Eclipses, shooting stars and earth moving nights

Last night was rather wonderful, wasn’t it?

I thought it would be a great idea to watch the solar eclipse over the sea. It didn’t occur to me that other people might share the same inspired idea (or that the national press in England and Italy were recommending it.) So, expecting the same empty country roads as usual we were surprised to join a slow-moving file of cars to the beach.

‘It’s the Solar Express’ said wag Hugo

You could feel the tension in the convoy mount as the clock ticked by and the convoy crawled. Everyone knew that at a certain point the cars would explode their contents as the occupants made a run for it, like when the first person makes a break for speedy boarding at check-in.

‘There won’t be another one until 2081!’ I stressed with ants in my pants

‘It’ll be fine’ said cool Hugo and we traded stories on where we were for the last eclipse in 1999.

Cars filled every legitimate parking space. Then, as the police looked on, cars were abandoned double parked or slunk in to trespassed restaurant parking. We figured we’d get a bollocking if we trespassed which was better than a fine or tow if we were nabbed on the road (we have the T-shirt on that). Then we joined the trample of people filing over the board walks crossing paths with tired beach goers who looked at the trail of incomers quizzically, like those who have not got the joke. Surely, they knew? How could they not know? But I didn’t want to be the mad witch dancing around saying, ‘There’s a solar eclipse!’ As if the sea was going to catch fire.

Sigh. Oh, it’s lovely this coast. Scrub covered sand dunes, home to wild boar, deer and turtles, slope down to a sea of delicious silky warmth. It’s always beautiful. Last night the sea was mirror-calm, barely easing waves to shore. To the north, the islands and the rocky outlines of the Cinque Terre were etched in shades of water-colour grey, soft, luminescent, almost transparent. Behind us, solid higher mountains stood, their auras of clouds beginning to be up-lit by the lowering sun.

Everyone has their favourite spots. Morning is the pirate bar at Marina di Pisa, sunset is the other side of the river at Marina di Vecchiano. Both are far from the beaten tourist paths, a place for locals. We cycle here. We come to watch the sunset every first September to celebrate my birthday swimming with friends before a feast at our favourite seafood haunt.

Yesterday evening the beach was packed with people expectantly looking at the sky. The sun was blazing away in obstinate unabashed full glory. Yes, it was sinking into a sunset, so of course the light was changing and the air cooling. It was going violet. Calming. So far, as gorgeous, rich and spectacular as any other lowering of the sun over the Tryrannean Sea. To be honest our daily sunset treats are a difficult act to follow.

Then those who had got the special black glasses started getting excited and with generosity let those who hadn’t got that organised, (us) or (whose adapted Ritz biscuit box wasn’t working) share. There was no one with a colander over their head as Brits were encouraged.

A girl sat alone on a drift of driftwood that looked like a Renaissance dolphin, staring out over the horizon letting anyone who asked glance through her blackened glasses and share the moment. Next to us an excited couple our age shared theirs too. We took photos of each other, he enthusing about space and stars and how they had always fascinated him while Hugo told him about sailing adventures. In the sea, swimmers patiently bathed facing west pinched by invisible jelly fish stings while fish jumped around them.

Is fish going bonkas an eclipse phenomena? Big fish leapt out of the water nearly at our feet- 15 times! Fifteen!

The commonly expressed ‘ooo look!’ at the sight of the leaping fish broke any remaining ice amongst strangers united by a common fascination. With that everyone was chatting to each other, oohing and aahing, not wanting to miss a moment, as if we were in the theatre and the spectacle about to begin.

It was incredible as the moon took a slow bite over a disappearing sun. At first invisible to the naked eye, then as the bite got bigger yes, you could see it- but shouldn’t look. Then moon inched forward relentlessly, unstoppable, silently mocking the sun, making it an image of itself. Then finally the sun became an arc of brilliant glowing orange that slowly sank over the horizon, at first the shape of the moon in waxing gibbous, then in waxing crescent finally a shape the moon doesn’t make, a rainbow, a bridge and then it seemed to arch up and sink below the horizon, as I imagine the broken Titanic did. It was deeply moving, watching the moon overcome the sun. The sun dips everyday but last night it was somehow incredible, terrible, watching the source of all life being overwhelmed.

