You are currently browsing the monthly archive for September 2008.
* photo by John Morgan
So we were left with the possibility of buying the deserted farmhouse with the large acreage of land. However it seemed that even this property had problems attached. We discovered that there was an ancient clause in the deeds, regarding an ecclesiastical livello attached to one of the sections of land, something similar to a tithe agreement. It appeared that this land had once belonged to the church and via a half-tenancy, half-freehold arrangement had probably been let out to a local peasant, contadino, who worked the land. In return he was bound to give a share of his produce to the church. After a certain period of time the tenant had the right to acquire the land and pass it on to his heirs. The church and parish no longer existed, however the clause had still remained in the deeds, so it was possible that the church still might still technically hold an interest. We were told that this agreement would have to be legally cancelled by the current owners. Giampiero, the estate agent, said that this would only take a couple of months, however talking to our geometra Rocco, we learned that this could in fact be a long drawn out, complicated task. The local Church Committee apparently only met once a month, and if the proposal was brought up at the first meeting, the matter would not be considered until the following month. If there was some problem or opposition to the cancellation of the contratto di livello then this matter could take six months or even longer to resolve. This concerned us deeply, as TIME was the one thing we did not have. We were anxious to get my parents relocated here in Italy, so that we could all be reunited. Being an only child, I had no brothers or sisters to keep a watchful eye out for them. Since we had left them behind in the UK back in April, they had been left somewhat “in limbo”, anxiously waiting news of developments as the months were steadily ticking by.
However, there is one thing you have to accept in Italy – here things just cannot be hurried !!! “Italian time” greatly differs greatly from “British time”, and not just because the Italian clocks are set one hour in advance of good old “Greenwich Mean Time”. If a shop displays its opening hours on the door, this does not in any way mean that it actually sticks to this timetable. Most shops tend to re-open after the lunch break, siesta or riposo, at around “4…ish” in the afternoon. However this may depend on: the day of the week, the length of a snooze after consuming a huge Italian lunch, what’s on the TV, a game of cards, or other possibly more or less important engagements, to mention but a few. Then there is the time concerning appointments. Normally when setting a time to meet they say verso, meaning around, whatever the intended time of the meeting. Verso can be anything from a quarter of an hour, half an hour, even three quarters of an hour or more after the scheduled hour. If you are a punctual type, like my husband, you are said to be preciso, and to keep to “un orario tedescho” – a German / Swiss timetable!
Then there is “Rocco time”. Rocco, we have learned through bitter experience, is always late for appointments, come hell or high water! So many times we have been left waiting, shuffling our feet, outside an estate agent’s office, 15, 25, 45 minutes after the set time of the appointment. While making small talk with the agent Paul apologised profusely for the delay, in a very British manner, whilst I desperately kept trying to make contact with Rocco by mobile phone. Eventually we would succeed in speaking to him and he’s nonchalantly say “sto arrivando” which translates as “I am about to arrive”. Don’t you believe it !!!
5 minutes later, 10 minutes later ….. 15 minutes later ….. he’d still not turned up. “Sto arrivando” in “Rocco speak”, in reality means, “I’m just leaving”! 20 minutes later he’d finally arrive, to our great relief. But seeing that he had often been willing to give us his services for free, we couldn’t really grumble. He seemed to be able to solve many of the problems we were encountering in about 5 minutes flat, and if he couldn’t sort it out, then he always seemed to know someone who could. Therefore his unpunctuality was a small price to pay, and after all – it was the slow pace of life that had attracted us to move to Italy in the first place !!!
Rocco advised us that the casale and its vast olive grove offered plenty of potential, and would be an investment for the future. With the huge size of the land this gave the possibility of building another house or some smaller chalets or bungalows that we could let out to holiday makers. Or perhaps we could do Bed & Breakfast or even turn it into a campsite, if we could get permission from the local council or comune. It seemed that the council of the province of Latina was keen to promote tourism in the area, and grants were available to help local farmers to combine traditional farming with tourist ventures – in Italy this is known as agriturismo.
