La Gestazione Salvaggia (The Wild Gesticulation)

La Gestazione Salvaggia

La Gestazione Salvaggia
Melbourne, Australia, 28-8-2019
This is the third adventure novella from little known Adventure
Expedition Scribe, Chester Henderson.
His first effort, The Lesser Known Gates of Eger, was published in
1996 in Hungary, a single handwritten copy in soft cover. Its
whereabouts are unknown.
It was followed in 2004 with an untitled and infrequent series of
emails sent to friends and family, inaccurately describing life and
travel in the Middle East. He was accompanied by Lexie Fall. The
emails did not include any photos and did not give the recipients any
idea of where they were, or what they were doing, but gave the
readers a good laugh. They probably survive on various servers.
His latest tilt, La Gestazione Salvaggia, is designed to survive in the
digital world. With more than half of the information on the Web
untrue, La Gestazione Salvaggia punches well above its weight.
All photos are genuine and are mostly relevant to the story.
Readers who notice inaccuracies are encouraged to send corrections
to lagestazionesalvaggia@gmail.com
We look forward to hearing from you.
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Prologue
Melbourne, Australia, 7-6-2019
In June 2019, part-time adventurer Lexie Fall heard the call of the
wild. She felt trapped on a carousel of house renovations, dinner
parties, school lunches, ski trips and being bossed around by Sam
Wood at 6:30 every morning. Besides, Melbourne was cold and dark.
Everyone, everywhere was having a better time than this; their
socmed feeds proved it. (Socmed = social media.)
"Chester dear," she said one night. "Could you pause Love Island for a
minute? I have a proposal for you!"
Chester, the father of Lexie's children and her favourite shopping
partner, paused the television with a hint of frustration. It was
short-lived. Lexie was wearing her old backpack and her favourite
gaiters, which could only mean ... Adventure, with a capital Cost.
"Darling," he breathed. "Are we going to Love Island?"
"No," she said. "We're going to Italy on a scientific expedition. We're
going to cross the country, coast to coast, from Rome to Florence,
and map the unexplored wilderness in between. We'll take the
children to help carry stuff and complain, we'll give ridiculous Latin
names to the species we discover, and we'll conquer mountains in the
name of our politicans. We'll become important historical figures on
socmed."
"Splendid!" yelled Chester. "Because I'm starting to think this Love
Island thing is scripted!"
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Their children, Leo and Archie, were very excited by the upcoming
adventure. Leo, 12 and almost 13, was showing promise as an
ornithologist. "I'll be able to check out heaps of exotic birds," he said
wisely as he packed his binoculars.
Archie, just turned 11 and a keen walker, was equally enthused. "I'll be
able to reach 30,000 steps each day for a month," he observed. "We'll
need to carry a lot of ice-cream."
And so it was settled. They would depart on June 8th for Italy, on
La Gestazione Salvaggia – 'The Wild Gesticulation'.
Lexie Fall, Expedition Leader
Chester Henderson, Navigator & Scribe
Leo Henderson, Wildlife & Artwork
Archie Henderson, Transport, Logistics & Nutrition
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The journey was inspired by a map Lexie found at a deceased estate
sale. The deceased was a kindly, old woman with a wistful air. She
used to lean on her front gate at dusk and talk to anyone who stopped
about the mysterious, unexplored interior of her homeland, Italy.
Most people thought she was mad, us included, because Italy had
featured on Getaway several times. It also seemed unlikely that the
Cheesy Regions she spoke of could possibly exist.
But when Lexie found the ancient map hidden inside a 1973 Franco
Cozzo catalogue, it looked like there may be some element of truth in
those front gate tales ...
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From the expedition leader:
"When I found the map I
immediately felt my destiny. This
was meant to be. I am perfectly
qualified for it. Some people never
find their true calling, so I am very
fortunate indeed."
Lexie Ellen Fall (1971 – present) CV of Adventuring
1990 Ballarat – Founded a walking tour of all 52 pubs.
1992 Camp America – Assistant Director, Protection of Children
from Snapping Turtle Attack and Removal of Leeches from Orifii
1995–97 SE Asia & India – Established a rhinoceros sanctuary.
2002 Vietnam – Made first contact with a hill tribe and purchased
colourful handcrafted items from them.
2004 Middle East & Balkans – Studied the possibility of a trade
relationship between Ancient Egypt and Antarctica.
2006 Condobolin (NSW) – Navigated the Lachlan River on a
mobility scooter.
2012 Bali – First crossing of the interior by air-conditioned minivan.
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Last Taste of Civilisation
Dubai, 9-6-2019
Several hours after sailing from Australia, we sighted the trading city
of Dubai, a likely place to find some beasts of burden. Camels!
Dubai had grown considerably since our last visit, with the camel
markets replaced by supercar dealerships. The locals had grown too,
mainly in girth. 'Manboub' is a common name.
We made contact with a trader who claimed to have cross-bred his
camels with his supercars, creating a high-speed beast. We felt this
would be the ideal transport should we encounter uncharted desert in
Italy.
Two fine beasts were secured
through a new form of bartering
known as 'futures trading',
meaning we will pay for the
camels with our eldest daughter,
who doesn't exist.
The lack of a vasectomy scar was
a valuable bargaining tool in this
new digital economy.
Thankfully we found the
architecture suitably inspiring
for the conception of a daughter.
We'll probably name her Mary.
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A Visit to the King
Rome, Italy, 11-6-2019
Full of hope and courage, we made landfall at the sleepy trading
outpost known as Rome, gateway to the Italian Wilderness.
The villagers were most welcoming, with immediate and abundant
offerings of food, water and telescopic selfie sticks. Being culturally
sensitive types, we declined all offers of trade until we had paid
homage to the king and been granted trading rights.
The king usually lives in the biggest hut, so we rode the camels up a
nearby hill and sighted a likely looking residence over yonder.
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Gaining an audience with the king appeared easy at first, however the
guards became hostile when Lexie confessed to mistaking a catholic
church in Ballarat as the 53rd pub, and downing some holy water in a
shot glass. She was banned from entering the Hall of the King,
entrusting the rest of us with the trade negotiations.
The king was an expressionless man, some would say stone-faced. His
large and elaborate hut made us feel small and insignificant. He wore
a long, white robe and spoke in a strange dialect. Whilst we couldn't
understand everything that was said, we gathered that correct
protocol was to throw a virgin into the Holy Mountain of Fire, which
seemed reasonable in the circumstances.
He gave us an instruction manual and pointed south.
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Before leaving civilisation for the Italian Wilderness we made sure we
were properly attired. The villagers seemed like a practical bunch, so
we followed their example and purchased a range of outfits suitable
for all weather extremes and a variety of terrains.
The outfits helped us blend in with the villagers without causing a fuss
and making them wary of trading with us. As the first outsiders
encountered by many Italians, we didn't want to appear threatening
in any way.
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When adventuring, we always examine the personality of the local
inhabitants – in this case, to help understand why they have never
bothered to cross their continent.
A tour of the village of Rome made this fairly obvious as they are in a
perpetual state of construction. Many of the buildings appear to have
been started centuries ago, and are overly ambitious given the
primitive stone construction methods.
