VI. Many months ago, me and Rob shamelessly cried in the darkness of the Cineworld in Fulham, watching the film for the first time. I could hear sobbing everywhere, from guys in the 30s to old folks in the 60s. I watched the film again on DVD. Damn it's moving.

Other "sad" films, for example about genocides (Schlinder's list, Life is beautiful etc...) don't impress me so much.

But put in the story a father and son reconnecting adventure (Big Fish ), add some self sacrifice (Terminator 2 , me and Simon Pegg are still crying about the ending) or a team effort in any sport (Remember the Titans ) and you will see my eyes get a bit watery.

But no films had hit me and made me cry more than Clerks 2 recently. Yes, it's crude, gross, it has bestiality and blasphemy, but it has two great things that for some inexplicable reason get to me: the music (Talking Heads' Nothing but Flowers at the begin, Smashing Pumpkins's 1979 , even Alanais Morrisette's Everything at the end) and the story between Dante and Randal. That go-kart scene ...

Now, I'm not saying I'm regretting what I've done in the past, well, 16 years or so, but it is true that things get more and more complicated with age. Maybe at 90 things will get easier again, but what's the point?

Maybe I am just afraid of getting married. Nobody is born a husband, nobody is born a father, we are just randomly born. You just do the best with what you got.

And luckily I'm on the luckiest guys around: I got Lindsey.

(and a new car, but this is another story)

When Lindsey left London in 2004 , I engaged myself into a daily routine: work sport and Fridays at the pub with Rob, trying to kill time while deciding what to for the rest of my life. Back then I thought I would have stayed in London forever.

Once I got engaged and I decided to leave for South Africa, all I wanted next to me was Lindsey. I wanted her again in London to share our daily routines and find comfort in those cold nights, discussing what happened the same day, while Rob would watch films from the sofa and shouting "genius" at every Kubrick or Malik's movies (don't ask me why, after a while I took for granted the fact that Rob was going to live with me forever).

Few months have passed. Actually, it has been almost a year since Lindsey went back to South Africa with a sparkling engagement ring and Rob left for Bristol. 9 months ago I was still in London, introducing Anna to my flat as Rob's replacement, and thinking what it will happen to me.

I'm still in South Africa; I haven't escaped the country yet. I know I keep repeating it just like I'm waiting for the right occasion to run away, but I'm taking little steps in approaching this country. Lindsey and her great family helped me a lot in settling down here.
It is the end of a warm February and the stress of organizing a wedding - which is a little more than 30 days away - , move into a new house, with all the work still to be done and try to not get nostalgic are probably catching up with me.

Life here is good. Relaxed, sunny and people are genuinely more approachable than in London.
There are problems and you can read about them on a blog called South Africa sucks (it will give you an insight view, maybe a bit extreme, of what's happening here).

But. Sometimes.

I wish friends and foes I met over the years in London and Italy would join me on a weekly basis to chat about the past and the good old times.

Nobody really knows here me or where I come from and there are only certain stories I feel safe to use to entertain guest.
Most of the stories start with "I was so drunk one time that..." which sometimes make me sadly feel like Fun Bobby from Friends .
The gross stories, which would disgust Lindsey and most of her friends and family, are something that I would feel safe to tell only to other guys who surely understand the danger of doing crazy things under the effect of spirits.

And so I stay silent, in the evenings, by the pool. No, I don't have a dock by the way. I think I started talking to myself recently, which, for a mumbler like me, is not too good.

Sometimes I wish that my friends were only 10 minutes or a phone call away and that Lindsey would have a chance to get to know them regardless of the language barriers. After all, I am what I am today thanks to the experiences that I faced in the past.

I wish Rob would still sleep on the sofa in the living room, or that would invite me out to drink Jack Daniels and eat salt and vinegar crisps, before buying a cheap Chinese meal and discuss about films.
I wish Lindsey would join us in the discussion, just to realize that, after all, he's a very good guy.

I wish my office was 40 minutes away in a sometimes cold weather, so I could exercise in the morning, and wake up earlier. And maybe enjoy some free cups of tea with Guy, or Rafal. Or even Jonny if he was around.

