Week 8: People

1 September – 6 September: Italy - Croatia

Barbie lookalike, Monica, and 2009’s answer to ole’ blue eyes´ namesake, Francesco, headed up the chintzy band at Union Lido campsite’s end of season concert. With a drumkit on a podium, a white baby grand, bassist, guitarist and percussionist, the multi-skilled musicians blared away on horns and wind instruments in between strumming and bongo-ing away. They started with unknown Italian numbers akin to woeful European Song Contest ear-bleeders, but then they started the ballroom suite which was awesome! There was a waltz, a foxtrot, and of course the tango. While the line dancers (from Germany, argh!) tried to invade the couple dancing, in amongst shameful Polonaise/Congo lines, we managed to keep the dance floor filled with enthusiastic participants. The partner dancing was abandoned for disco and we all swayed to the solos (I will always love you by Monica and My Way by Francesco – of course). Under the influence of only good vibes, Edwin and I pulled out a few moves (ranging from the tango to the twist. Okay, nobody there knew us, so … yeah). My favourite was the 5 year old boy who danced like a reincarnated King of Pop, spinning around, hips a-jiggling and elbows akimbo. He danced a solid 2 hours in the front row. As I enjoyed his enjoyment I thought “that´s how people should live, they way we dance as though no one was watching.” Only in his case, we were. Watching.

The Italian girl made my espresso macchiato with a puffy little head (no, she didn´t have one, the coffee did - duh). It was very good. She herself was interesting to me, not only because she looked exactly like my sister-in-law, Silvia, aged 19, but she was articulate, expressive and very beautiful. She wore her thick black hair long, below her shoulders, with a Cleopatra like fringe. Her eyes were ringed with dark kohl and her bud like mouth was full of surprising, descriptive phrases like “Venice in winter is very beautiful – moody, mysterious, ambient, curious”. She used her hands, and her face lit up when she registered information that delighted her, such as the concept of an Australian and a Dutchie meeting and then getting married. She wanted us to “tell her all about it”. I think part of the fact that she was so interested, as well as was so interesting, was the contrast between us. She is originally from the province Veneto, her mother coming from the capital of that region, Venice, and her father from the Dolomites, and she still lives with them. She couldn’t fathom being so far away from home, yet she doesn’t understand why two people from so far would come to see her little town. We enjoyed meeting her, and also getting her local weather forecast. “Today, in my opinion, it will rain this evening. Saturday will be better. Yes, I´m afraid it will be cloudy tomorrow and the next day. Oh, yes, the weather man says this too, but this is what I believe.”

I watch a sweet family on the beach, a mother and father and their two sons under 3, I think. They are German. Silas is busy eating a small packet of miniature jubes. He spills them on the ground, at which his father sighs resignedly, and then bends down (from his 2 metre height) to pick up the least sandy lollies and put them back in the tentatively held plastic wrapper. But Papa doesn´t quite get all of them. He stands back up to tower above his son to chat to another adult, and Silas busily sorts through the granular sand for the rejected sweets and pops them with delight, one, two, three, into his gaily gaping mouth. I want to say something, but I´m just a bit too far away, and … well, a bit of sand never killed anyone. Besides, I don´t want to spoil the pure bliss on Silas´s face.