Eat Teach Love

‘Mummy I’m just going to take Fergie for a w-a-l-k-i-e-s’ looking at the bundle of energy that was out 4-year-old springer spaniel and hoping that she had forgotten how to spell. 

‘Where are you off to?’ 

‘Just down to Crooklets beach, over the cliffs and back home. Shouldn’t be more than about an hour. I want some fresh air before we consume our body weight in Turkey and Tiramisu.’

‘You don’t need to worry about that love. You’re looking like a skinny bean. It’s all that Italian living agreeing with you.’

Italian loving more like.

I’m glad mum didn’t offer to come as it would be hard to say, ‘I’d rather be on my own’ and she also may suspect something was up.

‘What time are we heading to Granny?’

‘She asked us to be there at 12 for champers and blinis’.

‘Delicioso.’

‘Where is my Cornish pasty? Six weeks away in that Trapani and she’s come back Sicilian!’

‘Oh mother!’ I just wanted to keep every morcel of Sicilian life going. The truth was I was really missing everything about the place. I felt as if it had started to get under my bones. I had even started to dream in Italian.

It was probably watching all that RAI Uno with my flatmate Kelly. That’s when she wasn’t shagging her top-secret boyfriend, Davido. It was top secret as he was one of the students where we worked and Kelly mentioned that if our boss Theresa caught wind of the situation, Kelly would be out.

I walked down the lane from my parent’s house and picked up the path to the pebbly beach. The tide was out so I headed down close to the sea so I could put my hands in the shallow surf.

When I stood up, I caught my breath as the icy breeze welcomed me back. It was the wake up call I needed.

It was Christmas Day 1999. This year my darling granny, Alberta or ‘Bertie’ to her friends was leading the festivities and she and my Aunty Judith had suggested an Italian theme as a special treat for my return. I couldn’t wait to see everyone but was also conscious of all the questions about Sicily and who had I met and what was going on with Luke now that he was back. It was all too much at times.

As I stood looking out to sea, I didn’t feel lonely. Being on my own on the beach was something I had grown accustomed to and had appreciated over the years. Despite living and growing up a short walk from the sea, my family very rarely ventured down to the beaches for a good stomp but always liked to mention in polite conversation, ’Oh it’s lovely isn’t it?’ As a surly teenage I used to say ‘how would you know? You never go there!’ ‘Well, it’s nice to have it on our doorstep just in case.’ Was the response. Even as children no one on our family would take us down to the beach just to see the sea. I sincerely thought it was wasted on them. I loved it though. It had been my savior over the years. When I was looking for some life answers on love, I’d walk down to the beach with our family dog Fergie and talk to the sea. ‘What should I do about x?’ I would ask and the waves would continue to crash, and I’d look at the sky in all its glory. 

Mother sea was like a friend, and she didn’t always have an answer, but she was a constant.

And now I needed help with a big question? Should I stay or should I go back?’

I’d graduated from college in Oxford earlier this year and despite my parents trying to convince me to continue my studies, I was desperate for a break from the educational structure. My dad would send off for various prospectives just to show me and I’d say ‘oh yes that looks nice. No.’

My boyfriend, Luke, who I had met in my last term was living and working at the perch pub in Oxford, a short hop and a skip from Port Meadows and had suggested we both do a teaching course together to allow us to teach English as a foreign language anywhere. I certainly wasn’t sure about teaching but felt this would be a good ticket to another country and as I was besotted with the boy felt in awe of his sensible suggestion.

One lunchtime we were sat outside the garden of the teaching school and Luke announced. ‘Dave is going to cycle the west coast of Africa in two months, and he’s asked me to join him. Nuts but I think I want to do it.’

Slightly shocked that he had just decided to do it when we had talked about teaching somewhere together, I said ‘sounds fab.’ I was very keen not to sound needy or emotional. Luke had said his last relationship had ended because Jenny had started going on the pill and was always crying and emotional.

‘Do you think you’ll head to Italy?’ he asked me in a tone that you would ask a friend.

‘Oh definitely.’ I had said wondering what the feck I was doing.

In the next weeks our weekends involved meeting Dave, in one pub or another so that the boys could plan their route and everything they needed ahead of their adventure. I went with Luke to London to pick up his visa and felt completely consumed by his impending trip. 