For example, building a major sports stadium out of large stones is a
ridiculous notion and, consequently, Italians have nowhere to play
cricket. And there are so many people wearing whites!
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We also consider ourselves de facto teachers, and regard it as our
solemn duty to share our knowledge with primitive peoples.
The Romans clearly have the potential to achieve great things. They
just need to concentrate on careful planning and sound management
principles. They need to staff their teams with some
completer-finishers to better synchronize with their creative skills as
they move forward into the future in the upcoming decades.
So we took the opportunity to confiscate archaic broadsheet printed
media from a couple of villagers, and give them smartphones. See
how much fitter, happier and productive they are? They'll be able to
finish building Rome in a day, and we recommended starting with
the cricket stadium!
They took to Hi-Vis safety shorts immediately.
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Our final task before leaving Rome was to secure ample supplies of
drinking water. It would be foolish to go adventuring into a potential
desert without that precious liquid. Thankfully there were many
freshwater springs to be found throughout Rome.
At the best springs there were long queues of villagers performing a
'thanks for the water' ritual. This involves sitting on the edge of the
spring, fluffing one's hair, pouting seductively and being
photographed for socmed. The photo is checked for likability and, if
unsuitable, the villager gesticulates wildly.
After some practise, we were able to perform the ritual quite well and
were permitted to fill our water bags.
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Route Map – The South
13-6-2019
Our first attempt to cross the country involved travelling south, as
directed by the King of Rome. This path would take us along the coast
of Italy until we found the Holy Mountain of Fire.
With our camels fully laden with travelling clothes and bags of spring
water, and with the king's instruction manual in hand, we were ready
to begin the adventure!
We enlisted a local to guide us to the outskirts of Rome from where
we could travel independently. The Romans had grown quite fond of
us by then, and wrote good luck messages on Archie's hat.
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Future Adventurer Notes (FAN) page:
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The Holy Mountain of Fire
Mt Vesuvius / Herculaneum, 15-6-2019
We bore southwards from Rome seeking the Holy Mountain of Fire of
which the king spoke. The camels reached speeds of 292kmh
according to their on-board screens. The futures traders in Dubai
certainly knew their game. The camels tired after an hour at that
pace, so we traded them for some stable blue-chip horses at the local
stock exchange.
On the fourth hour, we came across a mighty volcano that we
concluded must surely be the Holy Mountain of Fire! We sought
lodging in a quaint hillside stable with a superb swimming pool, but
were denied entry due to an online reservation mix-up.
Needing shelter from the constant 29 degree days with light winds
and blue skies, we took lodgings in a more modern stable with many
white tiles and a jacuzzi on the roof that had views of the Holy
Mountain of Fire. From here, we surmised, we could wait for ideal
weather, plan our ascent and find a virgin to sacrifice.
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Lexie was pretty sure she’d packed a virgin in her toiletry bag, but it
could not be found amid the hair products. With a window of ideal
climbing weather approaching, a tough decision was necessary –
which of our innocent children would we sacrifice?
As we set out for the holy mountain, where no other westerner had set
foot, we kept our plans a secret from the children. Instead, we mused
over which eminent Australian we would name the mountain after.
After robust debate, we settled on a working title of Mount
Pellissimo.
As we neared the top, we told Leo the good news that he wouldn't
have to walk down again. He seemed okay with that and peered over
the rim, contemplating how long he had to live. Archie looked pretty
pissed though, knowing he'd have to walk back down.
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Then, a miracle happened! Thunder rumbled and a sign appeared
saying ‘danger, do not climb over the fence'. A flash of lightning
struck Lexie in the midriff, instantly charging her smartphone. This
was helpful; we were now able to interpret the king's instruction
manual using a translation app.
It turned out we boys may have been slightly off the mark with the
virgin sacrifice thing. Depending on tonal inflections, one might
instead interpret the trade protocol as 'make sure you have at least
one gelato and an Aperol Spritz each day'.
We learnt a lesson that day on the dangers of assumptions. (The word
'assume' derives from "makes an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me'".) Imagine
what the world would be like today if society was founded on
centuries-old, random interpretations of ancient languages! Imagine!
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Anyway, the very next day Mount Pellissimo erupted, burying our
lodgings in ash. Thankfully we were at the beach at the time. We
naturally interpreted the eruption as a sign of displeasure from the
gods – perhaps Mount Pellissimo is not an acceptable name?
Whilst the surviving villagers had lost their homes and relatives, this
was nothing compared to the loss of our designer adventuring outfits.
We tried to convince them to stop wailing and start digging, however
they refused to listen to sense and continued to beat their chests and
perform wild gesticulations.
There was nothing of ours that could be salvaged. We'd be crossing
the Italian Wilderness in our board shorts and thongs.
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The Big Buzzy Things
Lattari Mountains, 16-6-2019
With that wee drama behind us, we continued south along the coast,
seeking a path inland through the mountains. The mountains met the
sea on one side and the sky on the other, and it seemed there was no
way through them into the vast Italian Wilderness.
We constructed a makeshift cable car to transport us up to a nearby
ridge to scout for a crossing. Sadly, there was still no obvious path
through the mountains, mainly because it was misty and we couldn't
see very far.
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We encountered many large flying insects, most likely new species,
and named them 'Big Buzzy Things 1, 2, 3' etc. Leo predicted that
these new species could potentially be gigantic in the warmer air at
sea level, and we might be in peril if they were to become cross with
us.
It seemed the only option was to return to sea level and continue
along the coast by sea, and skirt around the southern edge of the
mountains. For this we would need some kind of floating vessel, or a
pod of friendly dolphins.
Deciding that the floating vessel was a better option, we harvested
some timber for a raft and took the cable car back to sea level.
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Geology and Fauna
Vico Equense, 17-6-2019
As predicted by our wildlife expert, there were abundant giant insects
at sea level, predominantly wasps of the genus Vespas Piaggius. They
nested in caves in the cliff faces, which were made entirely of cheese.
Hence, this area is known as the Cheesy Regions.
The wasps also construct vast vertical nesting complexes, similar to
termite mounds, and also made of cheese. These are often identical
and situated close to railway lines.
Being related to the hapless citizens of Rome, the inhabitants of this
region are incapable of building homes for themselves. It is possible
that the inhabitants employ the wasps to create the caves, but more
likely that they simply move in with them.
Many of the caves were adorned with colourful prayer flags and
appeared quite homely.
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The inhabitants ride the wasps to and from their caves, representing a
remarkable example of co-habitation between human and insect.
This arrangement manifests as a primitive cheese mining industry,
with the cave dwellers selling their diggings in ramshackle stores
lining the dusty streets.
The wasps themselves have devolved from dangerous predators to
faithful companions and family members, and often mimic human
behaviour. For example, teenage male wasps wear muscle shirts.
When not being ridden, many wasps congregate in ghettoes where
they drink a local tonic known as ‘Tustroek’. This makes them
compliant with the wishes of the humans.
As they age, the wasps lose weight and the strength to transport
humans. At this point they are retired and chained up at train
stations where they slowly decompose.