However, there still remained the piccolo problema of the livello. How much would the legal work cost to get this clause taken out of the documentation? How long would it take to get the church to cancel this ancient agreement? We learned that it was usual to offer a donation to the church in compensation. I joked with Giampiero, the estate agent, that if we paid the church a handsome donation, we would expect St Peter to supply us with “keys in hand” to enter the pearly gates of heaven. This resulted in much laughter and frivolity, but Paul was concerned that the church might expect a larger donation, perhaps for something like a new church roof. However, having taken advice from various professional sources, we thought that in reality the livello would not be too much of a problem. The parish church to which it was that it was linked apparently no longer existed. In the last 50 years the owners had never been asked to pay anything by the church, and many pieces of land come with such livellos.
Rocco also advised us to go to the Technical Department of the local Comune, and ask exactly how much extra we could build on the land and whether we would be allowed to use it for agriturismo purposes. We held our breath as the official at the town hall checked though various old documents and worked out calculations. From the horse’s mouth we were told that, as the law currently stood, we could build another ample property, and the possibility of adding more agricultural storerooms / barns. There were big sighs of relief all around.
After considerable thought we finally decided to start negotiations with an opening bid, as the asking price was supposedly trattabile, a low offer as we thought that we might have to pay to get the Livello clause annulled. The vendors had 5 days in which to accept the offer, or turn it down, so some patience on our part was required. After some to-ing and fro-ing through the agent an acceptable price was established for both parties, which we formally backed up with a proposta, a written offer accompanied by a cheque of a thousand or so euros, to confirm the seriousness of our intent to purchase. Historically, this cheque was held by the Vendor, but more modern laws now state that it must be held by the estate agents.
We arranged to view the property with the elderly Signora who looked after the property for her niece and nephew. She showed us the downstairs part of the house, which had previously always been locked, it had simply been used for storing tools and equipment for olive farming.
Eventually we managed to negotiate a price with the vendors, and Giampiero set about preparing the documents for the first stage of the purchase contract known as the Compromesso. We were aiming to complete the purchase as swiftly as possible.
We went up to visit the casale several times, to measure up and see the lie of the land, and we began to make plans for the renovation. We took Salvatore and our fellow camper Vittore, the builder from Rome, to take a look around. Vittore said that the building itself seemed to be sound enough, however he advised us to put in a damp-proof membrane downstairs. The roof also needed water-proofing under the tiles. There was a small existing bathroom with some very basic pipe-work leading to just outside of the property, however there was no septic tap or sewage system at the property. Thus any waste products literally plopped out of an open ended pipe. Perhaps that was why the olives trees behind the house seemed to grow so well!
So … we’d needed to get a new septic tank, as well as new plumbing, electrical wiring, central heating system, gas tank. Apart from that it was fine! We had thought that the work we’d done to our last house back in the UK was a big enough DIY project ! Vittore said he would prepare a modest quotation for the work that needed to be done. We also needed to think about organising the connection of water and electricity, and a perhaps a phone line as soon as possible.
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So our house hunting started once again in earnest ……..
It is clear that Italian builders have a “passionate love affair with all things concrete“. In fact it was the Italians who had invented cement over 2000 years ago, when the Romans combined slaked lime (derived from limestone rock) volcanic ash (known as pozzolana) with sand and water. The great architectural masterpieces of the Pantheon and the Colosseum in Rome were all built using this type of mixture.
Nowadays, in Italy, it is nigh on impossible to find any modern buildings not constructed of concrete, indeed Italian building techniques vary greatly from the typical wood and brick constructions commonly seen in the UK. In Italy there is also legislation that all new edifices must be built to anti-seismic specifications, using a reinforced concrete framework to provide strength to the structure.