My instant thought was ‘well that’s us over’ and I felt a distance start to build between us. I knew we were young to commit and there was something about Italy that always appealed so I took the leap. I looked at TEFL jobs on my parents computer and saw there were a few in Sicily or the Northern Italian alps. The thought of the warmth of the south and proximity to beaches greatly appealed. After all mother sea would always be there for guidance. So after scraping a pass with my teaching certificate, I contacted the British institutes which sounded prestigious in a small town called Trapani on the west coast of Sicily. After speaking to the Director of the Institute, Teresa Matteucci and her eagerness to employ me, I took the leap and booked my ticket for the following month. 

And for the past two months I have been living in Trapani. How to describe all that has happened in such a short time? I feel as if the people I have met in Trapani have opened my eyes to so many possibilities.

And of course, there is the food. Where to start? From my first night there, going for Pizza at Calvino’s with my new flatmate Kelly. Kelly said ‘do you fancy going to a former brothel for pizza?’ in her distinctive Australian accent. Watching two men putting our pizzas into the inferno and then presenting us with our pizzas neatly sliced and dripping with mozzarella and artichoke was a delight. I was glad for Kelly’s local knowledge. It’s best if you go a bit early as just after 7 the queues run from the door to the port.

And then there were the amazing restaurants I was taken to on adventures with Pietro. Trying to adjust to eating so late but then being glad I had stayed awake to discover beautiful farmhouses tucked into the mountain. Or the secret knocks on the door to a building that looked abandoned, only to find it was the most amazingly busy bar and restaurant. And of course all the charm that went with entering a bar or restaurant with my Italian friends especially Pietro ‘come va signor Vento?’ and then turning to me and the formality with which Pietro introduced me. ‘This is signora Rebecca Vickerstaff. She is teaching at the Institutes and is from Cornwall.’ I felt like a movie star.

And then there were the times when my delightful students at the classics high school would bring in delicious bites or say that their mamma wanted to invite me for lunch and then being completely flattered to discover that their idea of a simple lunch was a four-course meal. I still remember Valentina’s younger brother trying to speak English while spitting out his spaghetti dripping in squid ink. He looked like Wednesday Adams little brother. On remembering the treats, the children would bring me on Fridays, I felt quite sentimental.

And then there were my friends. Where to start? I don’t think I had ever had so many different groups of friends. On starting at the school, I was introduced to Irish Marie who seemed to live off espressos and cornflakes and loved to say ‘go on go on, you will, won’t you’ or ‘your man there’ which I loved. I couldn’t help but ask if she was a relative of Mrs. Doyle from Father Ted.  And then there was Helen. So beautiful and so bright and who also had the dirtiest mind.

Not to mention all my lovely students and friends. Pietro had become such a good friend and was more kind than anyone I had met. He had welcomed me into his circle of friends. When I had told Pietro that I was running out of time to buy Christmas presents, he russled up his friend Sabrina and we spent an evening in the nearby Marsala being taken to the most wonderful boutiques which offered something for each of my family. They had made it such a rich experience making sure we stopped for plenty of delicious treats in between.

‘I can’t thank you both enough. You are so wonderful. Grazie mille.’

‘I just hope you come back after Christmas’ Pietro had said.

I had told him that Luke’s trip in Africa had come to a somewhat abrupt stop

I had been in Trapani for six weeks when I received an email from Luke with the subject header ‘Coming home’.

‘Hey squirrel nut,

Ok so I’ve got some news. I’ve jacking in this crazy adventure. Dave is nuts. We had a situation the other day.  In the distance, we could see a group of children running towards us and thought nothing of it, but it was actually teenage boys and they looked as if they were carrying weapons. We got out of there quickly, but it’s completely spooked me. This Larium shit I’m on is also messing with my mind.

Hope all’s well in Sicily.

I really miss you and can’t wait to see you at Christmas.’

My Dad, who is the sweetest man, had secretly arranged to pick up Luke and drive to meet me at the airport. On walking through arrivals, I couldn’t quite believe it was him. He had grown a beard and had filled out and was wearing a check flannel shirt. We embraced and he said

‘Hey nutkin, I’ve really missed you.’

‘I’ve missed you.’

And I heard about his travels in the car to his house in Bristol where my dad and joined his family for lunch before heading back to Cornwall for Christmas.

And now I’m standing on the beach. To my left surfers are lying on their boards waiting for the surf to pick up and to my right, the sea has opened up offering me a unclear path.