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Vacances proletaires

The faithful readers of "Living with Grace" you will stay
imagining, returning from vacation, amazing stories about
exclusive resort populated by VIPs and captains 'industry, with Grace
that depopulated the boutiques and hotels in Capri and the Riviera. But no, and that's the beauty
.

We are emerging from a delightful "proletariat" in a village of white
Gargano, always the same, where do we go from 7 years, but the famous Vieste, it 's vaunted the Salento, the goal of the new radical chic, but one of those places where it is still possible, a family of four people, have for the entire month of August in an apartment overlooking the sea 5 minutes walk from the beach and as many from the town for 1800 €, and another 200 a month to have your sun umbrella and lounge chairs in a comfortable shore. Al "Twiga" Forte dei Marmi the same amount you pay for a day, and the sea, 'much too' bad. Total

two thousand euro, all inclusive, throughout August, for the whole family.

A holiday that, in principle, reflects my ideal of summer relaxation and family, and where my place is so typical day: breakfast "healthy" at home with tea and cereals, short visit to the newsagent, which is not is a simple shrine, but a business newspaper old, where the owner and 'the left-wing intellectual of the country, which also sells books, exercise books and travel guides, listen to classic rock or Eagles and Peter Frampton Radio Capital, and with whom, after having bought the newspapers in the morning, debating on maximum systems such as the crisis of publishing.
Additional breakfast at the bar of the beach, coffee and chat with friends on the beach. Accommodation on deckchairs under beach umbrella and read the newspaper to dry all morning, including supplements, interrupted only by the bathroom with the children, occasional sand castles or playing football. Lunch
lovingly cooked at home from Grace, based on local delicacies,
mussels, fish, peppers, etc. cacioricotta, during the 13 canonical TG5
included under "Taste" and pennichellona afternoon until about 16
. Back at the beach and read a book down to 19 with the usual sporadic outages
novelty beach.
dinners in local restaurants or pizza place with names like "Gianpizzaiolo" with family and friends, or uscitina after dinner in town and ice cream stalls, and at midnight maximum
sleep. Wonderful.

And here comes the fun, dear Grace-fans. Too easy to make the VIP among the VIPs in St. Tropez or Costa Smeralda. Try to have you as neighbors and parasol not Petruccioli Furio Colombo, as a "last resort" Capalbio, but John the butcher, try to have as playmates of the children of truzzolotti that beat all day screaming "Cacacazz '", "Who t'a'mmuort'!", tell dirty jokes, and teach your child to 4 years to say 'T' riench ' 'and mazz't' "(you fill in the barrel) in a perfect turn Foggia. Try to have the peak summer season of entertainment not a DJ set by Pete Tong at Pacha Umberto Tozzi but a concert at the pier. Try, in Italy this "true", to be Grace.

In fact, the ideal day described earlier, where is Grace? Be ', in line
rule, is not there. E 'with friends.
the morning before everyone goes for coffee with friends, and shopping.

to me the burden of preparing the children still sleepy (pee, hands, teeth, costumes, slippers, shirts, hats) and the fellowship of the sea with sarongs, swimsuits and all the rest ("Bring All to you and me with This hurt the shoulder can not do ").

What hurt shoulder? Boh, Okay.
arrives on the beach after the event: children increments and placed in play, towels lying on deck, and I that I finally sat down with two seconds before the newspapers arrived.

"Nice life, eh? You, always there back and read the newspaper." Two

scolded routine ("Out of the water, you two!") Followed by the usual puff which means "All I I do, here ...", then you spread the cream on the back from me ("Do you not get there, with my poor shoulder ..."), and disappears for a walk on the sand (" I is good for the movement ... "), with their friends.

walk took two hours, from which always comes back with something bought from street vendors. During the holiday was passed by the Senegalese bracelets full of Dolce and
Gabbana of dubious origin, up to a huge drum to the pinch (folk dance from Puglia) autographed by the craftsman octogenarian.

follows the canonical phrase, "Well, I begin to get home to prepare lunch." So to me raising children, recovery of both from the waves, drying, find the same from various hiding places, retrieving towels, costumes, newspapers, and lifts home. Even Grace
afternoons are filled with commitments ranging from waxing all'erboristeria, the hairdresser's shop at the ethnic, visits of politeness, while I sleep and children play soccer on the streets of the favelas as the ninos.

"You rested eh? Blessed are you who you can sleep in the afternoon with these two as I do."

From the balconies, the loving Mammine recall their beloved little children screaming "Bitch 'e'mmerda, is' to' CCAS." When Grace
stops umbrella ("Finally a moment of peace ...")
browse the 'inevitable Vanity Fair, he plunges past David Leavitt, comments or photos of the August issue of AD, the magazine made for anyone to feel filthy, with "more villas' beautiful in the world."

At home, militarily occupying the 'I-pod and crock "On tour" that amplifies it, and plan to repeat only the album cover of Paul Weller, Negramaro, Seu Jorge, and "the most' beautiful songs Sergio Caputo. " I can hear what I want when I wash dishes.

the evening, Grace indulges us to try all the restaurants in the Gargano.

In the most chic of all, overlooking the sea, while the little boy says "I live in the bathroom of this restaurant, so is beautiful ", the great sentenced" Well, here is so smart that if they do well is expensive. "loud.

In August harassed by bad weather anywhere, even in Sardinia, Gargano day instead of bad weather were two. For the rest, beautiful, always. In the two days we managed to go to a restaurant for lunch, and took only because Grace could say that was ugly and cold for the rest of the month. Just a little cloud all ' horizon, barely visible in a blue sky with the sun at its zenith, to hear her say, "See? It is bad today. "

I'm back from vacation. You still do not. I shared with the trunk full of oil, tomato sauce peasant, local spirits, local olives, local wines, tamburone to pinch, the surf of Spiderman, and of course the pillow of Grace, that of Milan, who had brought in Puglia because He can not sleep with a pillow any, must have her.

Tonight on the phone told me that he has already booked by phone the next 12 sessions of Pilates in Milan because he feels guilty that she ate on vacation too, "... I feel bloated, I have to dispose of." He also told me that when I return 'home would like to find a dinner of sushi, and children, in chorus, "And for us the noodles."