No, You Don't

We're doing fairly well with overcoming jet-lag.  I am right back to my nasty habit of getting up before sunrise which just now reminded me to get up from my chair and open the den blinds so that I can view part of today's sunrise. 

It's been great, so far, seeing friends again, here.  It's been hard, so far, missing friends, there.  Arriving at our house had lots of good moments, none better than the first load of laundry I threw into the machine after being without a washer for five whole weeks. That felt really superb.  I also enjoyed about five minutes of television viewing, everyone speaking a language that I almost understood (most of what's on network t.v. makes me question the actual native tongue of the "talent").  We also enjoyed getting into our car and driving away along flat and familiar roads.

The hard part, or part of the hard part, has been answering well-meaning friends and neighbors who ask "so, how was Italy?" "Did you have a favorite part?" And then, "we have to get together so you can tell us all about your trip!".  Sweet, kind and very much appreciated words from sweet, kind and thoughtful people.  While I am on the topic, allow me to inform that neither of our children or grandchildren have asked.  Not one phrase that even resembled "So, how did you enjoy your trip folks".  My father, who I fretted about constantly, had to be reminded of where we had been, despite the fact that, on a daily basis, he was reminded by the staff at his nursing facility.  But, he's 98 and he has dementia.  Does my brother even know we have returned?  I guess our Italy trips have become old hat to them and our comings-and-goings fold into the weave of their lives like old shirts. Still, it would be nice to know that they maybe felt our absence on some small level.

We will soon fit back into the fold of everyone's life and once again, we will all take each other for granted, the good with the bad. For now, we've kind of decided to pause when asked to "tell all".  How could we possibly?  This is not the first long trip from which we've returned.  We know the drill.
We watch eyes glaze over and yawns on the verge often enough to know that you do not want to hear about it all.  Nope.  And we honestly can't tell you anything that may bring even a slight thrill to your own ears and we're sure as heck not going to whip out photos.

I have prepared a short answer for those who really and truly want to "hear all about our trip". The version of my story goes sort of like this.....

We got up every morning, made crappy coffee, showered in a booby-trapped bathroom, hand-washed a batch of clothes, hung them out over a pan-tiled roof for the first round of drying, grabbed our gear, our backpacks, and headed out.....for the best cappuccino after walking past people who sang out "buongiorno" along the way.  We exchanged buongiorni with the barrista and scooped foam from our cups as if it were spun from gold.  Sometimes, we had coronetti that oozed the most delicious and delicate cream as we bit into them. We sat over our coffee until we decided it was time to leave and we went on to have absolutely wonderful, unhurried and unscripted days of just "being".  How can we describe how it feels to just exist in a place that feels absolutely right for your entire being, all the time?  How can we tell you how living without a car in a hill town energized us and challenged us?  How can we explain the need to go back and back for long walks in the woods, ending in impromptu lunches before an open fire at an osteria that was once a mill in a tiny, ancient borgo?  Can we tell you how satisfying it was to look down into a valley from way up high, and high-five each other saying "look where we were and now, we're up here"?  Is it possible to convey to you how sunset looks from the very top of one of Italy's most beautiful towns? Would you understand why we hiked up to the tallest point, not once, but several times and one of the times was specifically to catch a sunrise? See, you're probably glazing over already, and I haven't even started yet.

If you are still interested, we'll be happy to share.  None of this stuff, or pretty much nothing else we ever do in Italy, can be found in a guide book. Trust me.

Addesso.......Now

I’m seated on an airplane, it’s after lunch and I’m listening to the opera and classical music selections on my headphones. The plane interior is darkened and that’s a very good thing because I’m actively crying my eyes out and can do so without being seen by my husband or fellow passengers.

We’re homeward bound, an expression that I find harder than ever to fit into the vernacular. Home?  It’s been five whole weeks.  I guess the catharsis was inevitable. I thought the weeping might have come by now but, it takes an incredible amount of preparation and strategy to get from Point A, across the ocean to Point B, and back again. No time is allotted to emotion.  I recently discovered that we are above the age at which we are referred to as “ancienti” and have officially joined the group known as the “vecchi”.  Somewhat disturbing. We have to force ourselves to stay focused.  Care-free travel is owned by those who are younger. Focus folks.