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Positive Vibes
Amalfi Coast, 18-6-2019
We constructed a raft and sailed southwards along the coast, hoping
we wouldn’t awaken the Kraken or fall off the edge of the earth. We
heard many sirens, possibly ambulances, but just in case we stuffed
our ears with cheese to avoid their murderous song.
Battling a hurricane, and with the cliffs of cheese rearing ever higher
and steeper, we spied a possible route inland at Positano. Rumour
was that many people spy a possible route at Positano.
The hurricane pushed us to a barren cove known as Amalfi. From
there we made our way back along the coast to Positano.
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Ahh, Positano! A play space for beautiful people who want or need to
be seen – actors, models and aspiring socmed influencers.
Interestingly, Positano is the sister city to Negatano, a cold war era
industrial city in North Korea, and a play space for people who don't
want or need to be seen – ex-cons, the grotesque and those who
maintain MySpace pages.
Visitors to Positano are invited to partake in a local game. The aim is
to match the mooring location of the visiting luxury cruiser with the
number of thousand socmed followers the owners' partner has. The
prize is a photo shoot with the Italian mens cricket captain and
vice-captain.
Note their ripped trousers from the substandard playing surface of
the Colosseum.
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Despite our best efforts, we failed to recognise anyone in Positano. We
attempted to blend in by posting numerous artistic photos of us on
socmed. These were noted as exceptional by the local witchdoctor,
who demanded that one of us marry the equally artistic daughter of a
local mining magnate, to bring good fortune to the cheese harvest.
We learned that the daughter was artistic in a non-conformist way,
spending each day in her cave listening to VoiVod, and posting
photos on socmed of her doll collection, crucified upside down. Her
mother was hoping for a grandchild soon.
As the following day was Leo's 13th birthday and we hadn't yet got
him a present, this seemed perfect. We readily agreed to a marriage
between Leo, Adventurer and Wildlife Expert, and Aurora, Spirited
Daughter of a Mining Magnate – with lots of money.
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Leo's Wedding
Positano, 19-6-2019
We began the wedding day with a traditional breakfast of Coco Pops,
Nutella pastries, chocolate cake and donuts, followed by a hastily
convened bucks party. How we wished for our lost clothes! Luckily
Leo found some synthetic purple pants at the flea market.
The gown and cake were big, enough to clothe and feed the whole
village. The ceremony was beautiful, with the bride landing on the
beach astride a gorgeous, black wasp (Vespas Piaggius).
During the reception, Aurora took issue with the expectation that she
smile for photos, and when the band didn't know any Type O
Negative, she became positively violent and began to smash the place
up. We locked ourselves in a cave toilet, ate our way through the wall
and slipped out of town on our raft.
We noticed later that she 'liked' our socmed photos (next page).
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Route Map – The North
19-6-2019
We escaped Positano by sea and made our way back along the coast to
retrieve our supercamels, who were pleased to see us. We sped
northwards in search of an easier path inland. Leo's in-laws pursued
us for a while, waving their selfie sticks, but they couldn't keep up
with the supercamels.
In summary, the mountainous southern region of Italy is impassible,
at least by camel or horse. The chance of an arranged marriage is very
high, as is the risk of being struck by lightning.
Future expeditions to the south of Italy may consider bringing a large
and hungry team to eat through the mountains. This would be fairly
time-consuming. Alternately, a targeted program of cross-breeding
between the Dubai supercamels and the native wasps (Vespas
Piaggius) to create a flying beast of burden would enable easy
passage over the mountains.
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FAN page:
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The Swollen River
Lucca, 20-6-2019
After several days of hard riding through arid desert, we reached the
village of Lucca on the banks of a mighty river. The river was swollen
by floodwaters and we were unable to cross. We were faced with a
lengthy wait for the waters to subside.
The children armed themselves with crossbows and kept watch in
case Leo's in-laws found us.
A kindly villager granted us the use of his basement in a straw hut
close to the swollen river. His daughter warned us not to swim
without washing our feet first. She wasn't interested in marriage.
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Each day we sent the children into the water to check the current, and
each day they nearly drowned, declaring it way too strong to attempt
a crossing.
This caused many anxious moments for us, particularly when their
heads went under water. We advised them not to drown, and they
actually listened.
After several days with no change to the water level, we grew curious
as to where such a vast amount of water was coming from and
thought about having a look around.
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The country in and around Lucca is flat, with mountains in the
distance from where the water flows. The villagers appeared to be
dabbling in basic agriculture, an advancement on the hunter-gatherer
existence of the savages we met in the south.
They had even attempted to build a basic water distribution system –
an aquaduct. While it looked impressive, it was either incomplete or
didn't work because many of the villagers still gathered water by
hand from public taps.
As teachers, we offered our superior troubleshooting skills to look
into the problem. An extensive Ishikawa analysis uncovered the root
cause – someone had built a motorway through the middle of the
aquaduct. They thanked us warmly when we pointed this out, and
gesticulated wildly at the farmer who built the motorway.
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Archie's Nutrition Guide
21-6-2019
Archie busied himself by creating a diet for us using ingredients found
growing wild throughout Italy, such as fruits, tubers and ancient
grains. This would ensure we would always have food and our energy
levels would be optimal for hardcore adventuring.
Breakfast:
Bowl of Coco Pops with full cream milk
Selection of pastries filled with Nutella or glazed with sugar
Chocolate cake
Mid-morning snack: A lolly
Lunch:
Combination of bread, cheese and cured meat (e.g. leftover pizza)
Can of lemon or orange soda
Afternoon snack: Gelato (two flavours in a cone)
Five o'clock snack:
Selection of cheeses and cured meats with sliced cucumber and carrot
Bread, crackers and chips
Can of lemon or orange soda
Dinner:
House bread
Pizza with cured meat, cheese and mushrooms
Can of lemon or orange soda
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Introducing Mary
Lucca, 22-6-2019
One evening, as we kept vigil on the recliners beside the swollen river,
Lexie mentioned she had noticed a gradual thickening around her
middle regions. Just then, a shooting star arced across the sky –
clearly a sign from the gods that Lexie was pregnant!
That explained why so many Italians kept saying 'prego' to us.
It was certainly an immaculate conception, caused by the lightning
strike Lexie copped on Mount Pellissimo. We always refrain from
intimate relations while adventuring, allowing us to plan and execute
efficiently. And we always stink to high heaven.
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Without getting too far ahead of ourselves, we've decided to name her
Mary. As she will be spending her life in Dubai, she'll be wearing a
veil of some sort. We can already imagine what she's going to look
like ...
We'd been intending to mark our trail across Italy so future
adventurers could follow in our footsteps, but hadn't settled on a
suitable method. Mary was the answer. We'd place little statues,
frescoes and stencils of her as trail markers wherever we went.
With plenty of time to kill, we set to work carving numerous statues
and stencil templates of her as we waited by the swollen river. It was
therapeutic to say the least.
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The Grand Piano
Lucca, 23-6-2019
The days grew into nights and back into days again, and still the river
remained impassible. We feared Leo's in-laws would catch up with us
if we didn't find a way forward.
