Joy de vivre and La dolce vita

Hi! How's it going out there in the real world?

From what we have heard, winter's icy blasts continue and worrywarts still whinge about the Olympics and the economy. If this is true, I can recommend escaping to the Northern summer. To illustrate, Siena yesterday was hot, crowded and full of happy people eating gelato and rehydrating with frizzante. If anyone was having a whinge, they were either doing so in another language, or were elsewhere. The cafes around Il Campo were filled with holidaying Italians and foreigners enjoying lunch and views across the square. Arrangements are being made for next week's Palio with scarred wooden barriers erected to mark the racecourse.

Which Contrada (neighbourhood) will survive the three laps and have their colours carried to victory? Will the priest's blessing of the horse in church be successful, and will the blessed horse defecate during the blessing ~ a sign of good luck! Which mascot will be painted on the winning Palio (banner)? Will it be the porcupine, unicorn or wolf? Tune in again next week for the results. Either way, it will be a helterskelter affair with mercenary jockeys tumbling from barebacks at every treacherous turn!

A month has now passed since we arrived in Paris, and it would seem appropriate to reminisce on Joy de vivre and La dolce vita. The weather is perfect, if hot. Nectarines are ripe and juicy, and dining French children are very well behaved ~ due apparently to the watered-down wine served from an early age. Local wines are excellent and great value, however Camilla refuses to drink any rose cheaper than €3 a bottle! Umbrian and Tuscan vino is light and a perfect accompaniment for Insalata Caprese and Vitello Tonnana. Mustard is plentiful in French supermaches, but sparse in Italian mercados ~ cuisines so closely located, but so different. Food is seasonal and with good reason, it is all so delicious. Oh yeah, have I mentioned the Aussie was €0.86 at last count and going up?

Shops close at midday and reopen at 3.00pm; even our local boozer Andry's Bar closes for lunch. Community bottle banks are filled to overflowing but no one ever seems drunk. Racial stereotypes remain with Mancunians complaining about Londoners, and American retirees discuss golf and the stock market instead of the wonderful view from Plaza Garibaldi. Suede loafers are everywhere and Belgians seem to have assumed the mantle of Europe's hikers with their backpacks, saddles and socks. Women are respected, with no discrimination accepted.

Houses are ancient, or made to appear so, with European plumbing a complete mystery. Lombardy cypresses are sillouetted against ochre hills and beaches from the Cote d'Azure to the Ligurian Sea are stony, dusty and populated by fat northern European men in speedos ~ sorry about that!. Although we ate like master chefs at La Table d'Emilie in Marseillan, Marseillan Plage resembled The Entrance with go-karts and dodge-ems.

Our houses at Seillans and Montanare both come with cats and dogs and Italian bees are on steroids. Each day is greeted with a wispy cloud streaked morning and evenings close with thanks we are high above the heat haze of the valleys below. Dinner is invariably taken at 10.00pm.