Postcards from Seville

Temperature: 40+ (celcius!)

Siesta: 1pm - 5pm

Cathedral: 3rd largest in the world

Survival Kit: Misting bottle & ice cream. Lots of ice cream.

Postcards from Granada

Butterflies and Hedgehogs

It must be all the free time I have these days, but I keep finding pretty things and collecting them. Today I filled my handbag with conkers - they were all over the ground near the museum we visited on an excursion, and now I don't know what to do with them. We don't have them in Australia (do we?) so I was just consumed with getting as many home as possible.

I think when you're not surrounded by everyone you know, when you don't have to go to work everyday or worry about the stresses of real-life, you starting finding joy in the little things. These days, simple colours make me really happy! I discovered Belgian illustrator Vincent Mathy via designworklife and all of a sudden I want to go out and buy his new book, Jour papillon ou jour hérisson? Then I want to keep it forever and read it to my children.

I also armed myself with 4 postcards from the museum - vintage posters advertising the Normandy region. At this rate, I'll be arriving home in a shipping container surrounded by conkers and paper goods. It's probably a nicer way to travel anyway!

Donner l'envie d'y aller

I think a good photograph makes you feel something.

Someone was looking at my (printed) photo album the other day, at some photos of Greece. They saw a café, a dog, and a Greek pastry. He said "These are great, Kate." I said thanks. Then he said "I want to go to this café. I want to cuddle this dog, and I want to eat this pastry."

That was the best compliment I'd ever received. In French this is known as donner l'envie d'y aller, to give an inclination to go there. And when I take photos of places I've been, that's what I want to do. I want people to feel some of what I felt when I took it.

Coming shortly: Spain. Let me know how you feel!

Goes Like Lightning

Oh la, cette semestre passent à la vitesse de l’éclair. Déjà l'automne!

It's nearly October! I'm 2 weeks into a 12 week semester and the year is absolutely flying. Does anybody else feel the same way?

I've been writing about visiting Italy, which was already a month ago. Since then I've also visited Spain and played tour guide in Paris for the second time... and even that feels like a distant memory.


The sun is setting at 8pm, a far cry from the midnight sun of Sweden, or even the 10pm dusk in Edinburgh. I left Caen at the start of summer and now I'm back with socks on my feet, eating soup for dinner. The tan lines are fading quickly and I'm already looking for cheap flights back to Australia. Slow down! I'm not ready to go home! I know I can't stop the inevitable passing of time, but I've got so much booked in already, it will go even quicker. What's that saying about having fun? A trip to Dublin, 2 weeks in Malta, a little more of France, then exams and Christmas (where else but Sweden)...

But for now, I've settled back in to Apartment 10C. I've got new housemates - lovely Spanish girls who cook and clean, which means communal dinners and a tidy kitchen afterwards - domestic bliss! Speaking of food, here's some we prepared earlier:

We've got 4 more Aussies, and everyone is getting along nicely. We're off to Dublin for Katie's birthday soon, with more escapades in the works as we speak. Yes, Caen Round 2 is looking to be quite the ride...

What I learnt in French today

Read the translation or watch the film below (it's really cute!)

The Family Tree

Monday 24th August, 2009: Fossano, Italy

L-R: Kate Paneros, Eliana Panero, Mario Panero, Mark Paneros, Monica Panero, Bronwyn Paneros

What do you think of when you hear the words Family Reunion? Is it smelly old aunts pinching your cheeks? Checking out your attractive second-cousin? Having to listen to your Grandpa tell the story about when he got his driver's licence?

A reunion really means to reunite, to get everyone together again. But what if you've never met? Not as daunting as Meet the Parents, because they're family - they have to like you. But driving to Fossano in our rented Fiat on Monday night, that was exactly what we were going to do. For the first time, we would meet our relatives, the Panero family.

Not having spoken English since high school, Monica Panero, together with Mario, had researched the family tree and organised dinner for us. She invited Eliana Panero, and others, but as it was summer holidays many were away on vacation. This did nothing to dampen the effect of such an event - upon meeting Monica, my Dad was visibly moved. Monica's father and my Dad's grandfather were cousins, and this was the closest Dad had ever been to his roots. From one black and white photo, to being in the same room as family on the other side of the world, I'd have to think my Dad was pretty pleased with the result.

There was much discussion about who was married to whom, who had which children and who was living where. Throughout dinner, another feast of local Piedimontese dishes, we got to know the people we'd come to meet. Eliana brought out a huge map of her family tree, and we filled in the question marks on ours, learning more dates and occupations and family gossip. When Francesco's father Guglielmo returned to Italy from Australia, he lived in a house built by his brother Mario, Eliana's father. She offered to show us this house the next day.

After dinner we were joined by a journalist for the local Fossano newspaper. Mario recounted the tale and we broke open the Spumante to celebrate. The following image is what I have so far of the Panero Tree, covering 6 generations. It would seem Francesco was a popular name for the boys! Not all details are here, as we are still compiling some information but it's a good start.

Thank God for the internet.

The Panero Family Tree (in draft format)

A Day Out in Turin

Caffe Torino, one of the first cafés in town - gorgeous interior and good coffee.

One of four Roman City gates into Turin. The battlements date from 1404.

