To hell with work: How to spend the summer in Italy as a volunteer
In the spring I quit my job - I was a news producer on one of the central TV channels - and before proceeding with the search for a new one, I planned to take a break. Of course, then I did not assume that this "peredykh" would stretch for two months in Italy: everything turned out very spontaneously.
The power of spontaneous decisions
I remembered that back in February a friend dropped me a link to the website of a yoga center on Italian lakes, and decided to explore the issue. The organizers offered to fill out a questionnaire and become a volunteer at their center for a month or just three. I only read about volunteer programs, but with regard to myself I did not take it seriously. None of my friends and acquaintances did anything like this, it was not from whom to inspire. But the coordinates were clearly set by mine: I once taught Italian and everything was going to pull up, but without yoga I hadn’t imagined my life for a long time. It was pleasant to speak Italian and practice yoga in the foothills of the Alps.
Still not fully understanding the idea of volunteering, I filled out and sent a questionnaire. I was answered after a couple of weeks. Our correspondence with center coordinator Michael dragged on for a while: then he found out information about me, then I was about the center. As a result, I received a positive response and an invitation to come in early June. In one of the last letters Michael wrote: "And do not forget to take a flashlight." I was slightly wary, but without any questions I put the flashlight in my suitcase.
New House Forrest
At the station of the town with the sweet name Pettenasco, I was one hour earlier than I had planned. On a tiny platform there was not a soul and silence around. On the wall hung a sign "330 meters above sea level." Nobody answered my text message that I was already there. With some dismay, I sat down to wait for the appointed hour on a single bench on a steep hill. In front of me was a mirror of Lake Orta, small and unknown. In order to finally feel like Forrest Gump, I only needed a box of chocolates.
At night, a cat called Ottokilo (that is, Eight kilograms) could come in and comfortably place all eight kilos on a pillow.
I didn’t know what people meeting me look like - we never went on Skype, but I didn’t think of finding them on Facebook and at least looking at the pictures. Therefore, after seeing young and beautiful Kitia and Michael, I was delighted. He is from Ireland, she is from Latvia. Both musicians. Ten minutes later I was brought to a place that was supposed to be my home for the next month - Centro d'Ompio. It is a retreat and venue for various seminars on yoga, meditation and psychology, located on the hills of Monte Rosa. If it still doesn’t sound attractive, a breathtaking view of the lake opens from the terrace with a 25-meter pool.
The house where the volunteers live, called Bisetti, is located 15 minutes walk from Centro and has stood at this place for about two hundred years. The building looked more like a Winnie-the-Pooh tree: wooden ladders were suddenly found here and there, and for the first time it was difficult for me to say how many floors there were - three or five. The doors to the rooms were locked with bolts or did not close at all. In the latter case, a cat called Ottokilo (that is, Eight Kilograms) could visit the hotel at night and comfortably place all eight kilos on a pillow. At the same time, 10-15 volunteers could live in the house, someone shared rooms, and I managed to live alone the whole month.
Beautiful people from around the world
By my arrival in Centro 13 volunteers worked. All of them came from dizzyingly different parts of the world, so English became our official language. To my infinite chagrin, everyone spoke English, even the Italians, so I quickly understood that I would not practice Italian here, but there is always someone to discuss the Game of Thrones with.
The first person I met was a girl from New Zealand. Sebastian and Madalena came from a small Portuguese town on the ocean. Yoga teacher Norbert is from Slovakia. Pablo arrived from Argentina, Luigi came from Venezuela, and Guillaume came from Paris, Graeme and Vicenza came from Ireland, and the cheerful American Katie came from Los Angeles. A couple of days later Daniela from Bolivia and Bianca from Buenos Aires joined us. The average age of children was from 23 to 31, the professions are also very different. One is a designer with remote work and has been traveling the world for the last six months, another is an operator, the third is a musician, a couple of students, a cook, an IT specialist and an artist. And one girl, like me, quit her job and went on a journey.
I still smile, remembering our cheerful international company. Almost every evening we gathered in the living room of Centro or on the veranda of Bisetti - we chatted till night, sang with a guitar, danced. All together we went swimming in the lake and practiced yoga in the morning. And once at night they walked home in total darkness along a forest path, holding hands, so as not to lose anyone. Flashlights we all forgot at home.