The villagers who eked out an existence along the river bank told us
tales of a vast inland sea, which fed the river. This seemed plausible
and we adventurers love the discovery of an inland sea. Suddenly we
had clarity and purpose – we'd follow the swollen river upstream into
the wild interior of Italy, then down the other side to Florence. Easy!
This plan reminded us of our heroes, Burke and Wills, who proved the
existence of the vast inland sea
in the centre of Australia. It
would be wonderful to go down
in history alongside those
hipster icons of adventuring. If
only we could grow a decent
beard between us.
Turning to things within our
control, we resolved to emulate
our heroes and equip our
expedition with a grand piano.
The lack of one probably caused
our failure in the south.
With renewed vigour, we
dragged our cheese-laden bums
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off the recliners and went to the market in Lucca to source the
equipment and supplies necessary for a river expedition. Camels are
renowned for their prowess in an aquatic environment, so all we
really needed was a grand piano.
Lucca is surrounded by large walls to keep unhygienic people out. Or
cats in, depending on your point of view. We were able to enter
undetected by the guards as the whole town was busy gesticulating
wildly because someone's cat had escaped.
Some people were quite pleased for the cat in it's dash for freedom
and expressed their support and emotions through the ancient
medium of graffiti.
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The villagers were pleased to see us again since we restored their
water supply, and were only too happy to sell us information on the
whereabouts of a grand piano.
In the village lived a layabout named Giacomo Puccini, who spent his
days banging out immature melodies on his piano instead of helping
gather water. His peers were only too happy to lead us to his hut and
help confiscate his piano. He wasn't happy but we made it clear his
amateur ramblings would suffer bad reviews on socmed if he didn't
comply. Wisely, he did. We promised him fame one day and left a
statue of Mary in his hut so our followers could find him easily.
At the market we procured several tonnes of cheese imported from
the mines in the south. Finally, for the safe gestation of Mary, we
bought a cart so Lexie could adventure in first class comfort.
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Readers Competition
Lucca, Tuscany, 23-6-2019
In 24 words or less ...
What is this bloke doing and why does he look so guilty?
Enter now and be in the running to win a used grand piano and the
chance to accompany us on our next adventure!
Terms and conditions:
1. Entries must be submitted in Latin, using quill and ink on papyrus.
2. Address entries to Mary Manboub, Dubai.
3. Send scanned copies to lagestazionesalvaggia@gmail.com
4. 'Next adventure' may mean a drive to an outer suburb of
Melbourne early on a wintry Sunday morning to keep the score of a
junior football match.
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Route Map – Eastwards
24-6-2019
Finally we were heading inland, towards Florence. The camels swam
strongly against the current, keeping the piano out of the water. We
used machetes to clear the scrub along the banks, creating a path
along which to haul Lexie and Mary.
We unearthed a surprising number of rocks of cubic rectangular form.
These we used to construct bridges across the trickier spots of the
river. We named the bridges after great Australian bridge builders –
Hanson, Bolt, Warner, Dutton, etc.
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Several miles into the wilderness, Leo spotted a unique waterfowl that
looked like a duck and sounded like a duck, but most definitely was
an entirely new species. Unable to photograph it before it quacked
off, he produced a sketch in case we didn't see another, thus losing
the species to science forever. We named it the 'scott', after our Prime
Minister. We think he'll be pleased.
FAN page:
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The Inland Sea
Venice, 24-6-2019
Right on sunset one evening, the river we were following opened out
into a wide expanse of water, undoubtedly an inland sea. We all
solemnly shook hands and congratulated ourselves on our
determination and foresight.
We were lucky. Archie's diet hadn't worked out and we had survived
on wild mushrooms and tubers. We were feeling quite delirious and
hadn't been sleeping well – probably cheese withdrawals.
As the sun set further we glimpsed in the distance a village floating on
the inland sea. This was likely a mirage or an optical illusion. Tired
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from our bridge-building journey, we decided to rest on the shore for
a while and play acid jazz on the piano. It sounded great.
We were just thinking about water transport to cross the inland sea,
when out of the blue a native man in an elegant rowboat pulled up on
the shore.
As we were likely the first westerners he had encountered, we took the
usual precautions and communicated with him via interpretive
dance, with a piano accompaniment in C sharp.
He understood our dance and agreed to transport us across the inland
sea. Sadly, his boat wasn't big enough for the camels, and since they
don't like salt water, we waved them goodbye and sent them off in a
southerly direction with the piano.
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The boatman was in no hurry and casually rowed us out into the open
sea. After a while the mirage of the floating village returned, and we
seemed to be headed straight for it, along with many other identical
rowboats, with villagers dressed just like our pilot.
Fearing a trap, or another marriage, we demanded to be taken to their
leader, hoping he would know the King of Rome. The boatman
nodded and smiled and rowed us down a narrow canal, where we
were seized by invisible hands and thrown into the lunatic asylum.
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In Your Wildest Dreams
Venice, 25-6-2019
We languished in the cells for several hours before we started to
panic. Deprived of their basic rights (gelato and wifi), the children
began to show signs of genuine insanity. Imagine the state they
would be in if they were locked up for weeks, months or years. They'd
forget what gelato was altogether.
Using her smartphone, Lexie quietly opened the cell door and peeped
out. The place was deserted. We tiptoed down the corridor and
happened upon a well-stocked armory, with pictorial instructions for
use of the weapons painted on the walls and ceilings.
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The maddened children armed themselves, declared war on 'not
having gelato', and set off to find someone to maim. But the place was
completely deserted. Perhaps they'd gone to the cricket?
Taking advantage of this, we indulged in a quick game of Happy Royal
Families, with Kingy and Queeny and our two brave darling Princies.
It was fun sitting on a throne collecting taxes and ordering
beheadings, occasionally waving out the window to our grovelling
subjects. After a while though, we didn’t feel amused.
We thought about adjourning to the chapel for a game of priests and
altar boys, but Lexie canned the idea since she wouldn't be allowed to
play. Instead, we left a magnificent nude statue of Mary in a
prominent place and headed out into the village square.
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The square was also devoid of human life. There was, however, a large
number of statues, many of them on top of buildings. We assumed
that the village had started sinking, so everyone climbed on the roof
with their pet lions and one of our camels, and then the gods
punished them for locking up Mary by turning them all into stone. It
made sense at the time.
We thought about applying the kiss of life, but it didn't work out so
well for a swan that looked like it had tried the same trick. The two
people without eyes are Venetian Blinds.
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Lost and Found
Venice, 26-6-2019
Dazed and confused, just like Burke and Wills, we tried to return to
the narrow canal where we were seized to find the villager with the
elegant rowboat. Perhaps we could garotte him and steal his boat.
Instead we found ourselves lost among a maze of streets and canals,
along which the ubiquitous boatmen transported other poor souls,
presumably to the lunatic asylum. It is likely these boatmen are evil
robots who are impervious to the wrath of the gods.
We waved and yelled to the passengers to warn them, but they just
smiled and waved, and took our photographs. The price of fame ...
