Leaving from Bologna airport. Woke up at 4am; sooooo painful…. Flight ok, but my carta d’imbarco doesn’t work; I’ve been stopping all queues, people have looks that kill. Good flight anyway.

Memo: Never sit on a plane next to a very enthusiastic family with teenager kids who mean to be translating for the whole family.

Got to London Stansted early morning. Tremendous queue for passport control, tremendous queue for coach to London (trains are not working today), tremendous queue for anything. Immense crowds

Memo: The British don’t want us, but that doesn’t stop us from wanting them.

Got to the hotel at last. Nobody at reception. Stood outside in the freezing cold Freezing cold! In July! Once inside, the Russian lady receptionist finds fault with my credit card. Panic. Everything is sorted out in the end, but I’m still sweating. Got my room. A birdcage, but clean. The bed practically covers the surface of the whole of it. Curiously, the taps in the bathroom are bigger than the washbasin itself. If you turn them on, you splash water (freezing cold or scorching hot, it’s a double tap of course) all around. Lovely.

Went out, had a long walk. Located school, for tomorrow. Went to Primark for basic shopping, had dinner at 6:30 pm at burger joint. Quite good, plain. Everybody watching Federer-Djokovic match on a big screen, Djoko won. Back to hotel, shower and sleep. Noises from the street. Youngsters playing basketball. Never mind.

Breakfast: eggs and bacon!! Crispy, juicy, wow! That’s what I came to England for. Buttered toast, baked beans. Oops…no continental breakfast? Nope. Eggs, bacon, toast, beans, sausages. Ok, I can cope. I pile up food to save money during the day. Go to school, course begins. Teacher: Francis. Very English, very classy, looks and sounds well educated. Students: Eila, from Finland, Malgorzata from Poland, Sandra and Audrey from Reunion Island, and myself. Introductions, warm-up, course description: we are not going to stay indoors, we are going to meet at relevant places, walk around London on daily assignments, and have 2 round up meetings (morning and afternoon) in pubs and cafés. We will explore London, and possibly the English society, from a cultural, architectural, ethnic, sociological perspective. Not ambitious, is it? Afternoon: tour of Bloomsbury. Quite a literary neighborhood this is! You can see plaques every-where for the homes of famous writers, notably V. Woolf. She is chasing me. She probably knows I’m not a huge fan of hers (but it’s not my fault, I’m not intelligent enough). British library, I’m in awe! Jane Austen’s portable desk! Handwritten draft of ‘Michelle’! The Magna Charta! I can’t get enough of all that.

Memo: Don’t forget to show pics, portraits, personal belongings of writers to the students. Everything becomes so real…

Mixed neighborhood: the posh area quickly flows into station area, which means destitution, all over the world. So many homeless people, so young, and dirty pavements. Briefing at a café, a brainstorm of proposals for the incoming week. Francis is very laid back and self-confident. See you tomorrow! Solitary dinner, another hamburger and fries. Hotel room, lots of noise from the street. TV not working. I do my homework for tomorrow, planning a lesson.

Memo: planning a lesson can really blow your melancholy away. Have to remember this in times of trouble.

Breakfast: eggs and bacon, buttered toast. We ladies are supposed to be outside V&A museum at 9:30. The Reunion ladies are awfully late at the underground station where we have agreed to meet, to go together. Very late. Francis smiles.

We visit Victoria and Albert, gorgeous as always. I love it. Francis lectures us on Victorian times. It’s intolerably cold, I am wearing almost all the content of my suitcase, but I should have worn the suitcase too. Francis wears short sleeves and says it’s a lovely day. Shows us the French neighborhood, the Reunion ladies are all ‘oh!’ ‘uh!’ ‘ah!’. I eat crepes, and run to Primark to buy a jacket at lunch break We see Kensington in its full glory, with Francis’s remarks on social classes, religion, houses and parks. We visit one of the oldest pubs in London (relaxed waiters speaking very peculiar patois: “ao’, cheffai, ‘ndo vai, ‘ndo stai?”). What’s that pale thing up there? The sun? Oh how grateful I am, unruly sun! 

Memo: beer is a powerful teaching tool, after a pint not even the most obnoxious student will ever question a teacher. I know, it’s illegal. Don’t even think about it.

