Perfection can be addictive

In October 2003, we were back again. Just the three of us and we were staying in a bed & breakfast just outside Amalfi in Castiglione di Ravello. Ravello's up in the mountains but this bit of it is on the coast road and overlooks the bay on which Minori and Maiori sit.

We'd chosen the place because it was run by a friend of ours and he'd given us a very good deal ... I think. Anyway, the place was called (is called) La Rosa dei Venti. It's a ten minute walk from Amalfi and a twenty minute walk from Minori - I should add that I'm 6' 3" (or 1.85m) so average walking times may vary.

As every other time, we spent a great deal of time in Pontone with Maria and Luigi. They'd go to the cemetery every Sunday at 4 o'clock in the afternoon to clean up their parents' graves, lay new flowers and pray and we went up with them on at least one occasion.

In Italy, if someone asks you round for a meal you either take a selection of sweet pastries and cakes or you take flowers. More often than not we'd take flowers though. Maria always took them to the cemetery on a Sunday and used them for her parents' graves. I've problem with that. It's sort of making a practical use out of something that's pretty but not very useful.

This time we didn't get the weather that we'd had every other year. It poured out of the heavens most of the time. I never took a coat with me. Didn't think I needed one. We'd been in October at least twice and the weather had been superb. Maria ended up giving me a Nastro Azzurro jacket that I still have and still wear in preference to any other jacket I own.

I wasn't in the least bit bothered. I wasn't there for the beach. Never had been. I'd set on the beach for five minutes and get bored. "Where d'you wanna go now then?" "D'you wanna do something now then?" I can sit on the beach for ages in the evening, when there's nobody else there, watching the sun go down (which never seems to take long on the Med) and just listening to the sound of the waves. Beaches with people on them have no attraction for me at all though.

Anyway, back to 2003. I'm sure it was 2003. Doesn't matter really I s'pose. Life was good. We wandered around the place. Went to Sorrento where I tried my damn'dest not to look like a tourist nor to sound like a tourist.

But my principal aim, as it was every other time I'd come over, was to socialize myself into this society. To learn the rules. To learn to be one of them. I have to say that it's really difficult when you don't speak their dialect ... or if you can speak a bit of it but get completely lost when they speak it at 90 to the dozen.

When we left after two weeks my Italian was just starting to get back into gear again, I'd met more relatives, made more friends and reaffirmed the friendships that I'd made on our previous visits.

I cried when we said goodbye to Maria. I know. That's no way for a grown man in his forties to behave but I couldn't help it. When I was a kid and we were living in Devon and nan and grampa were still living in Bucks, we used to go up for a couple of weeks to stay with them. I felt just like I used to when we got in the car to go back to Devon. I used to cry then too.

I had to find a way of maintaining my Italian at a decent standard though. You go a year without speaking it at all and then you land in Naples and you have to speak it right off the bat. I could. Of course. But I had to think about it and concentrate on what I was saying. There had to be a way round that. I think I found it years later but I'll come to that when the time comes.