Alcohol and Countries

In Turkey, mostly a Muslim country, they have restrained the time when one’s allowed to buy alcohol, regardless of the fact that 90% of people living there claim to have never had a drink in their lives.

In Toronto, Canada, I went to an Indian restaurant. I got in and the waitress asked me if I was thinking of having a drink with my meal. Dumbfounded, I asked why she wanted to know. She explained that I couldn’t sit in the Veranda if I was going to order a beer with my meal in order to avoid young people ~ passing by ~ seeing me having a good time and thinking they’d do the same once they’d be grown up.

If I wanted to have a beer with my Indian meal, I would have to sit where I was not facing the street.

In fact, in the whole city of Toronto, one can’t buy any sort of alcohol in supermarkets. One would have to go to a place on the outskirts of Toronto, marked XXX, where winos hang around; and one would need a car to get there.

I did manage to find a place near-by selling wine. I bought a bottle of San Giovese for $CAD 10,00.
The same bottle of wine costs me €1 at the local supermarket in Milan, Italy. You do the arithmetic.

Back to Milan, I went to the local supermarket and overheard fourteen-year-old kids talking on their mobiles to their school mates trying to decide what kind of booze to get for the end-of-school party: ” Okay then, a bottle of Vodka; some beer;  some Cranberry juice; Martini; Prosecco; Negroni and some Pineapple juice should do it, yeah?”

Go figure…

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Why I No Longer Support Israel

Today I’m sharing a beautiful and informative article written by Mr Herb Silverman on the Huffington Post that I believe many will appreciate and enjoy reading…

Human-rights from the perspective and expertise of an American citizen of Jewish origin.

I couldn’t agree more with Mr. Silverman; in fact Israel has been on my Countries-Not-To-Visit list for a while (should anyone wonder, I’m neither Jewish nor Palestinian).

Shame Mr Netanyahu! You certainly do not deserve having been re-elected.

Please click on the link below to go to the original post:

Why I No Longer Support Israel

In awe of Italians ~ not really.

I am always very impressed with how highly some people seem to value themselves; I really am.

The other day I went to the London Pirelli’s headquarter to meet up with a successful business man I’ve known–literally–all my life, just to say hello as we were both in town and this is what one does…

I wasn’t impressed with the premises, by the way, and the receptionist–although lovely–looked like Morticia Addams while the guy at the door was simply scruffy.

Surely Italians are aware of their already iffy reputation and would pay more attention to first impressions? Apparently no.

Most likely–still living on Roman-times’ credit–they are oblivious to it.

Anyway, this gentleman tells me that he’s thinking of taking his sailing boat to the Caribbean where he can make lots of money just by chartering people around the islands for two months a year. ALL this guy needs is a woman who’s willing to cook and clean for the guests and, of course, look after him too.

Such ‘lucky’ woman will not be making any money as she will benefit enough from the amazing lifestyle as it is! In the meanwhile, this guy is planning to make around 90,000 pounds PER WEEK out of the enterprise and other people’s work, while getting laid.

I’m in awe ~ not.

The whole point of exercising

My ex husband introduced me to running back in 1984.

Being in Italy, I put on my best outfit and set off with an astonished Canadian professional-league Hockey Player (Aka my ex), Armani model, and later actor, to run around the Castello Sforzesco in Milan.

Although looking great, I soon realised that having started smoking at fourteen, I could just about make it to the first lamp post.

Needless to say, the ex was laughing his head off, both because of my outfit and my lack of performance; or maybe due to the combination of the two factors.

The most valuable thing he taught me was that Italians have no idea about casual dressing, in fact they get it totally wrong.

This has proved right many years down the road.

Abercombie &Fitch in Corso Matteotti, Milan, a shop my son and my ex wouldn’t set foot in unless somebody was threatening to shoot them, is probably the tackiest place one can find in Milan.

At the front entrance, naked–from the waist up–male models (I’d rather have the opposite), and girls in skimpy dresses.

Back to the main subject.

Since 1984, I have been running – on-and-off – for the best part of my life.

Eventually I came to realize that I was spending so much time either running around Hampstead Heath in London, U.K., or on the treadmill at the gym, that I might as well make money out of it and became a successful personal trainer.

I quit the job when caring about the cellulite on someone else’s thighs–together with having to remember the date their children had their violin concert exam–somehow crashed with the life changes I was going through in my personal life.

Yet, as my ex-husband–and nowadays best friend–always told me, if I had been born in the U.S. I would have become a professional athlete; so I kept up what, by then, had become a passion, albeit a selfish one (yes, another one), of mine: exercising.

At present, I’m running at the “Montagnetta” in Milan, Italy, an under-estimated haven in this city of cement.

I get great pleasure from looking at the the outfits of some of the fellow runners I meet on the way but, mostly, I am astonished at the gadgets and, most of all, at the expression on their faces: they simply don’t get it!

Running is a form of art. A form of meditation where, finally, we can open our minds and stop creating thoughts in our heads; when thoughts can come and go freely, or not come at all.

All that is required is to listen to one’s body and being in tune with one’s energy level which vary from day to day.

There are times when you will run fast, others when you will run so slow that you might as well be walking but that is not the point. The point is to lose oneself in the act of running, to effortlessly observe the surroundings, to feel at One with Nature and with one’s higher self.

The expression on your face should be one of Serendipity, your shoulders should be low and totally relaxed, your neck should be feeling no strain and your steps should be those of a panther strolling easily through the Savannah, ready to sprint when so inspired.

Lastly, the aim of the whole enterprise of running should have nothing to do with weight-loss or toning up–which are just to be thought of as welcome outcomes–and all to do with being in the moment, thought-less and worry-free and–most of all–TIMELESS!

Timeless, or the ability to live in a time-less zone is what exercising is all about, no matter the sport one chooses.

Hence, throw away those use-less gadgets that tell you how many calories you’re burning; how fast you’re running; whether your heart rate is above or below the ever-sought-after 70% Heart Rate and just enjoy yourself for once.

FYI, Heart Rate training zones are calculated by taking into consideration your Maximum Heart Rate (HRmax) and your Resting Heat Rate (HRrest).

60% to 70% Energy Efficient or Recovery Zone; 70% to 80% Aerobic Zone; 80% to 90% Anaerobic Zone

Forget all that.

Just set out to enjoy yourself and experience the Real Dimension of Time that is constantly being stolen from us in our every-day, time-obsessed lives.

That’s what is all about…

You can do it!

Easy life

As I follow the news I can’t help but reflect that so many things are just the same all over the world.

I remember my grandmother telling me to always walk keeping my gaze downwards; to smile without showing my gums, and to keep my my mouth close or I’ll eat flies–difficult thing to do with swollen adenoids.

In fact, my grandma deemed me too pretty not to be morally deformed by it.

My naturally parted lips were obviously a cause for concern as was my sitting by the window in modern-days London, England, in a Georgian house belonging to a white upper-class Anglican family.

“Don’t you EVER make me catch you again sitting by the window looking out on the street. My, people will think we are running a brothel in here!”

So I can’t help but reflect:
Is Western society really that different from what we like to consider less-evolved ones?

Isn’t it time things changed? It is, after all, 2015….