I wish I could reply to an invite to any bar with a very short notice, knowing that a bus will always be there to take me away and back, crawling to my door step. And knowing that Ian will cook for me on Monday, while discussing football and remembering the 2006 World Cup

I wish my football team was still behind the corner, but I also wish that my new football team, Panorama F.C., will accept me the way those crazy English people did.

I wish Beppe, and Max, and Mera were around, to take to me another night at the Texas.

I wish my dog was around, Olga was around, and even my dad with the constant smelly cigarette and the glass full of grappa was around.

I wish they were all here and they could spend some time with me, and Lindsey. Because what we do stays with the people we shared time with, and those stories are our legacy.

I know it is time to build a new legacy, it is time to start from scratch again, it is time to look at the future, but I also know that in beautiful nights like this one, when the only sounds I can hear are those damn crickets and the pool's fountain, nostalgia is the word.

This is why I feel like this wedding is so incredibly important. Because that day when I will say Yes to Lindsey and to a new future, I want to be able to see the faces that loved me, help me, grew up with me, hated me, but never forgot me.

After all, this is a new start. Not me anymore, but us. And there is so much to learn.

You know those shiny and silly expensive stones called diamonds? For a long time they were randomly found in rivers or near volcanoes, and they considered, in many cultures, as magic items.

Enter Kimberley, Northern Cape , a place in literally the middle of nowhere, approximately between Johannesburg and Cape Town. Long time ago someone found a diamond there, and not soon after thousands of adventurers moved and built a city around the biggest human made cave ever dug: the big hole.

The story is quite fascinating, very similar to the American golden rush. It definitely deserves a read.

Why was I here, with Lindsey?
Well, Lindsey's oldest and best friend, Shari, after studying to become a game ranger, worked in different places (including the Kruger park ) before finding a place as a manager in on e of the many De Beers farms outside Kimberley. I actually think that all of Kimberley belongs to them...

I personally visited the place only once, stopped for 30 minutes on my way back from Cape Town in 2005 , so when Lindsey asked me if I wanted to join I said yes.

Shari is one of those characters that are impossible to dislike. Full of knowledge about almost all the aspects of wild animal life, and capable of entertaining with her endless collection of crazy story, she is quite something.

The colonial house that she shares with her mum, partner and 4 dogs reminded me of the house I stayed back in 2006 when in Alabama. Same style, same big rooms, same ceiling.

Besides checking the city, Shari took us on an exploration of his farm, some 60000 hectares (I think) of land for all the wild animals in there. Driving in the evening was the best time of the day to see the animals getting ready to go to bed.
She doesn't have any of those dangerous carnivorous animals, but I don't think I will forget easily our multiple encounters with families of rhinos.

Lindsey and I had a great time staying at her house. The company was great, the food too and spending time with the dogs was just a reminder of how much I want one once we move into the new house.
We even got to drive a crazy 4x4 golf cart for quick excursions...

On Sunday we finally visited the big hole in town. By the way that is the real name: the big hole. And it is what he says: a big f*****g hole.

 

Just look at the pictures. As for my eastern Transvaal weekend, it is easier to describe something by looking at it, and it fits my current laziness too!

It was another fun weekend, squeezed between weeks of hard work. After saying goodbye to Shari, family and animals, I checked the calendar, and I realized that probably our (me and Lindsey) next travel will be for our honeymoon...

So I'm back. My long European trip is over and I'm writing about it only now. I don't know, maybe I'm getting lazy and maybe I can't get enough free time to write on this site anymore.

2008 will be a rollercoaster. Organizing a wedding is a complicated process enough, and if you had to the list of things to the purchase of a house, the mortgage (here known as bond), the setup costs etc.., you can get the point.

This is why I tried to enjoy my break in Europe as much as possible.

I left South Africa on an evening flight, hoping to get enough crap movies to avoid spending the night up. I wasn't too lucky, the video on demand service was way too good and I ended up watching Bourne Ultimatum , the Simpsons Movie and Transformers on my way to England.