As building was now strictly controlled near to the coast, Itri being situated slightly inland was becoming an up and coming area. A few years before the local council had announced that they would permit some limited new development in the Itri area. Immediately many of the Itrani folk realised they could be on to a very good thing here, and readily jumped on the bandwagon, selling off portions of agricultural land for handsome profits, especially those who had successfully procured the required building licences. Small property speculators keenly moved in with bulldozers to level off building sites, some required excavators to pound and chisel through stubborn limestone bedrock. The local roads were buzzing with huge, lumbering cement mixing lorries, and new villas, both large and small began springing up, like mushrooms, overnight.
We calculated that during our various trips to Italy over the last eight months we had viewed over fifty properties dotted around the country outskirts of Itri. Numerous estate agents had taken us to view an array of newly constructed properties that were generally approached by rough dirt tracks and exceptionally steep inclines. However it was still not proving easy to find just what we were looking for: an affordably priced property to suit all our family’s various requirements. Eventually we short-listed two possibilities and contacted the relevant estate agents to re-book appointments to view them again.
The first property was a deserted casale or farmhouse, which had not been inhabited for over 10 years, even before this it had not been a true family home. The facilities were very basic and left much to be desired, as it had only served as a place to camp at busy times of the Italian farming year, particularly during the autumn grape or olive harvest. It was situated in a secluded little backwater in an unspoiled valley, with mountain views and a glimpse of the sea.
The building itself seemed to be structurally sound, however was in need of a great deal of work and renovation. This would involve the installation of a new electrical system, plumbing, heating, windows, doors, bathrooms, kitchens, and so forth. However the property came with a large piece of land measure 33,000 square metres, which equated to between 8 and 9 acres. Of that 23,000 square metres was olive grove comprising around 600 trees, and the remainder was a sizeable piece of wood and scrubland. However, this property did have a great deal of potential, as with the size of the land came the possibility of building another house or some small bungalows, and the possibility of setting up a small farm holiday business or Agriturismo.
On the other hand the second property was a grezzo, a basic concrete shell of a new house, measuring a spacious 300 square metres, with a most scenic outlook of the mountains and valley. It came with an olive grove of 4,500 square metres and a sizeable agricultural store, which would have been ideal for our son to convert into a little studio. The grezzo lent itself to be converted into three or four holiday apartments. The slick, designer clothed estate agent was more than eager to inform us that there was the possibility of purchasing two adjacent plots of land both of about 5,000 square metres. On one section there was a tiny ramshackle cottage, a perfect place for an artist’s studio I thought. The other had a small rustic structure comprising two rooms.
The three separate pieces of land were individually owned by various brothers of the same family. It was here that the fun and games commenced. As soon as the brothers realised we were showing some interest, they began to put the prices up. They felt that they had hooked a potential buyer, who was a foreigner into the bargain, no doubt with copious amounts of ready cash to spend. We decided that we would only be interested in purchasing this property if we could procure all three plots of land, and vowed that there would have to be some serious bartering on our part to knock the asking prices back down to an affordable level. It seemed doubtful that we would succeed in getting all three brothers to agree.
In any case, further investigations revealed that the local council had in fact only granted consent to build an agricultural store house or barn, all on one level, measuring 150 square metres. The reality was that the proprietors had built something twice the size on two floors, therefore it was abusivo. You may ask how did they get away with it? Where were the building inspectors at each stage of the build? Why wasn’t it stopped or demolished, as would no doubt be the case in the UK? Well, the answer is simple. This is Italy !!! Here illegal building is commonplace, sometimes, literally, houses spring up overnight. In fact, a few years back when Berlusconi’s government was a bit strapped for cash it brought in a new law offering an planning amnesty, known as a Condono Edilizo, to encourage offending parties to come clean about any building irregularities in exchange for a reasonably small fine, that could be paid over a couple of years in easy instalments. You could compare it to how things are done in the Catholic faith. You commit a sin, you go to confession and your repent and say you won’t re-offend and are sent off to say an “Our Father and 10 Hail Mary’s” and then the slate is wiped clean. Thus all is well (especially with regard for government’s coffers), all parties are happy and nobody cares a fig. The only possible hazard with illegal building work is if a nosey or vindictive neighbour tells on you and notifies the local authority of your illegal work with a denuncio, before you get a chance to own up to the local council.
