Wobbly Wednesday

Was it really daylight already? Oh God, why?

At the sound of the alarm clock I wedged one eye open. Shuffled to the shower where a mistake with the tap brought on a jet of ice-cold water, that brought me into a state of somewhat greater wakefulness. Then I continued with my morning rituals, shuffling into the common room to make a sandwich, with fare that was somewhat diminished compared to the previous days. Only yesterday’s stale bread was left; and the Dutch students had done what the Dutch do best and consumed the trips whole cheese budget in the first three days.

Our stop of the day, Supermaxistudio was a small dynamic studio not far from the centre of Torino. Run by the very capable but unfortunately not English-speaking manager/owner, Max. They had prepared a wonderful inspiring presentation…and that single presentation made every company visit worth it, because I had my first viable idea for my graduate project. Stay tuned for maddy’s top secret project…. Coming next year. They ran through designs of everything from seatbelts to shoes to porcelain video projectors. I sat enthralled, mouth watering as they passed around their flashy prototypes.

This was followed by a patchily translated Q & A session; Max to us via one of his many gorgeous Italian assistants. I didn’t ask many questions, but instead spent the whole time trying not to laugh out loud. Sitting next to Max; where he could not have failed to notice, was Thomas, head rolling from side to side. I watched, interested, to see if he would or wouldn’t fall off his chair. Every so often he would jerk awake and nod intelligently, but a couple of seconds later the eyes would roll back into the head and his head would lurch off in some new direction. Fortunately such entertainment had the effect of stopping me from falling asleep.

There is mercy in this world, and I didn’t have to eat my horrible sandwich. Apart from their excellent presentation Supermaxistudio had also provided us with a bountiful lunch. Three different types of foccacias, all amazing, fresh grapes and a choice between red and white wine I could have kissed them, but instead (with some subterfuge) ate four slices of foccacia.

We celebrated our leisurely morning by going shopping on the via Garibaldi in the afternoon. I was with indecisive Agnes. In the first store we entered she found the perfect coat. Red, flattering and perfectly suited to her. Naturally, this good luck made her immediately suspicious. So instead we walked all the way down to the end of via Garibaldi, where she had a sudden change of heart. Meanwhile she must have thought me a mad shopping beast, as I bought something in every shop we entered. I don’t know what came across me….perhaps the previous months of shopping deprivation had finally built up to breaking point. I was suddenly unable to control myself in this land of chip chic clothing and leather shoes. Within the hour I was the proud owner of new gloves, shirts, belt and boots.

Fortunately we had time for Agnes last minute coat-foray, as we were meeting Geertje. And if you can rely on Geertje for one thing, it is that she will be late. Coat and all, we still beat her to the Hafa Café, our meeting place.

Torino had been characterized thus far by a certain herd mentality. Everyone moving around I a large pack, completely incapable of making any decisions that could satisfy everyone, or at least someone. To escape this we had attempted to go out with just a few of us to Hafa Café. Of course, the Quadrilatero Romano is not such a large place, and soon half of the tour group had mysteriously joined us. Oh well.

Having gained the permanent addition of Bart, the original three of us retired to a small restaurant “The three hens”. Here we found all members of the group who we hadn’t already found in the Hafa Café. Don’t ask me what I ate, because it was too good for mere mortals like me to comprehend. It involved a lot of cheese, mixed in an indecipherable way with pasta to achieve a gustatory orgasm. This was followed by a chocolate pudding for which, the menu gravely warned us, there was a 12 minute wait. 12 minutes! What shocking service indeed.

The evening was characterized by an endless procession of flower sellers. They had obviously decided that Bart was some kind of Mormon who would like nothing better than to buy roses for all three of his lady friends. At the tenth flower seller I lost count. One of them came back twice, but the second time remembered our steely glances of hate-filled warning and scurried off. Back to the flower seller depot.

The night could not have ended better than it did….I went to bed at 12:30. My only early night of the week, and sorely needed.