More tales from our five-month housesitting in Tuscany in a region where the famous and costly Brunello wine originates. There is a small window of time when hunting is allowed in the autumn. Signor, the vintner we mentioned in Monday's post, had a rifle. At the edge of his vineyard was a dense Holm Oak forest, home to families of cinghiale (wild boar). The boars love the acorns.
In the middle of the night they would sneak out of the forest --- dark silhouettes. Papa boar, Mama boar, and all the little boars. The ‘spring-offs’ would follow Papa and Mama boar, all in a neat line. Stealthily they’d approach the vineyard, cautious at first, then boldly, to feast on the grapes.
The Signor tried to scare off the cinghiale by playing a tape of loud music in the vineyards, all night, over and over. At first it worked, but the cinghiale soon got wise. Music or no music, they were not deterred from their escapades. One night I tried to approach them, but in a flash they ran back into the forest – tails up, straight as a flagpole!
Signor was getting worried; these raids were a big problem. The summer was one of the hottest on record, with daytime temperatures around 40 C. A family of thirsty and ‘sweet-tusked’ cinghiale can go through a lot of grapes.
What to do? Take turns doing a watch, like on board a ship? But all hands were needed on deck for work in the daytime. There had to be a way to keep the marauders out if the vintners wanted a harvest this summer.
Then it occurred to me - - Signor had a rifle. Why not make a recording of rifle bangs and booms? At least Mama and Papa boar were old enough to know what that noise meant. After a loud ‘Si’, ‘No’ debate, it was agreed. They gave it a try.
The farmhouse villa where I stayed was situated closer to the vineyard than Signor and his family, so I didn’t get much sleep, hearing those loud bangs all night. I preferred the taped music myself, but the bangs and booms were not music to the ears of the cinghiale. It worked! This way everyone was assured of another harvest of wine. Cheers, Henri
Fresh salmon in the summer. We’re so fortunate here on the Pacific coast. Now, where else did I enjoy salmon in summertime? Ah yes, it comes back to me now. In Bella Italia, Tuscany, that’s where. I was house-sitting for five months, a renovated 13th C farmhouse. The building had been transformed into a villa and was situated deep in the heart of Brunello wine region. It was a classic Tuscan setting, overlooking vineyards and olive groves. Close by was a forest of holm oak trees, home to wild boar, cignale. My closest neighbours were in the valley, a hard-working Tuscan family who got up every morning at 4 a.m.
The father was a wonderful man who spoke no English. He was a poet of the land, the vines, the wine, the people and their history. His sons helped him out. They also had beehives for honey.
House-sitting is all very well, but I wanted to learn the language and get to know the people and wine-making procedures. The family was surprised when I offered to do some work, but quickly gave me a task. I was to put labels onto the wine bottles, all by hand. Each bottle was corked with a simple gadget, also by hand. During the very hot and dry month of August, I also helped out with watering the olive trees, very early in the morning.
By lending a hand, I was invited to have lunch with the family. “Ni labore, ni mangiare!” was the Senora’s watchword.
From Canada I’d brought as a treat 6 tins of Pacific Sockeye salmon, knowing I’d be landlocked for months. Also I thought they might make nice little gifts.
After a month or two, Natasha flew out from Vancouver to join me for 3 weeks and to attend an environmental conference in Cortona. She rented a Fiat. We were gone for a few days.
When I got back, I felt like having some fish. I went to the cupboard. No salmon. . . Puzzled, I wondered where they'd gone. I was sure I put them away, but then didn’t think more about it.
Next morning I went down to the winery to work. At lunch Senora announced after the antipasti, “Enrico. Today ‘speciale’. Caserole con salmone de Canada!” Beaming, she placed a steaming terra cotta dish on the table and began to serve us.
So, that’s where my salmon swam to! I didn’t say a word, other than “Delicioso, Senora”. One of the boys must have ‘borrowed’ the tins, and never told Mama their origin. I’m sure La Dona did not know via which ‘channels’ the salmon landed in her kitchen.
It was curious because earlier I had once asked Senora when we first met if she liked fish. But being of the land, she wrinkled her nose and said ‘Ah, no”. (That’s why I didn’t offer a tin or two to them before.)
Who would have thought, when those salmon freely swam in the Pacific, one day they’d end up in a delicious Tuscan caserole, served by a hard-working but proud Tuscan family? Did I notice one of the boys looking a bit nervous? Maybe not. Ciao, Henri (p.s. Cyber-engineer Natasha will be away for a few days, so we may not be able to post anything until Thursday. Stay tuned, 'will you?)
After reading the July 21 post in which we mentioned the great French artist, Paul Gauguin, someone asked if I could comment on Gauguin’s leaving his wife and children “to go out and paint”. What is one going to say?