So we found ourselves to be in something of a dilemma. We generally preferred the casale, recognising the potential of the size of the land. However, I must say I had some reservations about the amount of work that would be involved with the renovation and the upkeep of the grounds.
The grezzo had less land, but was still quite sizeable. However, we did not know if our resources would stretch to purchasing all three pieces of land, and leave sufficient funds to finish the building and convert it into apartments. Both properties required connection to basic utilities such as water, electricity, and telephone. With each of these properties there was the need to find some temporary accommodation for us all to live in while the building work was getting underway.
We decided we needed some good, sound advice so we organised a long session with Guido’s geometra friend Rocco. We sat anxiously as he did several complex calculations. Finally he told us that the grezzo was not going to be so much of a “bargain” as the estate agent had led us to believe. Indeed there were several grave problems. As we had already ascertained the construction had been built abusivo, being twice the size detailed on the architect’s plans. In addition, only a small portion of the top floor had been granted a permit for civile abitazione – i.e. living accommodation. To get the property fully licensed would cost us significantly more. In order to obtain this permission, it would mean knocking down both the small farmhouse and little cottage. As the law currently stood, it was no longer possible to get planning permission to construct any additional structures on any of land. After doing more calculations it soon became clear that this property was turning into something of a liability, so we decided to exclude it from further thought.
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Back on the site some of our fellow campers seemed genuinely alarmed to hear that we had been going for a daily dip in the sea, as Italians, as a rule, do not dare to take their first dip before June at the very earliest. Yes – It was very intrepid of us !!! - when some days the temperature had already topped the 30 degrees C mark !!!
What on earth would they make of documentary clips of eccentric Brits taking their annual Christmas morning plunge in the murky, green sea, or of crazy cross-channel swimmers, plastered in goose fat, wading bravely into the icy British waters? It was clear that Italians are just not as hardy a breed as us northerners, and can’t possibly comprehend why we don’t tend to suffer like themselves from the cold. In the evenings the Italians would wrap themselves up in weighty woollies, to ward off the cool, night air and the treacherous colpo d’aria.
photo by dogfrog *
Yes, the colpo d’aria is a extraordinary mysterious Italian phenomenon. Literally it translates as a “hit of air“, a treacherous draught that can swiftly strike you down with a dreadful chill.
I first came across this phenomenon in my youth when my parents and I visited an aged aunt and cousin at their home in Milan during the dreaded month of August. We found Milan’s steamy, sultry weather to be insupportable, so we opened up all the windows in an effort to encourage a breath of air to circulate the stifling apartment. Zia Filomena, however, was horrified by our actions. Waving her arms about, “C’é un corrente !!!” she exclaimed, and swiftly came along right behind us, firmly banging both the shutters and windows shut. There followed a fiery argument, which served only to add to the unfavourable ambient temperature. Zia was loath to even leave a window slightly ajar, for fear of the potentially fatal consequences. As a result we were left to swelter with the perspiration literally trickling off us.
Hence we vowed NEVER to go to Milan again in August !!!
Some Italians, even in the midst of the summer heat also exhibit an aversion to air-conditioning, cooling refreshing fans, or travelling in a car with the windows wound down, for fear of being laid low by such an invisible current of air, it beggars belief. My mother used to tell us a story about an elderly Italian neighbour who lived in a flat in London’s “Little Italy”. For months she complained that she was being tormented by a malevolent colpo d’aria. The old dear convinced herself that the “draught” was being caused by a neighbour’s refrigerator in the flat upstairs, and would regularly stomp up there to vociferously express her grievances. I will leave it for you to imagine the sort of response she generally received.