Fennel and liquorice
In Centro, we were fed vegetarian food, which became, for me, a finished meat-eater, a separate adventure. My typical dinner at Centro looked something like this: Insalata Mist with fennel, baked tomato slices with olives, vegetable lasagna, another portion of vegetable lasagna and tiramisu with licorice tea for dessert. Or minestrone, alla milanese risotto with parmesan, baked zucchini and fruit salad. On the fifth day without meat, I began to grow wild and at some point dreamed to slaughter the sweetest rabbit in the world with my own hands. But I suffered surprisingly not for long. The local chefs (two Italians and one German) worked such a vegetarian variety that I didn’t even notice how I switched to the side of good. And at the end of the month I became convinced that I could live without steaks and be no less happy.
The working process
Pleasant life was paid for work - 4-5 hours a day. Each week, Centro coordinators compiled detailed schedules for each volunteer. For example, on Monday I cleaned in Bisetti, on Tuesday I helped the cook in the kitchen, on Wednesday I washed the dishes, and on Thursday I watered the flowers in the garden. Once I was asked to cut a bush. This assignment led me, an urban girl who had never had a secateur in her hands, in complete delight. The bush turned out to be hefty and I did not get to the top. For three hours in a row, I diligently cut it on the sides and was very worried that no one would notice the difference.
On weekends, of which there were two a week, someone left for Milan, Turin or Genoa, and someone (for example, I) stayed in Centro to enjoy the lake and the neighboring villages. I do not remember that at least once this month I was tired of rural life and wanted to go to the city. The air, nature, cows with bells around their necks and silence literally bewitched me. The small island of San Giulio in the middle of the lake reminds of silence. Via del silenzio, or "Path of Silence" - this is the name of its only street. Here on the wall of almost every house you can see signs with a variety of philosophical inscriptions. "Ogni viaggio comincia da vicino" ("Journey begins very close by" or "I muri sono nella mente" ("Walls exist only in your mind").
Banquet Continuation
Volunteer life and stories of new friends, travelers are so hooked that I decided not to stop and look for a new program for July. By this time, I already knew all about volunteering and registered with workaway.com. This time I began to purposefully look for work in the children's camp - I still wanted to fulfill the plan and tighten the language. I decided that the children would make me speak faster than any adult Italian, and, having selected dozens of suitable places, sent out requests for July. The answers were not forced to wait: somewhere there were no places, someone suggested inconvenient dates for me. But a week later, the place was found - a summer camp in Andor, a small town on the shore of the Ligurian Sea. With a light heart, I moved the date of departure to Moscow for a month and a half ahead and, completing my stay on the magical lake, set off to meet new adventures.
Between this and then
Between the two works I had a gap of two weeks. What to do with him, I knew for sure - to go to Florence, and then to Genoa. In practice, the first idea was a failure. Walking through the Florentine museums and parks at 35 degrees of heat has become intolerable torture. I cursed everything, but I looked at the main expositions. But Genoa entered the list of my favorite cities. Wild, sometimes dangerous, but certainly magical. The spirit of the Middle Ages has not yet eroded from the labyrinths of the old city, and the huge transatlantic liners in the port every day reminded that it was here that one of the biggest journeys began.
Italian children and how to cope with them
The organizers of the program Alessio and Christian until the last moment tried to put me in the family, like the rest of the volunteers, but did not. So as a result, I was instilled into apartments - they turned out to be quite a decent apartment by the sea in the small port city of Imperia. To work in neighboring Andoru, I traveled either by bus, or one of my colleagues threw me by car.
Once I stopped for a whole hour any movement in the class, including "Well, wait!"
The children's camp turned out to be an ordinary kindergarten between the sea and the mountains. Every working day went according to one plan: in the morning I drank coffee with my favorite chocolate croissant and went to sunbathe on the beach until 12. At work I was waited by one o'clock. Here I had lunch with the kids, and after lunch I had the task to lull as many babies as possible and play with the kids awake. Somewhere in 16 began merenda, that is, snack. Parents were drawn up around the time when their children smeared the remains of yogurt on their own and were preparing with new forces to repair all kinds of mischief. At 17 I was free and fun rushed to the sea.