I have nothing but time at the moment.  I have had nothing but it for all these weeks and it wasn’t until a few hours ago that I finally understood how precious a commodity that is and how well the Italians embrace the whole concept allowing time to be their silent partner, always.  Were I given a dime each time I was reminded of that, I would be one, very wealthy vecciana.  We, who live in a country that is only a few hundred years old, can’t fully appreciate the fact that we have had to bee-line everything in order to bring our civilization to where it currently is.  The Italians have had centuries and have not rushed to anything, ever.  I now find it incredibly funny to think of so many Americans who come to Italy as tourists and report that they have fallen in love with the country after two weeks of hopping from Rome, to Florence, to Venice and on and on.  It takes a whole lot longer than that to really and truly get it.  Twelve trips and I’m just approaching the iceberg. With each visit, I get it more but the gap is still huge.

My heart and soul are in Italy.  I’m called back by a force that even I don’t fully understand.  I feel so much more like myself when I step off a plane and touch the soil of my ancestors.  My heart opens up and I feel as if I am living in a world that could only exist on another whole universe. Every man looks like my brother.  I am my grandmother, I am my mother and I am saddened by the loss of those lives within me.  I want to have both of them back so that I can lie on their deathbeds and curl into their bodies, as a child, begging them to not leave the earth.

Oh, to have that chance.

I was paid a great compliment a few weeks ago by a beautiful man who makes his living binding books, by hand, in a tiny workshop in Assisi.  He told me that I was an “Italian woman” and my heart soared.  I told him that my grandmother must be smiling and I levitated at the thought. My Italian friends ask me when I will become their neighbor because I “belong” here and should.  And, I pause and think about it.  So much that I am sure it will happen, that one day, before I become too unable to, I will join their ranks. I am an Italian woman.

But for now, I’m restless on an airplane that is soaring through a sky that hangs over the ocean that separates my mind and body from my true origins. My return to that other life is becoming profoundly certain and I have more reason for being a sad person.  It’s going to be a challenge holding my ground when we get back into our house.  It's going to take all that I have to keep the Italian hours alive.  There’s no reason to fall back into the fast lane. To get where, I do not even know. Time. 

Time to remember that I can be whoever I chose to be and can live my life in any way I desire. If I have learned nothing else, I have learned that.

My grandmother and my mother are waiting.  For that last embrace.

Ciao Italia. Ci vediammo multo presto.

Wrapping Up

Our departure through the ever-present Porta Perlici went as smooth as bechemel sauce yesterday morning.  It's amazing what good planning and a little bit of good, old-fashioned strategy can do.
We have a lot of heavy baggage with us and making more than one trip up to where our car was parked, was not an option.  But, we pulled it all off and hit the road, stopping off  in the town of Rivororto for our cappuccino.  We found a local bar (no, a "bar" is not a "bar" in Italy) which was filled with locals of course - all men. Where are the women in the mornings? A quick coffee, a panino (more than one would be "panini") then a brief conversation with a gentleman who was terribly interested in who I was an where I came from, and what I thought about the surrounding fog.  Umbria is famous for it and this time of year is conducive to the beautiful show that the white layers topping the valley provide. I am starting to believe that I live in Boston.  It's so much easier to explain in Italian than Cape Cod.  New York, Boston.....

Our next stop was to the Assisi War Cemetery which is located on the border between Santa Maria degli Angeli and Rivortorto. Here's a little explanation of this beautifully  maintained place of rest:

On 3 September 1943 the Allies invaded the Italian mainland, the invasion coinciding with an armistice made with the Italians who then re-entered the war on the Allied side. Progress through southern Italy was rapid despite stiff resistance, but the advance was checked for some months at the German winter defensive position known as the Gustav Line. The line eventually fell in May 1944 and as the Germans withdrew, Rome was taken by the Allies on 3 June. Many of the burials in this cemetery date from June and July 1944, when the Germans were making their first attempts to stop the Allied advance north of Rome in this region. The site for the cemetery was selected in September 1944 and burials were brought in from the surrounding battlefields. Assisi War Cemetery contains 945 Commonwealth burials of the Second World War.