There was a silence, almost a commonly held breath, as thousands of eyes watched the final sliver succumb to the horizon then everyone started clapping, an applause that seemed to merge with other beaches up and down the coast of Italy. The chap next to us thanked the sun in something that sounded almost like a prayer.

We were also half in prayer as we legged it back up the beach to get the car. We hadn’t booked so no fried fish and chips for us. Instead, we the joined the file back through the sunflower fields and woods. A young boar leapt out of the scrub and threw itself in front of the car. Luckily, we missed it, but wondered if a test for being a local is how quickly the road-killed boar is snaffled up. We wouldn’t do it in Blighty, would definitely think about it in Italy. Especially when a bit peckish after all that eclipsing.

The night was not over. The mustiness had cleared from the mountains, so (after pizza) we laid out on the sunbeds, all of the lights extinguished, watching for shooting stars. Wow. You almost had to duck. They were popping off like fireworks; one even left a lingering vapour trail. Eight I saw before it seemed to get misty again and they less frequent.

Then to bed wondering if the earth was going to move. There have been a lot of earthquakes recently, we are hoping that all of nature’s power and wonder will stay in the celestial realm. Specifically, we are really hoping that super volcano in the bay of Naples is not up to anything, and definitely won’t erupt this month. Next week we are on our sailing trip/drugs mule run. Hugo insists we don’t need to update our wills. I have bought my body weight in seasickness tablets and a pair of those weird bracelet things that work by magic. Hugo bought a pair of radios. I thought this rather fun and reminiscent of my UN days so wanted to say ‘Papa Whiskey calling Indigo Mike, over’ lots of times whilst Hugo wanted to test it over longer distances. The first opportunity was when he was at his Friday night boys drinks whilst I was at an informal tennis BBQ.

‘Mayday, Mayday!’

I was out trotting around a tennis court. I hadn’t even noticed that tennis players over six courts had frozen like Meercats having spotted an eagle’s shadow. They were gathered around the fence staring at my tennis bag and guineapig cartoon orange squash watering bottle thinking they were witnessing a nautical emergency.

‘MAYDAY! MAYDAY!’

‘Pia! PIA!’

‘What?’

‘Mayday, Mayday, the pub has run out of beer! A lot of very male sniggering and background witticisms.

Hugo treated me to two tankini short combos as I am currently having a spat with the non-arrival of my hastily purchased sailing wardrobe. I shall look like a bathing beauty circa 1920s with a bucket hat and life jacket. I have vacumned my never used sailing jacket and it still fits- yay!

In a last-minute attempt to get beach body ready I am loving our lunches at the moment – fat peaches grown locally, watermelon, other pink melon, grapes, and fichi d’india. Hugo isn’t sure about the Fichi D’india as he says they shot blast the loo.

Today he threatened a BBQ to escape our fruitarian diet, but I have reached BBQ saturation point. I cannot face another sausage, burger or weirdly yellow chilli speckled chicken. It is madness to eat in front of BBQ when it is blisteringly hot. We had friends for lunch a few weeks ago and had to buy a standing fan per person with swim breaks to cool down. It was like trying to eat in a wind tunnel. So today I made rustic melanzane parmigiana, ‘rustic’ meaning I couldn’t be bothered to do it properly. Here it is toasted aubergine, half done tomato sauce, flurries of hand pulled mozzarella, a dusting of parmigiano (grater on the blink) and a confetti of abused basil leaves.

When we return from our sailing odyssey Our Ladies of Foxhills (and their squeezes) are coming for the annual Peregrinatio Vini. Happy days

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