Strangely it seems that it is mainly only the older generations that seems to be affected from this peril. During the months from October to April they take extra special precautions by swathing themselves in copious layers of clothing including: woollen vests and long-johns, chunky, high-necked jumpers; thick socks and tights, padded, fur-trimmed coats; hats; scarves; gloves and boots, you name it, and seem to us to be ratherly overdressed for the relatively mild ambient conditions. Similarly anxious mothers bundle up their babies and toddlers tightly like little Eskimos in padded tiers even in quite temperate weather.
However, curiously enough it seems that the present teenage generation’s genes have evolved to give them considerably more robust constitutions, especially the young females who can to go out in the worst of the winter weather wearing just a teeny mini skirt and a skimpy top, leaving their pierced belly-button midriffs wide open to the elements.
If my dear Italian grandmother was still living today,
I wonder what she would make of it all !!!
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Preparing Anchovies
One day Salvatore arrived with several polystyrene crates of locally caught silvery alice, better known to us as anchovies. He wanted to show us how these could be preserved in salt. The previous day he had already prepared one boxful, but he demonstrated us the whole procedure with the contents of the second. He commenced by decapitating the little fish by pinching below the gills using his fingers and nails and then with a gentle twisting action teasing out the entrails. I just observed, squeamishly, while Paul decided to have a go, while Salvatore vigilantly watched on. It soon became apparent that this task was not as easy as it first appeared, but little by little Paul seemed to master the task. The fish were then sprinkled with coarse granules of sea salt, and left for 24 hours – this procedure was to absorb much of the blood and to help soften the fish. The following day the fish would be ready for the next process.
Preserving Anchovies In Salt
Salvatore then appeared with the crate of fish that he had prepared the previous day. He now took some large, wide necked glass jars, and sprinkled some sea salt into the bottom. He then proceeded to carefully create a layer of the little fish, placing them in a head to tail fashion. When the first layer was complete, in went another handful of salt, followed by another layer of fish. This process was repeated several times until the container appeared to be full. Then Salvatore took out his penknife and cut some circles of polystyrene which just fitted perfectly into the neck of the container. A heavy weight was placed on top for an hour or so, which compressed the fish down, closing any air gaps, so that finally yet another layer of fish could be added with more salt scattered over the top. These containers were then to be left for a week or so, and we were told that then the old salt and any liquor had to be removed before replacing more fish in new layers of salt. This was a similar curing process to that used by Cornish folk of yore, when huge nets were used for the pilchard catch, and the fish were salted in huge barrels called hogsheads.
Salvatore had kept a few fish back and grilled them for lunch on his BBQ, the delicious wafting aroma was truly exquisite. They were scrumptious, served piping hot with a drizzle of olive oil and a generous squeeze of lemon, washed down with a glass or two of Salvatore’s home-made vino bianco. Perfetto !!!
We resolved to go down to the Gaeta fish market soon, to visit Salvatore’s brother who was a fishmonger. Salvatore assured us that his fish was always the best and very fresh, as Salvatore described it: “the fish are still talking to you!”.
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At our new abode there was ample space to erect the caravan’s awning to provide us with some valuable extra living space, and to make things feel a little more homely and orderly. Nonetheless 3 people and 2 dogs residing together in such a confined space could be described as an “interesting experience”, but generally we managed to rub along pretty well. Everything was something of a challenge, even the simplest of chores.
Feeling a little sorry for myself one day as I stood at the stone sink laboriously washing and rinsing out our laundry by hand, I recalled how my mother had described my Nonna’s hard life as teenage girl back in Atina. On washdays she and the other women folk would have to walk several kilometres carrying their dirty laundry down to the river bank in large baskets, which they skilfully balanced on top of their heads. Subsequently they would kneel down by the water’s edge and commence scrubbing the soiled articles with a large bar of soap, pounding and pummelling the clothes against the large flat stones to help displace the dirt. The washing then had to be rinsed by swirling it around in the icy flowing current before it could be arduously wrung out by hand, hung up to dry. Finally the women had to carry their heavy loads all the way back up the steep hill to the village. How we take so much for granted in these days of modern appliances !!!