I have never considered myself a "history buff" but find details of the Second World War to hold my interest and of course, Italy's involvement and, narrowing it down to Assisi's involvement, really fascinates me so this stop off was a must on our to-do-with-a-car list. 

After paying our respects, we hit the road for a long-anticipated lunch with our friends Giselle and Mark Stafford.  It was her birthday party that started our Umbrian holiday and we were booked for a lunch at a country osteria that was on the way to our final destination near Orvieto.  Mark and Giselle have been our dear friends for almost ten years.  After ex-patriating from the U.K., they opened "Gusto! Umbrian Wine Tours", a business that has become, as Trip Advisor will attest, the most successful wine tour businesses in Umbria.  We love spending time with them and will always consider them our nearest and dearest friends in Italy.  We had a great fish meal and of course, a very decent bottle of vino bianco.

Our promises of a return visit as soon as possible,kisses and hugs,and we were back on the road towards Orvieto and after getting lost, we arrived at our sanctuary for the next few days, the lovely Locanda Rosati in the area of Veterbo, 

Leaving Home

As I sit here, early on the last Saturday of our stay in Assisi, I listen to the sounds that have become so familiar to me, from the street, inside the apartment.  I look out the little window in the kitchen and see framed, a square of darkness that reminds me that the sun has not yet risen and I want to reach outside and stop it from coming up over the top of the mountain so that the day will not start and therefore, its end will come later than it will eventually.

Before coming back to Italy this year, I thought about leaving Italy.  I envisioned the day that we would be driving down the hill for the last time, looking at Assisi in a rear-view mirror and feeling like we were leaving home, sadly.  I've done this heart-wrenching routine before.  I know how it's going to play out.  But, for the past four lovely weeks, this, I put out of my mind and allowed myself to absolutely, positively, enjoy each and every minute of the time spent here, up the stairs, at the charming apartment at 16 Via Porta Perlici.

Oh sure, there were "moments".  What good, long trip to a country, still after all these times, a foreign one to us, doesn't have those?  But, never was there an argument and rarely did we leave each other's side for more than a few moments.  We spent our hours together because we wanted to, for the simple reason that everything that we saw or did was that much better because we were together.  Fifty years of married life and we still totally enjoy the company of each other, for good or for bad.

Technology has added more than one dimension to our travel life. We have been in touch with friends and family all along the way and a few have told us that they can't wait until we get back so that we can recount stories, show pictures, and "tell us all about it".  We know that after five minutes, they all will feel that we've said enough and we know that in a life-time, we could not quantify our experiences to the point where anyone, other than us, would get it.

Who would want to hear about our early morning coffee and our simple housekeeping - sorting our recyclables and listening to the clanging of the endless collections of empty bottles in the back of tiny municipal trash collection trucks? How fascinating could our life without a washing machine be? Trips to the supermarket without a car, wine in backpacks, why, our stories would be the life of the party that abruptly ended were we to go on about such things.  Our charming apartment stories would bore anyone who has not spent time in a charming apartment on a tiny cobblestoned street, in a tiny walled hill town in Italy.  Trust me.

And trust became a major thread.  "Trust me Joe....I know a shortcut.....trust me, I know these people....trust me, you can do it!"  "Trust me, Lynn, I am loving every minute and every detail and trust me Lynn, the car will not fit in that space!"  and "Trust me, Lynn, I am going to miss all of this...."