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Eventually, Vaporetto 5.2 turned up and we were able to escape from
the deserted floating village. We disembarked at a pleasant beach,
where a nice man in a white coat asked us to describe our experiences
at sea. He took copious notes, presumably for his novel, and asked us
to stay awhile in his sheltered workshop.
He administered gelato to restore the chemical imbalances in our
bodies, and calmed our minds by engaging us in the production of
gorgeous glass ornaments of Mary. We hope to find a pool room
somewhere in Italy deserving of these.
Mary herself underwent a Himalayan seashell meditation with
dancing Buddhas to restore her modesty.
There was no sign of the camels or the piano.
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Route Map – Upwards
Venice Beach, 27-6-2019
After a successful recovery we turned our thoughts to adventuring
once again. By our estimation, we were probably only halfway into
our quest. Looking eastwards we could see a mighty range of
mountains capped with snow and glaciers. Crossing this range was to
be our next challenge.
We came up with three courses of action:
1. Wait for the camels to turn up in a pregnant state after mating with
native giant wasps (Vespas Piaggius).
2. Assume the mountains are made of gelato and eat our way through
using giant spoons made from trees trunks.
3. Walk over them.
The vote was 3–1 in favour of option number 2. Mary abstained.
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FAN page:
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Introducing the Dogs
Venice Beach, 28-6-2019
Expecting snow ahead, we made arrangements to secure sleds and
some dogs to haul them. There are many things to consider when
assembling a dogsled team, mentioned here for the benefit of the
amateur. Dogs should be of similar size, strong and loyal, of even
temperament, and include a mix of leaders and followers.
We assembled the finest hounds in the district. Many were lacking in
self-esteem because of their pathetic names, so we empowered them
with new personal brands. We will, however, include their original
names (in parentheses) so their previous owners may learn of their
exploits as real dogs.
Slayer (Leona)
Zombie (Fausta)
Angel of Death (Dolce)
Scourge (Tino)
Wrath (Allegra)
Widowmaker (Aria)
Vengeance (Catarina)
Mad Bastard (Bacio)
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Nation Builders
Corvara, 30-6-2019
Feeling as fully prepared as any 19th century Antarctic explorer, we
set off towards the mountains with the dogs happily yipping along
behind us. They bonded quite well, but weren't as loving towards us
as the camels. Perhaps they didn't like the leftover hay we fed them,
but there were plenty of gelato treats ahead.
We made good progress and before long we were in the foothills.
Happy to be back on the road again, we lunched in a pretty valley and
had a celebratory glass of urine (frizzante, of course).
Leo upsized his, as usual. Teenagers ...
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There were abundant trees to harvest for dogsled materials, which we
knew we'd need once we reached the ice fields. Being innovative
adventurers, we designed and built a couple of dogsleds that doubled
up as recliner lounges so we could relax and admire the view
occasionally.
We built some swings for the children as well, which could convert
into a cable car for the long, steep bits. Finally, we pioneered the
design of a mountain shelter with the leftover timber, which we felt
would come in handy.
The Italian hill tribes who frequent the area are a shy and wary people
who live in the treetops. We caught the occasional glimpse of a face
peering at us through the foliage, particularly when we accidentally
cut down one of their homes.
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Continuing upwards, we reached a saddle at 1300m and inhaled our
first view of the mountains – a first for any westerner. Inspired, we
decided to construct a mountain shelter at each stopping place that
had a good view. Consequently we didn't travel very far some days,
but we sure built a lot of mountain shelters.
Obtaining the timber for these had some unfortunate side-effects for
the hill tribes, with the number of homeless beginning to swell
rapidly. They followed us around, observing us, and eventually
mimicked us by attempting to build their own mountain shelters.
Being related to the Romans, their early attempts were unfinished
and collapsed shortly after. They also demonstrated the same
inability to maintain their sporting facilities, evident in the condition
of their table tennis stadium.
Also evident among the hill
tribes was a poor awareness of
OH&S, particularly when trying
to move furniture. Their
technique, while innovative,
looked certain to result in a back
injury.
We decorated many of the
mountain shelters with frescoes
of Mary.
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Feeling pretty happy with our progress, and light-headed from
reduced oxygen levels, we frolicked gaily in the meadows among our
hundreds of mountain shelters. The hill tribes were most appreciative
and gesticulated wildly.
It was also the last day of the financial year, which has always been a
special day for us. Lexie started doing her tax return immediately,
while the rest of us whittled trees into giant spoons, which we would
need for the mountains of gelato ahead of us.
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Guide to Naming Mountains
Dolomites, 1-7-2019
Having discovered these magnificent mountains, we were faced with
the daunting task of naming them all. Faced with a shortage of
eminent Australians, we employed the Swiss naming convention,
which is a single word name based on the appearance of the peak and
your feelings upon first sight of it.
Lexie recorded all the names in her Holly Hobby scrapbook, carefully
marking the locations and approximate heights to assist future
geological surveys of the area. Below are but a few of them.
Can you match the mountain name to its photo?
Named by Chester, who has a solid grasp of Germanic languages:
The Schnitzelskoffer Massif, the bulkiest range in the region
The Mighty Schnauzersnuzer, or 'Sleeping Sausage Dog'
Named by Leo and Archie:
Mount Stupid
Canwegonow
Ineedwifi
Named by Lexie:
Mount Pointypink
The Moocow
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Into the Frozen Wasteland
Brenta Dolomites, 1-7-2019
Feeling comfortable with the altitude and our educational and
geographic achievements, we left the forests and meadows behind
and approached the mountains proper. Immense spires of rock
pierced the sky, and in the valleys between them lay the vast fields of
gelato we assumed we would find.
Our spirits were high and we joked about the different flavours we
were likely to encounter. Rocky Road was a certainty.
The children were hoping for watermelon and melon.
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With no need to carry food or water, we travelled light and the dogs
made good progress up the hill with the sleds. They were a well-oiled
machine by this stage; lean and hungry. Several days earlier they had
pack-hunted and eaten an elderly native on her way home from
market. It was the first protein they'd had since we abducted them.
They were looking forward to the gelato as well.
There was a moment of panic when a giant mole sprang from it's lair
and devoured Scourge (Tino), but Angel of Death (Dolce) took it out
very effectively. We used its hide to make several pairs of stylish
moleskin trousers (with zip-off legs), and processed the rest of it into
sausages and tasty puppy treats, in case the dogs had designs on us.
The gelato-capped peaks of Mount Stupid and The Mighty
Schnauzersnuzer soared above the trees.
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Finally, the trees petered out and we found ourselves in a vast valley
between two impressive peaks with flumes of melted gelato tumbling
into them.
We set up base camp on a ridge and piled up some rocks for a
windbreak. Hungry from our exertions, we took our spoons and
wandered up the nearest valley to sample it's wares. A sign pointed
out the various flavours and their calorific values.
The gelato was water-flavoured in the lower reaches, while up ahead it
was evaporating quickly, affecting visibility. Lexie got cross and went
back to base camp for a mole sausage and a nap.