Lesson ends at 4, I rush to Kensington Palace to see the special exhibition on Young Victoria. How nice! Fantastic! Absolutely loved it! So many things I can now picture in my mind, after seeing her doll’s house, her toys, her fine little dresses and diminutive shoes, and the long room where she held her first Privy Council meeting. Entered the same door, stood at the same table. Read all the posters and captions. 

Memo: A museum is not only pictures and statues, it may be clothes and shoes. Give students the flavour of history with small items, beyond great epic events.

Back to the hotel area. Ever noticed how uncomfortable it can be for a single lady to find a place where she can have a meal on her own, without being embarrassed? Tried to find another place, but end up at the same joint. Hamburger and fries. Do homework in the hotel room, write follow-up exercises on a newspaper ad. Noise from the street, young lads playing basketball, they seem never to get tired about basketball.

Breakfast: eggs and bacon, and buttered toast. It’s so cold, so cold, but my new jacket helps. I rush to the Reunion ladies‘ hotel, we have agreed to meet there to go to Embankment together. The Reunion ladies are very late. Francis smiles. Says it is such a lovely day. Going to Greenwich on a ferry! If there is something colder than London in the streets in July, that’s London on a boat, in July.

Memo: The attitude to climate tells you a lot about the national character, and possibly even about the literature of a country.

On the way to Greenwich, Francis lectures us on London as a maritime city and shows us wharves and stockhouses. Greenwich: charming. The London of commons and suburbs. Have cream tea. Delicious. We visit the market. Colours, craftsmanship, food, people from all over the world, literally. The smell of spices… They could teach us something about welcoming other cultures.

Memo: Remind students that they don’t learn English to speak to the English, but to the whole world. And the English know.

Crossed the Thames three ways: ferry, underground walkway, cable car. The Thames is really something. Francis finds his way always making reference to compass points: North, South, East, West. Says it’s natural to them. Spent a lot of money today, all on transports. Have our briefing at The Narrow, Gordon Ramsey’s pub at Canary Wharf. Can’t finish my beer, Francis drinks his, and mine. Can still stand. Said he went to York University, they probably give you special training there. Walk from Canary Wharf to the Tower. Francis lectures us about re-development in the area and contemporary architecture; he tells us about the boat people living in the London canals. Went back to the hotel area. Now, not that I have anything against hamburgers and chips, but I would just like to try something different for dinner. Fish and chips? It rains heavily, no fish and chips joint in sight… oh no, there’s one, not far from home. Bought a box of heavy, greasy cod, with chips the size of slices of watermelon. And…I can’t find the way to the hotel! Homeless people sleeping everywhere, it’s getting dark, it rains,…I have got lost in King’s Cross area. At last, back to my room. The cod has become cold and massive, the chips are like bath sponges. I feel so unhappy. Why didn’t I have my hamburger? I do my homework, introducing an article on the price of homes on ‘The Big Issue’. Noise from the street. Curl up in my bed, trying to get some sleep. I hate basketball.

Breakfast: eggs and bacon, and buttered toast. Seems to be just a little bit brighter today. Go to the Reunion ladies’ hotel, where also Eila the Finnish lady is staying. She is so quiet we haven’t noticed she is there too. Eila and I are perfectly on time, the Reunion ladies are tremendously late. Take the tube to the Barbican Museum. Very late. Francis smiles. Never been to the Barbican. What an interesting museum! The history of the city of London. Love it. How proud I always feel I am a descendant of the Romans. And the reconstruction of The Globe, the one we have in literature books! The beautiful video on the Great Fire, wow. Once outside, Francis lectures us on modern architecture again, and the way people are switching from houses to flats, even in England. Long walk to the South bank, go to The George, Dickens’ pub! I sit on a bench. Can feel the presence of the great one, he used to write there. Is that Sam Weller, peering from the counter? Is that gentleman Mr. Brownlow? Francis leaves us there, and we decide to stay together to walk around Shoreditch. Incredible. The Bengali shops, the colours, the teeming life, the smells…Once again am I shocked with the way different cultures can mix together., and coexist with mutual curiosity. Any hatred? Might be, but I think curiosity about each other prevails. And O! that crazy community garden, full of flowers and custom-made sheds, and old dismembered cars turned into impromptu bars, and sculptures made of old tyres…

Exhausted. Have walked myself to death. It was worth it.