So, today is the last of our full days. Today will be spent, hopefully in sunshine.  Today, we will finish our packing and we will get out and about for one last time in Assisi.  We will say our goodbyes, but not our farewells to our neighborhood friends and to Saint Francis, our dearest friend who apparently slept everywhere.  We will have our last slice of the best pizza in existence and maybe even see our last Assisi sunset for a while before a special wine with Nina Halum at her beautiful "Bibenda". We will stop in to hug and kiss our good friend, Pietro at "B.A.T.Assisi", his beautiful shop. We'll thank him for his hospitality and assure him that he is the best landlord and that we will see him again, that we will promise.  Seven years of friendship, it's hard to believe.

And, because it is a beautiful day, one more walk in the Bosco and one more fireside lunch at Il Mulino, the magical country osteria that we fortunately discovered early on.  We are going to miss the heck out of that whole experience. So will our legs and feet, neither of which let either of us down despite the amount of time we spent walking, hiking and climbing.  Thank you God.

As with each and every visit to Assisi, we start and end with time at the Basilica de San Francesco. We take nothing for granted and are thankful for everything. Strength and peace emanate from that site and like a tonic, we rely upon all that is within, before, during and after.

Assisi is addictive. I had a fleeting feeling,early on,that I was "burned out" and it was not long before I realized that Assisi is burned in....to my heart, and always will be.

So, today, we will enjoy and savor every detail and tomorrow we will head off to another part of Umbria for a few days, revisiting a place that is special to us so the drive down the hill will not be quite as painful. At least I'm hoping it won't but the tissues will be in my coat pocket, not in the depth of my huge suitcase.....not far from the real estate brochures.

Ciao Assisi.  Grazie tante per tutti.

Laboratorio di Tessitura a Mano

Giuditta Brozzetti


Click on the above to see who we met today

The tiny, amazing powerhouse of a woman, one Marta Cucchia.  In person, at her workshop. In Perugia.  What a thrill.

Our good friend, Letizia Mattiacci, has a good friend and she threatened me with a not-so-good death if I failed to meet her this trip.

So, off we went this morning, on the train, to the lovely city of Perugia.  Down the hills, past the Etruscan gate, through the campus of the University of Perugia, to the ancient church that is now the workshop of the tiny but powerful Marta.

Marta smiles when she says that she and her siblings used to play tennis in the vast space that how houses her ancient weaving looms.  She points to all of the pieces from the press, the NewYork Times, included, which indicate that she is a local celebrity.  She tells us that in the fifties, her father purchased the old church in which we stand, and all of the surrounding property and that her great grandmother's weaving business fell into history until she, one day, got the "passion" and made weaving her be-all-and-end-all.

The looms are hundreds of years old. The work is labor-intensive.  She brought the looms to the place in which they now reside. She maintains, repairs and works the looms, the first "computers" ever known.  Why?  Because in ancient weaving times, the designs were formulated by what we now know as "punch cards".  The punch cards are still used on these looms and the patterns created are those that were created centuries ago.  To make a new pattern is unthinkable and highly impractical.

You simply have to watch the video and look at the website to get somewhat of an appreciation for who Marta is and what she does.  We cannot possibly explain this one.

Enjoy!

Felice Ringraziemento

It's Thanksgiving day.

We sat here at noon, having a snack - with a glass of wine of course, listening to church bells ringing from our neighbor-cathedral, San Rufino.

We had already been up for quite a while and had taken not one, but two major walks.

Our first walk was one that we had been planning for a while but, as our days here are drawing to a close, one that we knew we had to do today lest we go home with a regret. So, before seven, we suited up and grabbed our hiking poles.  It was sunrise at the Rocca Maggiore or bust!  No rain but not a morning with much promise of a sunny sunrise.  We're somewhat intrepid, not easily discouraged, and often just plain ready for an adventure.  Up an endless ancient staircase and then up a long and steep paved road, we trekked together in the quiet stillness of an Assisi morning.  The air is so clean here.  The sounds of morning are few, but for an occasional rooster and perhaps the first of a daily series of church bells. Then, there's the little putt-putts coming from the tiny vehicles known as "apee's".  Joe says they're basically a tiny auto body built around a lawnmower.  I might add here, that there is a constant and somewhat annoying noise that comes from the rubbish collectors.  They are up and on the job very early every single morning and while I have grown accustomed to their noise, I still get quite startled by the sound of empty glass containers being dumped into their tiny trucks  That goes on all day for some reason. Maybe it has to do with the consumption of wine?