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As night closed in we resolved to rise early and make an attempt to
cross the mountains before the gelato began to evaporate again. The
dogs were alert to any further mole attacks. Lexie told stories of the
giant moles she fought in year 9 at Brighton High School.
We wondered why there exists no specific word for melted or
evaporated gelato, and amused ourselves by thinking of unique
words for them. Something as basic as water and steam, but not
waterlato and steamelato.
We settled on 'schmoosch' for molten gelato and 'schmog' for gaseous
gelato.
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The Deeds of the Dogs
Brenta Dolomites, 2-7-2019
We woke just before dawn under aerial attack from a giant spider,
which the dogs did not detect. Before we could react it had taken
Vengeance (Catarina), which meant more mole sausage for us.
We managed to pack pretty quickly that morning, not bothering to get
the washing off the line. Vengeance (Catarina) had lost a lot of weight
since we abducted her, so would be little more than a light snack for a
spider of that size. We could see it on top of Mount Stupid, dipping
Vengeance (Catarina) into the gelato like a furry cracker. We
wondered if it was watermelon or melon flavoured, and which was
best taken with Vengeance (Catarina).
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As we entered the neighbouring valley the path narrowed and
steepened, which made life difficult for the six remaining dogs. The
path then led through a thicket where giant insect-trapping flowers,
attracted by the cloud of flies milling about, took our mole sausages.
The flowers also took Zombie (Fausta), who attracted a lot of flies
too, dirty little mutt that he was.
Shortly after, an avalanche of schmoosch swept down the
mountainside and knocked poor Mad Bastard (Bacio) into a crevasse.
We could hear him yipping away down below and, assuming he was
hungry, we shovelled schmoosch into the crevasse until he stopped
yipping.
Pressing on, we skirted the left flank of Mount Stupid, turning back
when we came to a sheer cliff. On the the right flank we encountered
an enormous boulder blocking our path.
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Our last chance was up the middle, where fortune smiled on us.
Painted on the rock was the word 'limon', undoubtedly referring to
gelato, with directions. We struggled upwards through a tide of
water-flavoured schmoosch and reached an amphitheatre with
numerous opportunities to feast.
Again, a signpost pointed to the different flavours; also a bell,
presumably to attract service. We rang it enthusiastically and a native
with a gelato scoop appeared. She was immediately set upon by the
dogs. Poor Angel of Death (Dolce) copped a fatal blow with the scoop
before we could intervene.
Clearly we'd have to serve ourselves. We cunningly arranged the
remnants of the native to make it look like she was having a nap.
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Continuing into the amphitheatre, we tasted everything we could
reach but there was no limon, no rocky road, no watermelon or
melon. Things were looking grim: Archie had developed gelato
blindness, we'd lost five dogs, had no food and were wearing smelly,
moleskin pants. Faced with starvation, we simply had to eat one of
the dogs.
Poor Widowmaker (Aria) drew the short straw and we duly set fire to
his recliner sled. While Lexie and Leo searched the Web for a recipe,
Slayer (Leona) and Wrath (Allegra) wisely bolted over the hill, taking
the remaining sled with all the statues of Mary.
Energised after a hot meal, and unencumbered by dogs and sleds, we
followed their tracks over the rim and onto a sloping expanse of
gelato that led us gently down from the frozen wasteland to a warm
valley. Lexie slid on her behind to protect Mary.
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It was good to shed the moleskins, thaw out and see grass and trees
again. Leo washed his hair for the first time in weeks.
We gave up tracking Slayer (Leona) and Wrath (Allegra). Having
developed a deep distrust of humans, and being accessories to several
murders, we assume they kept running until they reached
Switzerland, scattering statues of Mary in their wake. This may cause
confusion for any pilgrims retracing our steps.
As a final act, a nearby mountain was named 'The Houndschnitzel' in
honour of the sacrifice made by Widowmaker (Aria).
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Route Map – Downwards
3-7-2019
We stopped by the shores of a pretty lake to build a shrine to
commemorate the first ever crossing of the mountains. Inside was a
statue of Mary. Out the front was an artillery shell with a coin slot, for
pilgrims to insert peace offerings.
As we prayed by the shore in the descending dusk, Leo spotted a
duck-like shape emerging from the murky depths. Thinking it might
be a scott, he scrabbled for his camera and fired off a shot. The photo
was dark and blurry, much like the famous photo of Nessie, except
this one was real.
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It was (mostly) unmistakable evidence of a new species of waterbird –
the scott. Suspecting that the lake was also nameless, we immediately
declared it Lake Scott, spiritual home of this new species. In further
homage to our head of state, we bestowed the title of Lake
Scott-Morrison, or Lake Scomo for short.
Again, we shook hands solemnly.
FAN page:
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The Big Swim for Science
Lago Iseo, 5-7-2019
Credibility is very important to adventurers. Without a specimen
(alive or dead) of the scott, or irrefutable photographic evidence, we'd
be the laughing stock of the scientific socmed community.
We set up a roster and refused to eat until we succeeded.
Leo kept watch at dusk each evening, in case the scott was a creature
of habit. Archie patrolled the shoreline in case it tried to escape on
land.
Lexie parked herself in an elevated position and continually
photographed the lake, hoping to fluke some evidence. The view was
slightly hampered by a Japanese maple. Consumption of Aperol
Spritz was important for her to remain attentive and focused.
She did a remarkable job of keeping the camera pointed at the lake as
she toppled over.
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After three days of vigilance for no result, we ran out of Aperol and
had to leave our posts. Around the shoreline from the shrine was a
modest collection of huts inhabited by an Italian fishing tribe, where
we bartered a fresco of Mary for some basic foodstuffs.
Lake Scomo is bordered on three sides by mountains that plunge
directly into the water. Consequently, the fishing tribes have never
been on flat land. They're either sitting on a boat or walking on the
side of a hill.
Evolution has shortened one of their legs to make it easier for them to
traverse the hillsides (in one direction). If these villagers ever venture
onto flat land, their natural gait takes them in a semicircle and back
into the hills again. Which is why this particular group have never
managed to cross their continent.
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We took thousands of photographs of the lake during the day and
spent the nights poring over them looking for any evidence of a scott.
There was great excitement when a waterborne creature was spotted
on the edge of a photo, but upon zooming in it was blurry, and only a
partial image.
Then, the moment we had been waiting for – a crystal-clear photo of a
scott resting on the shore. We shook hands solemnly, and then
gesticulated wildly. The local Italians joined in, waving yellow flags
and dancing in a circle, which is their only option really, given their
legs are different lengths.
Buoyed by our success, we vowed to catch one and bring it home to
Australia with us – alive. We imagined a national tour with it,
speaking at universities and pokie-pubs about this furthering of the
scientific knowledge of humankind.
It was hard to tell from the photographs exactly how big an adult scott
is, but we imagined it to be at least five feet tall. We spent the evening
making a trap for it, using roadkill as bait.
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At dawn, we crept down to the shore to set the trap and happened
upon a mother scott with her three scottlings scuttling along after
her. They were small enough to capture by hand!
Two of us immediately leapt into the lake to grab one, but one of us
got out again to join the children for a socmed photo.