I landed in a crispy London Morning and I realized how much my body has changed over the past months.
Only 12 hours earlier I was in sunny South Africa, enjoying the summer, and now I was in England, in winter, with those 1-digit temperatures I forgot they exist.

Guy collected me at the airport straight to the office, and this is pretty much all I did on my stay: work, work and work.

I was staying at my old flat, now Anna's possession. She was away on some Russian trip, so she kindly left the key in the restaurant downstairs (Il Pagliaccio ). Finally at home after a long day of work, I was shocked to see how things have changed while I was in South Africa.

Anna did a complete home makeover to the place where I spent 6 years watching film and eating Chinese (and drinking Jack Daniels) with my old pal Rob.
My room, now Anna's main room, has been re-painted and re-furnished. My bed is not there anymore, replaced by a proper one. Rob's room is now the lounge, with the old sofa and a TV corner. The kitchen is now somehow bigger and better. Even the toilet has been repainted.
You can see that Anna has spent a lot of time and thoughts in redoing that old flat.

Rob would have been impressed for at least 30 seconds, before sitting on his old sofa to watch a DVD.

It was strange to walk in London as a simple tourist, knowing that most of the people that made that place special (Johnny , Rob , and Ian ) were long gone.

The only weekend spent there was quite busy. I tried to see as many people as possible, and I ended up taking pictures of my old team Parsons Green (now known as Golden Lions f.c.) playing on the Sunday morning, before going to my old kickboxing club and see some of the people I know getting the black belt in another gruesome battle.
I managed to do complete my Christmas shopping and to finally see Anna and spend some time with her.
I apologize with everyone I wanted to meet but I couldn't!

Once in Italy, after a crazy early flight with Ryanair (didn't I promise long time ago I would never ever use them again? Damn!), I spent the week exactly has planned: surrounded by family, friends in the usual places.

What did I do during those days, Christmas included?

I could finally see the home makeover that my sister did to my old family house. Now we have a bar (with glasses and many bottles coming straight from the Texas Pub ), a giant 50 inches plasma screen with a new living room.
And so many other details that I'm sure Olga spent a lot of time working on them, but they were overshadowed by the first two I mentioned!
Well done, sister!

I played with the Wii . A lot. At Massi's house, from a projector (and I pulled my muscle playing baseball), and at home, since I bought one for my dad and my sister to play in the living room (and again I injured my arm).

I met Davide (missing his first real girlfriend by few days), Renato, my older cousin, and obviously all the friends that made an effort to spend the week with me: Beppe, Massi and Mera, partners included.
Mauro, Giorgio, Jumba and Claudia. And many others.
We spent our time drinking away sorrows and cheering to a bright future in the usual Texas Pub, where Nicola treated us like kings!

Mauro came to visit me from the far town of Verona, and what was supposed to be a few hours visit ended in a 2 days celebration for my bachelor party.

Yes, I had a bachelor party. A surprise one. I almost lost all my hopes by the final day, and Beppe, my best man, organized a dinner in a new German restaurant. He investigated my past and tried to get in touch with as many people from 10 - 20 years ago that somehow used to hang around with me, or play football with me, or just be called friends in a different era.

If was a very touching moment when all of them came to join my party. My old football and school friends. I was overwhelmed with memories.

We had a good time, talking about people and what we did back in the 80's and 90's.

Then Beppe surprised me even more by introducing the party to a girl dressed in a tight military army dress who was the entertainer of the night. She was very good and we had a lot of laughs (well, with our belly full of sausages, sauerkraut and beer I don't think we could do anything more!), and a lot of pictures too.

Most of them quite embarrassing, but hey, you get married once in your life (I hope) and the bachelor party is your goodbye to your single life. And with a life spent watching films to inspire me (Bachelor Party above them all! - I was hoping Beppe would bring a donkey too!) I wasn't disappointed at all.

Gotta love friends like that.

Only two hours after the end of the evening, my mother collected me in the middle of the night to catch the flight to London. And less than 40 hours later, I was back, in South Africa.

How weird is to say to be back here. Better get used to it!