Cimima - a feast

For the few days we systematically meet family, extended relatives, neighbours, partners of the cousins. We gorge ourselves with homemade soft cheeses, salamis, bread, are fooled into thinking that our 'primi' pasta was a main only to have the main arrive.. We eat 'pollo' but mine has a vertebra and ribcage and so I figure it's rabbit and Vince tell Jac a few days later.

Vince plays the part of translator more so for me having not studied Italian and having a dyslexic inability to pronounce sounds or roll my R's leading to a butchering of a beautiful language to an uncomprehensiable degree. Fortunately my appreciation for food, wine and beer score me some brownie points and contented nods from that evenings chef.

The majority of our month in Calabria is spent in Cimina, our most difficult decision most days is whether to take the snaking road or much steeper walking path between terraces and kitchen plots. The route to one of Vince's aunts takes us past the main piazza which consists of one café, two general store, a 'posta-telegraph' office and one church which randomly rings throughout the day and strikes the quarter to hour between 5.45 and 12.45. On occasions various pedalers in white vans make the trip into town, announcing their arrival with music which reminds me of our Mr Whippy vans.

Our days fall into mornings of walking the village or visiting near by relatives who inevitably try to out-do each other by feeding us ridiculous amounts of food. Most meals are prepared in the outdoor or garage kitchen and we eat in the formal kitchen which often covers one length of the room, mirrored by a large long table covering the majority of the room. It takes us some time to get use to the idea of a five course meal, especially at lunch which leads us to take up various positions around the house in chairs, couches or beds before waking before 6 to prepare dinner to be served around 9pm. Everyone is still on a summer timetable and most are at work by seven or headed to school and home by one in the arvo making up time by working/schooling on a Saturday morning.

Vinces uncles busy themselves in the afternoons heading out to farm plots a few kilomentres up the valley, we visit to and get to witness a goat slaughtering of which we have a 'hearty' meal of offal served the next day. Also we have pigeon noddle soup, we get up early one morning to go snailing with half the village - they are easy enough to spot in the grass of the paddock and make a squeaking-fizzing noise. We pick 'fungi' and travel to Sicily's Messina, go on family weekend trips for a barbeque. One of the major highlights of our stay was the annual patron saints 'festa' which is celebrated by two evenings of entertaining: one by what can only be described as part Eurovision entrant and part strip show: they did a fantastic Michael Jackson medley which was a fantastic 'Fr-iller'. The following night was the celebrations trump card of the Taran Project which is a fix of folk-rock music covers of traditional regional songs with the main singer using mandolin. Surprisingly the music appeals to all ages and everyone dances or sings along in the Piazza. After a few hours of observing I channel my inner Italian pixie but fail to connect with it and resort but to my inner Irish leprechaun. We gig away with various cousins particularly Rossana and Maria-Alanana who teach me the four basic steps of a 'Calabrian Prance'. Jac and I almost need a medic when Vince's cousins convince him to join in, something we had given up on many years ago.

On one of our last nights we head out to the farm house, butcher a goat and put it to boil in vino over coals, sweep and clean the farms outdoor kitchen and set dinner for 25.All the relo's that have had us for the meals come out and I am surprised again at the closeness of the families. The vino flows amongst pane, salami, formages and pasta and animated Italian conversations fill the room. It could have been about politics or the price of broadbeans but it didn't matter, once in a while someone make a joke and everyone laughs - in a testimony to their welcoming I never once fell out of the conversation even though the words wash over me as easily as the vino della casa I'm drinking. And Vince is as happy and at home as I've ever seen him.

Check list for Cimina:

·Put on six kilos in three weeks (thanks baby choc-tops)

·Being in a Fiat 500 at 150km/hour

·Sunrise picking field snails and forest mushrooms

·Working my way up to three cafes while the locals enjoy ten per day

·Having a post dinner shot of 'digestive' grappa,lemoncello, chocolate or raspberry liqueur after every meal