Olive Pigs - a hungry Italian adventure 🇮🇹

My holiday began today

Olive Pigs - a hungry Italian adventure 🇮🇹

Unlike Beck, I can’t read Latin, I didn’t know who Giovanni di Lorenzo de' Medici was (let’s be honest, dear reader, do you?) and I learnt most of my historical references from The Simpsons.

So as much as I enjoyed our (many) historical visits - was it ever going to beat floating around in a heated swimming pool, getting a delightful massage, stuffing my face with charcuterie and having about two thoughts the entire time (‘this is olive is nice’ and ‘I wonder where they get it from?’)

Of course it would. Knowledge is power after all. We are put upon this planet to learn as much about it (and ourselves) as we possibly can. Like Johann Wolfgang bin Goethe said: “There is nothing more frightful than ignorance in action.”

Just kidding. This idiot loves a hot tub.

Deep beneath the Hotel Villa Pamphili is a luxury spa with a hydro pool, a steam room, three saunas, four jacuzzis and a super-powered massage jet that pummels your muscles like an underwater Mike Tyson. It’s the delightful equivalent of zapping your brain with a defibrillator. No more worries or fears. All that’s remains is a pleasant feeling that everything is going to be ok.

This pleasant numbness arrived at just the right time before my unfortunate experience with my masseuses. Look. I’ve never loved massages. Buy me dinner first before you get your hands all over me. Know what I mean? But Beck had booked a couples massages so we could chat as they went. However, I learnt two valuable lessons that day. The first is that they apparently didn’t have a ‘couples room’, so we would be split. Beck would have the quiet yet friendly woman. I would get the stern, burly guy.

I learnt my second lesson when I was told to completely disrobe, place myself on the massage bed and cover myself with a towel. Did you know that you’re not supposed to cover yourself horizontally from the waist to your upper thigh? No. You’re meant to cover yourself up from your shoulders all the way down your body. I only found this out after he whipped the towel from my waist, fully exposing me, while grunting “It’s okay, mister. It’s okay.” He allowed himself a few second seconds to shake the towel out before placing it the right way around.

“Everything is going to be ok,” I repeated to myself for the next 30 minutes.

Those olives were well nice though.