If Paul Gauguin had not left his wife Mette and family (he was a successful stockbroker and Sunday painter), the world would never have heard of Gauguin. No artwork, no place amongst the French Masters. No meeting with Vincent van Gogh, or putting the life and culture of French Polynesia on the map.
This brings back memories of when I was a young boy (about 75 years ago). From school we all had a mini-blackboard to scribble on with chalk, and a real sponge to clean it.
My grandfather was a master diamond cleaver and also a diamond facetter, and a wise man. He asked me to put some zeros on the blackboard, turning it sideways so I could fit in lots of them, resulting in those egg-like, half O’s we make at such an age.
“Now, my boy, what number is that?” I mumbled “I don’t know, Opa, we have not learned that yet”. Then grandfather asked, “Now, put the number “1” in front of all those zeroes. What is the number now, my boy?” I whispered, “Don’t know, Opa. Is it a big number?”
“Yes, it is”, he replied, “very big! You see, Henri, composers (he loved music) and all the great artists are represented by that lonely number One.”
There you have it. Just by placing that number one in front of all those zeroes, it becomes a huge figure - - representing the Human Family which in turn benefits from the ‘lonely ones’ for evermore.
If Paul Gauguin would have never left his family . . . ? We know the answer. Signing off, Henri
Although artist and lecturer in residence on the two early circumnavigations in the '70s, we were given full passenger status and mingled with the passengers. In a previous post I told you about a "merry widow" from Brooklyn.
There was another widow aboard this sailing. She reminded me of an “Annie Get Your Gun” character. Every day without fail she’d be the first person in the bar. There she would sit, covered in diamonds and other precious gems, imbibing vodka. Sometimes she’d ask Natasha (who was the youngest passenger, at 24) and me to join her for cocktails. One day Natasha complimented her on her remarkable jewelry (diamonds, rubies and emeralds). She quickly smiled and said, “Why don’t you take one or two? They’re covered by insurance.” We pretended we didn’t hear her.
Soon after this she was worrying about what to give her son for his thirtieth birthday. Earlier on she’d told us that she owned one of the major American football teams, but hated the board meetings and whoopla involved. So, I said half-jokingly, “Why not give your son the football team?” To our surprise she winked and said, “What a great idea, Henry, I’ll do that.” She strode off to see the radio officer (this was long before email) and sent a wire with news of the birthday gift.
Another passenger we’d gotten to know and become fond of was “The Major”, as we called him. He could have walked straight out of a story by W. Somerset Maugham. The Major travelled with a valet, and would often invite us to his suite along with a few other guests before dinner. We exchanged stories; he was interested to hear my father was a diamond-facetter and that Natasha and I were knowledgeable about precious stones.
The Major was a corpulent fellow well into his ‘80s, but loved to eye the pretty Norwegian stewardesses and flirted with Natasha. (We were delighted to meet him again the following year on a second circumnavigation, by which time he was in a wheelchair and had a new valet). He lived in Switzerland and also owned race horses in Bahamas. On the last day of the voyage The Major invited us to visit him next time we were in Europe.
Two years later we happened to be on a Eurail train odyssey, and made arrangements to visit The Major. At the Swiss train station, his chauffeur picked us up in a Silver Cloud Rolls Royce and took us directly to The Major’s home for ‘luncheon’. During this delightful meal, The Major turned to Natasha with a twinkle in his eye and told her, “I own a jewelry store here. I’d like you to run it, and I may end up giving it to you. Henri seems to know alot about precious stones, so it would work out perfectly; you'd never wind up in a poor house.” Here again, we were tempted about jewelry, this time a whole jewelry store. We said to him, “A kind offer, we’ll think about it.” (We learned a year later that he went ‘over the horizon’.)
A postscript: there is a saying in the Netherlands “The horse that deserves the oats doesn’t always get it.” These blog posts would not be possible without the know-how of Natasha, who is the cyber-engineer. Although the text is written by me (by hand), she posts them. Together we choose the image. I don’t even know how to get “online”, much less do all those whirling and clicking movements which appear on the screen. Amazing technology! Actually, with the many questions coming in, these blogs write themselves. All I need to do is visit those little grey cells, like Hercule Poirot. Signing off, Henri
The previous post triggered another memory cell or two. In 1975 not long after Nixon was impeached (while Gerald Ford was President), America’s relations with countries such as North Korea were hardly cordial. [We were into the first three days of another four-month circumnavigation of the world aboard an ocean liner which had mostly US passengers. News came of the Patty Hearst kidnapping. Turned out one of the passengers was her aunt, who promptly left the ship at the next port.]
There was friction amongst the passengers, a dividing line between the Republicans and the Democrats. In the restaurant some people had placed cut-out donkeys and elephants near their dining station, letting people know what ‘territory’ they were in. The European passengers and a Thai family (who were in my art class) did not know what to make of it all. Neither did the Norwegian officers and staff, nor us.