Once all in the lake, we dog-paddled madly to corral the smallest
scottling. Even so, it got the better of us and broke through our
tackles easily. We prevented it from reaching the shore, herding it
into the middle of the lake where it would soon tire.
We dog-paddled after it for hours, eventually reaching the opposite
shore, totally exhausted. The scottling simply turned around and
went back to find its mum. Archie pointed at it threateningly, while
Chester mocked it, hoping to lure it ashore for a fight.
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We waded out of Lake Scomo with nothing but our boardies and
bikinis. Alive, clean, wrinkly and one step closer to Florence.
Nearby was a medieval ferry terminal, which was obviously a popular
place to recycle native wasps (Vespas Piaggius). Many had
decomposed completely and returned to the soil, leaving their
padlocks behind as a momento. It was a moving place, as it
demonstrated the complete lack of respect by humans towards
working animals, something we scientists and adventurers are very
passionate about.
So, reader – did you spot the scott in this chapter? Which page?
119

Maternal Instincts
Modena, 8-7-2019
Thankfully the land in front of us was gentle, with plentiful cropping
and husbandring of animals. We were about to pluck a goat to make
moccasins when a farming woman gesticulated wildly at us.
Sghe summoned us over and, after determining that we weren't from
around these parts, beckoned us to follow her. She led us into a large
barn, made a 'shh' gesture and motioned for us to peep through a
window. Lying in a bed, sleeping peacefully, was a camel.
The farmer said 'molti bambini' and led us to a nursery, where a
gorgeous litter of supercars lay – some idling, some screaming and
spewing gas. They were all swaddled in red and many were
numbered, possibly indicating the order in which they were born.
The midwives all wore red too. Chester was given a red shirt and
allowed to approach a baby.
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The woman led us to another barn where it was deja vu – another
sleeping camel and another litter of supercars. This lot were all
different colours, but had similar body shapes.
We suddenly understood what had happened. Our camels must have
been pregnant when we obtained them in Dubai, and they had
managed to find their way to Lake Scomo. Through evolution, the
supercar gene had become dominant, mostly eradicating the typical
camel features of humps and fur.
Mostly it had worked out okay, except for the red baby with three
eyes.
We looked around for another barn containing a litter of baby grand
pianos, but were unable to find one. The woman pointed at Lexie's
belly and said 'prego'. Mary must be starting to show.
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125

Godly Gnonna Aurora
Modena, 9-7-2019
Seeing the camels and their babies raised many questions for us in
light of the approaching birth of Mary. We felt unprepared, as it
hadn't exactly been a textbook gestation. Lexie had avoided all the
soft cheeses (reluctantly), but we weren't aware of a consensus on
mole sausages and hound schnitzel.
We had some reservations about handing Mary over to the camel
traders in Dubai, who might intend to cross-breed her with a camel
or a supercar. She would also receive many unsolicited 24-word
letters written on papyrus regarding the potential deeds of a
seedy-looking old man.
An immaculate conception can cause anxiety for the parents, and the
cracks were beginning to show. These were mostly because we'd worn
the same swimwear every day for several weeks, and the elastic
wasn't in tip-top condition to start with.
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Concerns were first raised about Lexie's mental capacity when she
claimed that the Italians were making up poems about Mary, and
gathering en masse to chant them. One of the poems made reference
to Mary having intimate relations with a woman named Grace. It
went on to suggest that Mary was the mother of her own father, and
was some kind of cannibal vampire who ate her own son and father,
and Grace, and drank their blood.
Preposterous and slanderous stuff indeed, that.
Vomiting is a respected pastime in this region, almost an art form,
and Lexie's morning sickness always drew warm accolades from the
locals. We became patrons of this art by carving and installing a
beautiful statue of a vomiting Mary in the public gardens. We had
plans to do a teenage friend holding her veil.
Consequently, bile is quite a popular beverage and readily available in
a range of colours at cafes, bars and fountains in the town square.
Lexie developed cravings for it (frizzante, chilled); further evidence of
her fragile state of mind. It was definitely a step up from urine, in the
digestive tract that is.
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Figuring that the crossing would never be completed without a
functioning leader, we sought to hire a Gestation Nonna (a Gnonna)
for Mary. Leo wrote some ads in the local hieroglyphic lingo, and also
posted them on socmed. We set up an interview room in a tower and
placed a statue of Hans Moleman out the front to ward off evil.
Applicants had to meet certain criteria. They must possess:
– the ability to read, evident by having read the ad and showing up
– physical fitness, evident by having climbed the tower
– compassion for the elderly wasps (Vespas Piaggius)
– no knowledge of any nasty poems about Mary
– the ability to produce bile upon request, artistically.
We set up a bucket on a rope for the applicants to vomit in.
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Before long a vast swarm of elderly wasps (Vespas Piaggius)
descended on the town square, transporting hopeful Gnonnas.
Parking was at a premium. Mild gesticulation was required.
We sat in our ivory tower awaiting the first applicant. Things didn't
start well. The first applicant felt the immaculate presence of Mary so
acutely that she kicked the bucket – as in, died of shock on the spot;
she didn't actually kick the vomit bucket. Figure of speech.
The next applicant did kick the vomit bucket, and spilt the bile. Fail.
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Things continued badly. An elderly applicant perished climbing the
stairs, and an exiting failure tripped over the body and plunged to his
death. Interviews were cancelled from that point on, and we
descended from the ivory tower in despair.
Then suddenly, there she was – striding confidently to the front of the
queue, a metaphor of the modern supplanting the ancient – our
Gnonna, and Leo's wife, Aurora. She had been following us on
socmed and had run away from Positano to find us. Realising that we
had suddenly gained a daughter, we immediately offered her the job,
and asked if she'd ever wanted to visit Dubai, where many women
wear black because death metal is very popular.
Archie earned a whack on the bum for making kissy-kissy noises at
Leo and calling his wife Godly G-Nonna.
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Route Map – The Missing Link
Modena, 10-7-2019
Godly G-Nonna Aurora took command and proved very resourceful
for a 14-year-old. She hot-wired a ute and displayed a tendency to
approach sharp corners at high speed. She had an extensive cassette
collection and drowned out the screaming of the engine with her
current favourite bands, Dying Fetus and Aborted.
Her choice of accommodation was economical, preferring to break
into abandoned buildings and sleep on cardboard boxes. It's hard to
say whether Aurora's unique brand of midwifery had an influence,
but Lexie claimed Mary almost joined the party several times on the
way to Florence.
As the east coast of Italy came into view, we wept and gesticulated
wildly. We'd done what no westerner had done before and would go
down in history alongside our heroes, Burke and Wills. We'd mapped
the first crossing of the Italian Wilderness.
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The Captivity Bell
Florence, 10-7-2019
As we approached the hamlet of Florence at an alarmingly high speed,
Aurora appeared genuinely pleased for us, and joined the celebration
by tooting the horn and screaming out the window. This helped clear
the footpath of pedestrians. She did a handbrakey outside a music
shop and went inside to find some rare Darkthrone tapes.