Each morning Salvatore would arrive and immediately disappear to change into his “work clothes”. He would emerge sporting a sleeveless vest, tatty shorts and some plastic flip floppy shoes that seemed to be a few sizes too small for his bare feet. In addition he would don an old canvas hat, pulling it down tightly over his balding pate to protect it from the burning sun. From under the brim his kind eyes twinkled. The compassionate Salvatore seemed truly concerned for us, being “all alone in this strange new country” and was eager to take us under his wing. We were soon to become firm friends.
He was keen to share with us some of his valuable pearls of knowledge, offering his personal tips on gardening, cooking and keeping chickens and life in general. It was obvious, that over the years he had learned to be thrifty and was very reluctant to throw anything away, in case it might turn out to prove useful some day. He busied himself preparing for the arrival of the demanding summer visitors, as were many similar establishments right along the coast. We were informed that the Italian summer season started off gently in June, and accelerated into July, reaching a dramatic peak in August, when virtually all Italians habitually take their annual holiday.
We tried to help him out here and there by doing some odd jobs around the site: tidying up the grounds, whitewashing walls with lime, splashing a lick of paint here and there, putting up shading and numerous international flags, erecting tables and benches, airing the little chalets and taking the parasols and deckchairs out of mothballs. “Lavoro, sempre lavoro, ma……. piano, piano” he used to say.
* photo by gaetan lee
At the weekend a couple of families turned up at the campsite, to prepare their plots for the summer season. A family from Rome were very sociable and sometimes, occasionally of an evening, invited us to eat with them. We soon learned that Vittore, a gentle, bronzed giant of man, was a muratore, a builder who had done some work for Salvatore over the years. His wife Maria Angela gave us more tips on Italian cooking, especially on how to prepare artichokes, aubergines, and peppers and an array of other vegetables that we are not so familiar with back home.
They took us to a local small holding or orto where they often purchased their fruit and vegetables. Here nothing was weighed out, there was nothing precise about it, quantity was just roughly gauged by the handful. For just a few euros we would leave the market garden with bulging bags of fresh produce. Somehow in Italy everything seemed to taste so much more flavoursome, we were sure this was because everything is grown or produced locally and is still very fresh when it comes to the table.
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Next day we eagerly pressed on southwards on the “Autostrada del Sole”, by-passing Rome, to Frosinone. Then we headed off the motorway towards Priverno and Terracina and on to our final destination, the beautiful seaside resorts of Sperlonga / Gaeta.
Sperlonga, South Lazio
We had nowhere pre-booked to stay, so we drove up and down the coast road until we eventually succeeded in locating a campsite, positioned next to the sea, which was willing to accommodate campers with dogs. As it was still April, the large site was virtually uninhabited – a ghost town of parked touring caravans, yet the price for a plot was rather expensive none-the-less. Here we made camp for two nights to give us time to consider our future options. During this time the weather was proving to be very changeable and one night we weathered a terrifyingly turbulent thunderstorm. “Thank heavens we were not just sheltering under canvas” we declared as we huddled together for comfort, still feeling a tad vulnerable as the deluge of rain battered down on the caravan’s tin can roof.
Mercifully, by morning all the leaden rain clouds had been whisked away by the blustery wind. We had decided to “up sticks” and drive along the coast road to a smaller campsite near to Gaeta, which had been recommended to us by Guido. The owner, Salvatore, warmly greeted us and generously invited us to remain there, at least in the short term, since his site didn’t officially open until the month of June. The scenic backdrop to the site was the steep rocky cliff face of Monte Moneta that dominates the bay and just a short stroll across the coast road was the vast expanse of golden sand, Sant’ Agostino beach. That evening, after a day’s work, Salvatore returned home to his family apartment in Sperlonga, leaving us to have the place just to ourselves.
Sant' Agostino Beach
Early each morning Paul and our “olde sea dogs” enjoyed going for a romp on the deserted sands and would return dripping wet from retrieving sticks and doggy paddling in the sea. By day our son enjoyed lazily basking like a lizard on the golden shore.
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