May 22, 2007

  • La
    Dolce Vita

    It is a
    little known fact that I lost my virginity to an Italian girl, many
    years ago. Italians, of course, have panache, they have class, they
    have style. That was then. This is now.

    Arriving
    in Italy on the Cathay Pacific flight, the first thing I noticed was
    how this has changed. The first 2 or 3 thousand people I saw were all
    ugly, fat, and looked as though they had been dressed by their 3 year
    old children. I have seen better dressed chimpanzees.

    Rome's
    international airport, though, is actually quite nice, apart from the
    antiquated train system to take you to and from the airport
    satellites. It is like Charles de Gaulle terminal 1, and that escaped
    out of the sixties. Someone had better tell the French we are not
    just in a new decade, but a new millennium. Whilst they're at it,
    better inform the Italians too.

    You are
    also greeted by a large poster ad of two rather ugly ladies, with
    fake, glossy, lipstick smiles, permed, coloured hair, and too much
    eye make-up for it to be taken seriously. Other than that though,
    Rome's international airport terminal knocks seven bells out of
    Heathrow, but that's not difficult – even Yaounde's airport is
    better than London's top airport.

    From
    the international section though you walk in to the domestic area,
    where you are greeted by a hideous red carpet that looks like it has
    had to endure a grillion people walking over it over the last few
    years. It's almost as if the last forty years have passed without
    actually telling Rome domestic terminal.

    I
    waited an hour for my plane in one of those airport seats in which it
    is impossible to get comfortable. You know the type – they are in
    every airport from Abidjan to Hong Kong to Palermo to Washington. For
    the final leg of the journey I had chosen Air One, a budget airline
    owned by Lufthansa. Despite being delayed (I think that is a
    pre-requisite for budget airlines), it was an easy, comfortable
    flight, and I arrived in the warmth and sun-filled airport of Trieste
    in north-eastern Italy. It's a tiny little airport that reminds me of
    Tainan, apart from the fact that it had a customs section which
    seemed very eager to check the contents of my luggage. Having more IT
    samples than you could poke a stick at, I was worried that perhaps
    they were waiting for me, but the cases went through the X-ray
    machines, the Italians gave me their all-clear, and off I went on my
    merry way.

    My
    partner greeted me with his customary hug followed by a sarcastic
    comment (I like this guy!) and we zoomed off across the border in to
    Slovenistan, and fifteen minutes later we were in the office,
    drinking crappuccino. Trieste is a heck of a lot easier than getting
    to Venice airport, which was where I was sent through last time.

    Meetings
    were scheduled for the afternoon, but before that came some work and
    lunch, of course at one of the places I spent most of my eating hours
    last time. Great, fresh pasta with asparagus and tomatoes, a little
    wine, and I was a satisfied, if not tired, man. The afternoon/evening
    meetings were in Italy, and it was in a small town called Portoguardo
    that I truly arrived in Italy. It was one of those idyllic Italian
    towns, with awesome traditional architecture unspoilt by modern,
    high-rise blocks, a water-mill with ducks and swans gliding on the
    river, outdoor cafes where people would talk and banter over an
    espresso. It also had a clock tower that was built in the same manor
    of that famous tower in Pisa. What is it about Italians and building
    towers? They just can't seem to get towers straight up. But then
    again, I have seen Italian cars and, with the exception of the top
    models from Alfa Romeo, Lamborghini and Ferrari, they are absolutely
    disgusting. Fiat's designers – I am sure of it – must be high as
    kites, stoned out of their minds when they are at work. They take
    ugly shapes and congeal them with more ugly shapes, add some wheels
    and say that's the new version of the Fiat Buttuglio.

    Despite
    not being able to build a tower, it was still a very pleasant town,
    and I cursed myself for not taking my camera with me. If I get the
    chance I will go back, this time with camera in tow, and get some
    pics for you.

    We had
    a dinner meeting in a very nice, country-style restaurant where the
    food and wine were exquisite. The young lady serving was also decent
    enough to wear a low cut top, giving everyone an unsubtle view of her
    bosom, and very nice that was too. We walked through the town,
    untouched by time, back to the car and drove back to Slovenia. Having
    been awake for almost 48 hours, I was ready for some sleep, and five
    minutes after my head hit the pillow, I was in a land of dreams,
    dreams of beautiful Italian women, and of what it would be like if
    the Taiwanese had built the 101 building Italian style!