We felt she deserved a gift for her efforts, and peered around at the
shops. On offer were many items suitable for those on the cusp of
womanhood – miniature chests of drawers (white with gilt edging),
delicate cakes, dainty leather gloves - all beautifully crafted.
However, knowing how much she liked music, we bought her a bell
with which to play along to her favourite tapes. It was kept hidden so
we could present it with due ceremony in a picturesque setting at an
auspicious moment.
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After Aurora had finished shoplifting, we hid her among the crowd
until the security guards gave up looking. The crowd were gathered
outside an enormous and elaborate stone hut, which clearly belonged
to someone important, such as a queen.
Having visited the King of Rome at the beginning of the adventure, it
felt only right to visit the Queen of Florence at the end. The two of
them will be most surprised to learn that their villages are in the
same country! Hopefully they like each other and begin a simple
trading relationship. They might invite us back to help plan a route.
The number of villagers waiting to complain indicated that the queen
was doing a poor job. We overheard one villager lamenting the
shortage of Tustroek for her wasp (Vespas Piaggius). Another was
unable to purchase enough bile to keep his bar open. And all the
Queen does is moan about her useless subjects.
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We accepted that the queen was a very busy woman with a lot on her
plate, and unlikely to see us that day. Not wanting to make a fuss, we
planned our own celebration.
After a brief stroll around the village, we found the Walk of Fame in
the Botanic Gardens. We constructed the biggest star of all using
pieces of a mosaic that Aurora looted from a nearby hut. The owners
were shocked, and their daughter threw herself on the floor and wept.
Sensing a special occasion, the villagers began to gather around. Not
wanting to let them down, like their queen did, we arranged
entertainment in the form of a minstrel, hired to play arias exhorting
our virtues, deeds and adventures, as per this book.
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The minstrel, playing on a bridge, soon had the crowd transfixed.
When he sang about our final leg to Florence, we gathered closely
around Aurora and presented her with the bell. She looked at it for
half a minute, expressionless – probably overwhelmed.
We motioned for her to play along with the minstrel, at which point
she marched up to him and assaulted him with the bell. Once he was
lying prostrate on the ground, she simulated a lewd act with the bell,
threw it into the river, then demanded money from the crowd,
ourselves included.
The onlookers complied, assuming it was part of the show. Shortly
after, the queen's guards arrived and detained Aurora, who abused
them roundly.
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While an off-duty staff member from a supercar nursery searched the
river for evidence, Aurora was transferred to the cells and placed
under heavy guard by the army and a pair of stone lions.
Leo said he didn't care and hates her anyway, which is why they are
perfect for each other.
Meanwhile, news of the assault spread through Florence. A vigil was
held on the bridge, attended by a representative of the King of Rome,
who likes to stay abreast of lewd acts. People queued for a private
counselling session with the captain of the Italian women's cricket
team.
Without wanting to excuse Aurora's actions, this did put the future of
Mary at risk. We therefore made plans for a spectacular rescue to
etch our names even further into Italian folklore.
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We broke into the Da Vinci furniture hut using a window-smashing
technique Aurora taught us. Inside we found numerous sketches the
owner must have doodled while on the toilet.
Using these, Archie fabricated a large pair of wings from timber and
cloth, which could be deconstructed and re-arranged to resemble a
very large picture of the queen. Leo concentrated on gaining the
strength and flexibility to operate the wings.
Chester disguised himself as a military officer; Lexie as Adriana
Xenides, complete with a Wheel of Fortune. The children disguised
themselves as frescoes of the queen, whom we now referred to as
Moaning Loser.
Feeling prepared, we celebrated by having some gelato. We all had
watermelon and melon. Yep – watermelon and melon.
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The Flight from Florence
Florence, 11-7-2019
Note: all photos of Aurora's rescue have been suppressed to protect
the identities of the guards, who may have families.
As darkness approached, we enacted our plan. Lexie drove the ute
into the piazza and set up the Wheel of Fortune on the tray, in full
view of the guards. Upon hearing the great prizes on offer for military
personnel, such as a second hand Mercedes ute, the guards wandered
over to join in the fun.
While their backs were turned, Chester goose-stepped through the
gates and into the office, carrying Archie under his arm. Announcing
that the latest portrait of the queen had arrived, he hung Archie on
the wall in a prominent place. The office staff saluted him, and the
picture. The ruse was repeated with Leo and the transforming wings.
Meanwhile, one of the guards had won some watermelon and melon
gelato, causing much applause. Their office colleagues drifted to the
window to offer encouragement.
On cue, the children leapt from the wall. Archie transformed the big
picture into the wings, while Leo used his smartphone to free Aurora.
She threw her hands around his neck and affectionately pressed her
thumbs into his windpipe.
Leo climbed aboard the wings and gesticulated wildly to get airborne,
with Aurora clinging on for dear death. They flew over the wall and
into the descending night, in the direction of Dubai.
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Archie donned his disguise and Chester goose-stepped out with
Archie under his arm, announcing that the queen was displeased
with the likeness and wished it done again. The office staff muttered
'typical moaning loser' to themselves, and returned to Wheel of
Fortune, where a guard was on the verge of winning the Mercedes
ute.
With impeccable timing, Lexie gave away the ute and wound up the
game. While the guards celebrated, we disappeared into the crowd
and made our way to the airport.
We connected with Leo in Dubai. He had met with the futures traders
and introduced his 'sister' Aurora, who impressed them with her
brutal attitude, business acumen and preference for black clothing.
She was immediately employed to start a speculative cheese trading
relationship between Positano and Dubai, as well as arranging
concert tours by her favourite bands to further empower the women
of Dubai.
Leo promised to call her occasionally to ask for free tickets.
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The Mary Situation
Boston, USA, 18-8-2019
We returned to Melbourne to prepare for the ticker tape parade that
typically greets all famous adventurers. We are waiting for a response
from the government.
Chester journeyed to Boston, USA, where Lexie spent some formative
years, to seek evidence of her suitability for the immaculate
conception. Local guides confirmed that Lexie lived opposite a
church, where she may have prayed. Compelling.
Deep in the Italian ghetto the guides revealed an ancient statue of
Mary holding a baby. Without leaping to any wild conclusions, it is
likely that Mary is actually
pregnant as well. We'll probably
name her baby Grace, because
Mary is full of Grace according
to the poems ...
Opportunities abound for the
position of Godly G-Nonna.
Please apply to
lagestazionesalvaggia
@gmail.com
We look forward to hearing from
you.
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Acknowledgements
Boston, MA, 18-8-2019
The Scribe would like to thank:
Lexie Fall for organising the adventure and for not wearing her
gaiters. They aren't Gucci.
Leo and Archie for pulling stupid faces in every photo.
The King of Rome for trading permissions.
Fiona Maplestone for editing.
Nige from North Fitzroy for introducing the term 'socmed' (as heard
on the Coodabeen Champions).
Mick from Northcote, committed vegetarian, for sending a photo of a
dog roasting on the streets of Vietnam. This set a challenge of using
the classic adventurer line 'we had to eat one of the dogs today' in a
travel blog about Italy.
Nisha and John from Boston for clarifying the Mary Situation.
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