Remember Gulliver’s Travels? Gulliver becomes peacemaker between two Liliput realms. There was to be a wedding, and one King wanted the song “Faithful” to be sung at his daughter’s marriage, while the other King insisted his son’s ceremony feature the song “Forever”. “Faithful!” “Forever!”, they shouted repeatedly. “It’s war!!!” Then Gulliver picks them up in each hand, and says, “What is all the fuss about? Why don’t you just combine the two, and sing together, “Faithful, forever”? They smiled and embraced each other. That was the solution for making peace. We need another Gulliver today.
Anyway to go back to my story aboard the ship. Off the coast of Brazil heading north, an SOS call came from a freighter 600 miles away and off our course. The law of the sea requires any vessel to respond. The captain changed direction, and many hours later we reached the ship in a high sea and swell. They lowered the patient from the cargo ship onto a tender, then after a few attempts managed to come alongside and hoist him up to our vessel. It was quite a procedure, like a cable car.
We learned the crew member had appendicitis. The ship’s doctor was very capable but one of the passengers who was a surgeon performed the emergency operation. The surgery was successful. Several passengers had ‘adopted’ the patient and were proud our ship had saved his life. He became the ‘darling’ with passengers pampering him with little gifts. Until, some people discovered it was a North Korean ship. (The captain was very smart, not to have mentioned this earlier.) Then several passengers grumbled, ‘Why should we have bothered?’
What can one say? A week later, the now-healthy patient disembarked in the West Indies, and thanked us all. Meanwhile the elephant and donkey factions continued to bicker. We can always benefit from a Gulliver. Jonathan Swift was a wise man, he knew human nature. Signing off for now, Henri
Yesterday during my stroll along the seawalk, I joined an elderly couple sitting on a bench looking over Juan de Fuca Strait. Mind you, I’m not a spring chicken either, at almost 79. (Ho-ho).
Anyway, they had just completed an adventurous road trip to the Far North. They were depressed about the glaciers melting, and the plight of the polar bears. They asked, why are we all so slow in doing something about it? Now the bees are also disappearing, they said, What’s happening?
“It’s not easy to be green”, sang Kermit the Frog. Looking at the state of our home planet Earth, you can say that again. It’s also not easy, or so it seems, to keep the green. Sadly the “Administration” (funny name for a world power) of our neighbours has done zip over the past eight years to protect the environment, the animals and plants, far from it. Only fossil fuels matter, dead plants from the far-away past. Oil is numero uno on the agenda. (But soon, it will be the end of an era, i.e. end of an error.)
Not only the Administration of our southern neighbour, but right here at home we have a copycat administration. The wicks of world leaders could use some trimming, there is more soot than light present. Politicians belong to the tribe of the never-wrong. Should they be opposed, a screen will go up, then they let the world know with high-powered rhetoric, their denials for all to hear. But then, greed and morality are seldom on speaking terms. That’s the way things are! Is it truly ignorance? There’s a difference between ignorance and plain old stupidity.
And the effects, we all have to live with nowadays. When there is something wrong with our lungs, we go to the doctor. Yet, when trees are removed at an alarming and grand scale, there’s no stopping them. Are trees not the lungs of the Earth, or so we’re told? So, if we’re pilfering, are we not hurting those lungs? Will the grinding mill of nature’s timelessness prevail, in spite of us, the spoiler? Let’s hope so! Signing off, Henri
On our first circumnavigation by ship in 1974 (the one I dreamed up, the Enrichment program, and where I was artist in residence), we were just three weeks into a 4 month voyage when one of the passengers had a heart attack right beside the swimming pool.
The ship’s doctor was on the scene quickly and tried to save the gentleman’s life, but he died. Of course the passenger’s wife was shocked. She was from Brooklyn and I remember her clearly.
(This all happened not far from Papeete, Tahiti where the great French artist Paul Gauguin spent some time, immortalizing 'French Polynesia', its culture and people.)
The widow now had to decide what to do with her beloved. In the old days, captains had authority to do burials at sea, but in the ‘70s this was no longer permitted. Everyone assumed the widow would disembark at the next port, along with her late husband.
However, she stayed on. Not only did she stay on the ship, but it wasn’t too long before she had a great time, and put the Merry Widow of Franz Lehar in the shadow. And what about her husband? The passengers all thought he had been taken off the ship and transported back to family in Brooklyn.
Since I was artist in residence, we were privy to some things which the regular passengers didn’t know. What happened was she’d arranged to have him put in the ‘cooler’ near the ship’s hospital. Gradually the news spread, it’s impossible to keep something like that quiet on a ship. When asked ‘why’, she replied, “We saved for twenty years to come on this trip, and I am going all the way around the world. He’s still with me, isn’t he? And I know he would have wanted me to have a good time.” Can’t blame her. What was she going to do, abandon this once-in-a-lifetime experience? Something Sir Alfred Hitchcock would have enjoyed. Signing off, Henri