Two statues of Caesar flank the Porta Palatina gates - the man enjoyed his own image.

Keeping clean in the city streets.

Home to the infamous Shroud of Turin, which is kept in the royal chapel of the Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist.

Every self-respecting Italian has one.

Personal favourite of the day - Mum, Dad and Super Mario.

Regent Arcade, eat your heart out. I want to shop here!

The best Continental Deli ever - Eataly!

Shelves and shelves of delicious Italian gourmet produce.

You can dine in for lunch, amongst the butchers for a steak, or the fishmongers for spaghetti marinara.

Pesto, which originated from Genova in Northern Italy.

The least stinky fish market I've ever been too.

I'm not a fan of capsicum, but Eataly's packaging and presentation is beautiful.

Turin was the birthplace of FIAT, or Fabbrica Italiana Automobili Torino. I was unlucky enough to own a FIAT Regatta 100s once upon a time.

What was once the factory is now a shopping mall, but the original test track is still on the roof.

Super Mario

Southbound through Chambéry, we headed west at St-Jean-de-Maurienne, and sat gaping at the alpine scenery as we sped through the mountains. Great cliff faces loomed over the tracks, skirted by forest that thinned the higher it got, until the tops were void of all vegetation. The snow that usually capped these peaks had melted, such that the rivers alongside the rails flowed fast and full. Our third stop was Modane, where the douane (customs) came aboard. We left France through a tunnel, and arrived in Italy on the other side, in Bardonecchia. The douane had a catch:

“Monseiur, is this your passport?”
“Ouais.”

Cue nervous twitching and shifty eyes.

He left the train with the douane and then the train left the station.

We arrived in Turin and were met by Mario Panero, who was not actually related, but without whom our trip would have been fruitless. Secretly, I was hoping he would wear red overalls and have a brother named Luigi. Instead, at 74 years old, this retired IT pro was into computers when they took up a whole room and had less technology than your iPod. Dad found Mario’s son on Skype, with a simple surname search, and it started a domino effect, eventually leading us to actual living relatives. He’d put notices in the local paper, spoken to Panero-s around the region and organised our stay with the care my own grandfather would have given us.

Mario took us to the hotel he’d arranged, outside Turin in Cambiano. Then he took us to Chieri, where he lives with his wife Miranda. They insisted we join their family for dinner, which we did despite the language barriers. Mario speaks quite good English, but Miranda practically none. She studied French, as did her daughter, who also knew a little English. Fortunately, the local Piemontese dialect is very similar to French, so the dinner conversation was a little Franco-Italiano-Anglo, but we were all laughing as they described local opinion of the Prime Minister, Silvio Berlusconi.

In true Italian fashion, Miranda encouraged us through ten dishes including (but not limited to) local paté, stuffed endives, mushroom pasta, rabbit, three different desserts and fruit to finish. Frankly, I was surprised I didn’t explode on the way back to the hotel, but decided it was all energy for the day to come, and what a day it would turn out to be.

Panero: What's in a name?

Sunday 23rd August, 2009

In Paris, many signs in stations are translated into English and Spanish, below the French. But in the Gare Lyon, Italian replaces Spanish. The lines run to the south-east, treni replace trenes, and we were on the 07:42 bound for Turin.

But the real story started long before this moment...

My great-grandfather, Francesco Panero, was born in Italy a long time ago. He came to Australia and married an Australian woman, my great-grandmother Elva, and had one son, Paul, my paternal grandfather. Until recently, this was about all the information we had. Francesco had long since passed away, and Elva had become estranged from the family, tucked away in a little flat not far from where I lived in Adelaide. She hadn’t shared any of our history with us, and passed away last year taking her secrets to the grave.

Naturally we were curious, but my father more than any of us. He started an investigation and eventually found the location of Francesco’s unmarked grave. A lot more paperwork later, he had some birth and marriage certificates, and was beginning to piece together a story. It seemed Francesco had used the name Paneros in Australia, never changing it legally, but it stuck around over the next 3 generations. My primary school put me in Greek classes, thinking I was Greek, until my parents had me changed to the Italian class, which I stuck with until Year 10. Unfortunately, I remember very little of both.

So we knew we were Italian - now we wanted the paperwork to prove it. For one year, back and forth with the Italian Consulate and the City of Fossano, Dad persevered with form after form. Francesco had also used four different first names, which didn’t help. We found out that he’d died from pneumonia, contracted after a car accident. He had arrived in Australia at age 17 with his father Guglielmo, who later returned to Fossano. Eventually, we had enough documentation to prove the lineage, and we were rewarded with Italian citizenship and passports (after paying the right fees, of course). I was able to enter France as an EU citizen, bypassing visas and long immigration lines at the airport. I also get into the Louvre for free – viva la France!

We are the only Paneros family in Australia. As far as I know, we are the only Paneros family in the world. There are none on Skype, and none on Facebook, so that about covers it! I have recently found out that los pañeros in Spanish means "the clothiers", people who make or sell clothing or cloth. But this is not a profession that runs in the family. In fact, Dad’s interest in woodwork may well be in the Panero DNA, as we were to discover.

So that’s the story, which leads us to this point, winding our way down to Turin for the next genealogical chapter.