The first time I came to Italy was in 1974! It was with Mum and Dad. Their first big holiday ever. And at the last minute they decided to take me along so they could keep an eye on me.
Rather than leave this naughty 16-17 year old in Tasi where she'd had an affair with an American drug dealer wanted by the FBI and also the Tasmanian Drug Squad.
But while Mum and Dad visited archaeological sites, museums and art galleries, I also had another life - with boys.
So in Firenze Italy I met Roberto, an anarchist and actor who was wanted by the Police for throwing a Molotov Cocktail in a demonstration. He introduced me to the others in his household. There was Pasquale and Giorgio and Gianlucca and Mario. All were artists or artisans, trying to eek a living by selling their wares on the Ponte Vecchio. All were into cooking and music. And all were a shade between pink and red as far as politics went.
I was in seventh heaven. In Italy it was considered normal and expected to have a political opinion as one part if ordinary life. Unlike Australia, where families like mine were unacceptable.
I suppose it was only 20 years previously that the partigiani had defeated the fascists and Germans in the mountains.
Their Clubs, much like the RSL where old soldiers could meet up with each other, drink, eat, reminisce, play bingo and be in for a meat raffle.
I returned to Italy many times after coming again to Europe in 1976-77.
Between fruit-picking in France Nannying in Spain, or working various jobs in London, I always came back to Florence.
I lived and worked in various places there. I stayed sometimes in Via Vinegia 3 where I'd first met Roberto. Now I was meeting a wider crowd with girls who discussed feminism with the men. I never heard of feminism being a men's issue before. But here in 1976 it was. Mario said when I tried to clear the table of plates, "Vivi sit down. Why you not a feminista eh?". Infact the boys did all the cooking.
There was a big low table with cushions all around and often in to 12-14 people around it, enjoying food and then playing music after or having animated discussions.
I also lived in Via del Corso with an Iranian architect, near Santa Spirito with other Iranians, and near il Duomo Di Santa Maria del Fiore.
I sold silver in a Goldshop near Santa Croce, that was visited by busloads of American tourists.I gave out leaflets for a discotheque called the Red Garter mainly frequented by busloads of young people from Contiki Expeditions.
I also saved enough from my fruit-picking to do a 6 week art course at the Scuola Di Lorenzo Di Medici. It was the best time of my life.
Because I tapped into something in that place, a well of something, a place where I felt at home in my soul. Perhaps it's about surrounding oneself with beauty. The soft beauty and light of the natural surroundings. Then the beauty of what people have created because they combined art with science with architecture with poetry with humour and endless possibilities.
Yes wealth had a lot to do with it. But it's what they chose to do with wealth - to support artists in the broadest sense, to create and to inspire.
I drew from a model. I compared myself to others and felt inadequate until I had a breakthrough and developed my own distinctive style, a little quirky and fun. My professor who also taught at the Academy of Arte, said keep drawing every day whether you have 2 kids or 10. I didn't though it's something I often thought about.
Going to the art school was like going through a portal. First through San Lorenzo Market, then through a door that had a courtyard and rooms off the side that contained Michaelangelos Dawn and Dusk. Up narrow stairs, past music lessons and right up into the attic, where our studio was. In a 500 year old building.
The time was the 70s. Young people had long hair, wore jeans and bare feet and congregated together for music and fun. We were free of multinationals dictating the terms and conditions of our lives.
In Florence there was a phenomenon known as Indiani Metropolitani. Young people would spring up together spontaneously and hold hands to encircle something, run around in circles and chant ee ii ee ii ee ii ee ii ah. It might be a car waiting at a light or the entire Duomo. Anyone could join. A bit like flashmob but less planned.
I spent another 10 days in Florence after visiting Jo in Egypt with Mum in 1980 when I was pregnant with Nikki. Mario was at Via Vinegia but the others were in India, having become macrobiotic and vegetarian.
So I'm in Rome now and across the road from where I'm staying is a McDonald's and on the other side a Burger King.
Maybe because of our diets we are all starting to look the same. We are far more similar with our IT lives, Our cellphones or mobiles. That Rupert Murdoch owns Fox Channels in every country you look at. We swallow the same diet of tv.
Leaving Australia and seeing the same brands that I thought were local. Some like Streets Icecream is called something else but I recognise the logo.
Feminism took hold. Women have reaped the benefits and spend more time living and working than in the kitchen. The foods are faster foods.
Who looks after the farms now? Not only does Italy have the lowest birthrate in the world, many young people leave rural areas for the city.
Where my friends once sold things on the street, now it's Africans selling things on the street.
Once young people rode bicycles and vespers. There were more of these than anything else on the roads. Now more cars.
In train carriages everyone would talk to each other. This still happens!!! Yay! And the music in the carriages.
And I love that the Neapolitans still speak in dialect.
A few days in Rome, then Florence on Tuesday....
ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS Of CHANGES
no older women in black (other than me)
Fewer vespers
fewer artisans
More mass production
Migrants are the new Street sellers
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