A couple of years ago, I had already worked with children in a field school in Oxford and had an idea that people were children, especially those that were in my care, from 4 to 6 years old. But nevertheless with the volume of unstoppable vandalism she encountered for the first time: twenty besyat at the same time created chaos. For the first week I quietly and insinuatingly persuaded each one not to draw on the floor, not to beat the neighbor, not to tear the books, not to spill water from the toilet and a lot of other "not." Then I was tired and decided to leave them alone. But at the end of July, I noted that I was really screaming in pure Italian, because it was otherwise impossible. However, once I stopped for any hour any movement in the class, including "Well, wait a minute!". I am often asked: "Well, and how do Italian children differ from Russians?" Probably, paninas and pizza are painted more often than sunshine and flowers. And the rest are all the same children.
Neighbors and limoncello
In a new place, I quickly acquired new friends. The Italians called for dinner, hiking, watching the neighborhood, drinking coffee and eating ice cream. I certainly did not have to miss. One of the last evenings at dinner called Alessio, the initiator of the program. His wife Nadia prepared traditional pasta al pomodoro, caprese and Parma ham with melon for a snack. A cozy summer terrace with a dining table and a grill was separated from the neighbor’s same veranda by a low fence. Neighbors all evening treated each other and exchanged homemade wine. Here I tried the most delicious limoncello in the world. Nadia revealed an uncomplicated secret - lemons should be straight from the tree, and they should be insisted for three months. I promised to turn the focus on my arrival in Moscow, with an annoyance realizing that I would not find lemon trees.
From San Lorenzo to Sanremo by bike
Almost immediately, I was given a bicycle, and fortunately for me there was no limit when every evening I drove to a wild beach and get ice cream to neighboring villages. But the most important thing remained for the weekend - a 24-kilometer cycle route along the sea, from San Lorenzo to San Remo. I spent this pleasure for the whole day, stopping at roadside cafes and driving into towns on the way. On the way back, my attention was attracted by a beautiful sandy beach, and on it I safely slept through the sunset. Burnt, but terribly pleased, I was returning home in the dark. The bicycle lantern did not burn, and the Italians did not anticipate lighting along the route. I was not taken aback, and in any doubtful situation I was buzzing with a big beep tied to the handle. That is almost all the way.
Parlo italiano
Without a doubt, the biggest bonus work in the camp was the language. At this time, my colleagues almost did not speak English and had to speak in Italian had to perforce. The first time I was tired, I suffered and switched to English at any convenient time. But the Italians insisted: "You said that you want to speak Italian, like us. So say come on!" I bought a book in Italian and every morning I read the chapter through force, choking on words and languishing from the desire to do nothing. During the day, children "taught" me. Italian was everywhere, and there was nowhere to hide from it. The last day of my stay in the Empire came, and at 6 o'clock in the morning Christian drove in behind me to take me to the station: my path lay in Genoa. I did not notice how much I talked all the way, and when the car stopped, Christian asked: “Do you even remember how to speak Russian? There’s a feeling that no.” And laughed.
"The walls are only in our head" - says one of the plates on the island of San Giulio in the middle of Lake Orta
All this time I had a great temptation to change the ticket again, find a new program and stay in Italy until the autumn. In addition, a week before the start of August and departure to Moscow, I received a letter from an Italian family with a tempting offer. Davide and Francesca called me to sit with their little son somewhere in Monferrato. “We are owners of an eco-camp, do yoga and lead a healthy lifestyle. You will have your housing, food and even a small salary. And let's talk on Skype,” is the approximate content of the letter from David. At the bottom of the letter I noticed a link to the camp site, but it was too lazy to open, and so everything is clear. I thought: why not, cool, always wanted to see Monferrato. And I called Aeroflot to find out on which numbers you can change your ticket in September. The next day I was on Skype at exactly the appointed time. Italians were late. I missed. And I went to the eco-camper page. In the photo, naked girls gathered strawberries and in the same form drank tea in the gazebo. The place turned out to be a first-class nudist commune. I quickly slammed the laptop with a stupid smile on my face and thought: "Hurray, I'm going home! To Moscow!"
As a result, having spent the budget of the usual two-week vacation, I managed to travel the Italian north, significantly tighten the language, relax and get new cool friends and acquaintances. "I muri sono nella mente" ("The walls are only in our head"), says one of the plates on the island of San Giulio in the middle of Lake Orta.
PHOTO: Wikimedia Commons, Centro d'Ompio, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 via Shutterstock