Bought a sandwich on my way back and collapse on bed. Only just have my shower and do homework and write this. Noise of basketball from the street, but honestly, I can’t hear.

Breakfast: eggs and bacon, and buttered toast. I’m beginning to have coffee nightmares. I do ask for coffee in bars, but what I get is hardly coffee. It’s our last day, we are going to Richmond to have a taste of village London. It drizzles. Guess where I’m going? To the Reunion ladies’ hotel for our morning rendez-vous. Eila is quietly waiting, now we are both waiting. The Reunion ladies are late. Awfully late. The trip to Richmond by train is quite long, when we get there Francis smiles. He is so nice and understanding. We visit Richmond, how lovely! The Thames is really a royal highway there, we get the idea of how you can lead a more than decent life though living in a modern metropolis. It’s that sense of coziness and intimacy that only the English can build up. Francis himself lives in Richmond, and shows us around with great complacency. All of a sudden, it’s pouring. Water, water everywhere…We rush to have lunch together, as it’s the final day, then we get some more lecturing about the Swinging London, social classes, and housing. Our last briefing is about mind maps, and we have a lovely week’s roundup. How are we going to motivate students through all these experiences? We are all self-confident that they will profit from all we have learnt. What can I say? That I am grateful I saw and listened and I spoke and I made it my own; I don’t know what I will do with my students, yet, but one thing I can be sure about: I am a much better teacher now, because I know more, and I have an updated competence on the British culture. Thanks Francis. Thanks course mates! I even learnt a lot about the unfailing virtue of patience with the Reunion ladies. Priceless!

Back to London, I walk around the centre at last. Oxford Street, Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square…but all this just means Waterstones to me! Waterstones is a place of the heart. Walk up and down the floors. What silence. Why am I feeling a bit sad? Possibly because there are few people around? Is Amazon hitting hard even here, in this consecrated area? A young and very kind assistant gives me info about some books I’m looking for. It’s always Tudor history, and serial killers, with me. Only read about Tudor history and serial killers, these days. I feel compelled to buy something, even if I can check on my mobile that what I’m about to buy costs much less online. I think of the young assistant and his quiet, hopeful demeanour. Did he know what I was thinking? I swallow and I do my Titanic service. The ship might be sinking, but I will drown holding the flag tight. I buy the books.

Back to the hotel; I have my hamburger and chips, and say goodbye to the waiter. He seems to be really amazed at the number of hamburgers Italian ladies can have in a week. 

Hotel. Packing up. Noise from the street. Last time.

Breakfast: eggs and bacon, buttered toast. It’s my big day, I kept something in store all these days, as the course schedule wasn’t favourable. I’m visiting the Charles Dickens’ Museum today! What a thrill! I may not like Virginia Woolf (sorry) but I DO love Dickens. I feel so excited. There’s so much real life going on in his books, I can’t wait to see where it all went on. And it’s a beautiful, gorgeous visit. The dining room! They say he was a great carver, and I can picture him standing, carving his goose. His dressing room: he was a fashionable gentleman, loved clothes! I soak up everything. Favourite place? Well, his desk (handwritten papers!) and obviously the kitchen. How many maids and valets did he watch and humourously take off in these rooms? The lockers, the preserves, the sink, the cellar. What a proud landlord he must have been. And then they tell me that his wife wrote a cookery book, don’t tell me! Gorgeous! When I thought I already knew enough about him! This house is teeming with life, and I’m so exceedingly happy of this visit. It’s difficult to leave. 

Back to Piccadilly Circus, still have a couple of hours. Buy something, just to feel I was in London. 

Memo: If you are Italian, you do not really exist until you prove it with some shopping. 

To the airport! Last look at the last homeless thirty-something crouching in the underground. I feel so pensive. I turn to the train, heading back home. Will I be coming back soon? I hope so. I know I’m still the young enthusiastic teacher I used to be, though in the body of a mature semi-old lady. This is what London does to you. It’s love. Good-bye, sceptered isle!