After spending a while up at the Rocca and capturing the serene beauty of the approaching day, we went back down and to our little caffe for a good cappuccino and a cornetto to share.  Joe now prefers macciato but I am still a devoted fan of a good, rich cappuch to really start my day.  We had not brought any money with us so we joked with the barrista about him holding me hostage while Joe went to get his wallet.  "Sei il mio ostaggio" "You are my hostage". And then, the return of "Supereroe" Joe.  No translation necessary.

Our next stop was the good and reliable supermarcato, "Tigre".  It's only about a half mile away and it's small and easy for us.  We needed a few more items and of course, this being a holiday, we needed a bottle of prosecco.  And a bottle of white wine.  I carry the wine bottles in my backpack so the walk home is a bit easier.  We also picked up a few items which I know are not easily available at home and are lightweight and okay to pack.  Next stop was a bit of people-watching at the Commune.

The Piazza del Commune is the central square here in Assisi.  It's the one that we watch, like addicts, on YouTube almost every morning from our home on the Cape.  Assisi Live Webcam.  We're a bit nutty but it works to keep us connected.  Here, it's LIVE!  And we love watching the comings and goings, especially now when the Christmas decorations are starting to evolve. It will take days but the tree will be constructed and on December the 8th, all will be lit for the first time.  Unlike in the States, the Christmas season is short and does not start until December.  Sadly, we will leave Italy before the 8th. We will watch the progress from home next week.

We came back to the apartment for our lovely lunch of hamburgers.  They simply don't taste as well at home.  Here, the beef is different.  No additives, no preservatives, just nicely fed cows and very nice beef.  We did kind of joke about our lunch versus that we might be having on the Cape today  We also reminded ourselves about the fact that we .are in the land of pilgrims, here in Assisi.  Just a different type perhaps.  For centuries, spiritual pilgrims have journeyed to this very location.  No turkeys and corn bread, but real pilgrims!  And so, we are in the appropriate place at the appropriate time. And, to celebrate our good fortune, we decided another visit to the spa was in order.  What good pilgrim can't use a massage and a few hours of steaming, soaking, and enjoying Spa Nun Assisi?

I had one very lovely massage.  It was only twenty five minutes long, but it was very darned good.
In a post from last year, I described Spa Nun Assisi in great detail.  It's referred to as a "Museum" which just happens to be a spa because its foundation just happens to be the ruins of a Roman Bath that was part of an ancient community.  It is absolutely gorgeous.  I have been several times and this afternoon was Joe's second shot at absolute bliss. He did well,  I must say, those Romans sure did know how to spend a Thanksgiving day.

A bottle of Prosecco, a few slices of great bread (we buy it by the slice from a local alimentary where Yolanda, the shopkeeper knows us and how limited our Italian language skills are), some truffle-laced cheese from our friend Luca, topped with his truffle honey (I used to very much not like truffles but I am getting somewhat used to them and even starting to like the taste) and we're having our own aperitivo before the eggplant parmigiana that I prepared in advance goes into the forno.  Our Thanksgiving celebration.  We have soooooooo much for which to be thankful and we try to reflect on that each and every day, but somehow, right now, we're really, really feeling bless ggrateed and we truly are grateful.

To all, a happy Thanksgiving. And, Good Pilgrims, a safe and meaningful journey, wherever that may be.

Risposare in Pace

Bruno Lombardi, posing for me, November, 2018

I find it only fair to warn you.  If you come to Assisi, you will be walking excessively and there will never be a time that you will not be faced with a steep incline or a staircase consisting of no less than fifty cobble-stoned steps.  There's no way around it.  You step outside, you're doomed to a calorie-burner.  The good side of that is that you can eat so many more calories each day. The bad side is the reality of what goes down, also comes up. Even the "flat" surfaces of Assisi are difficult to traverse. Balance and agility are in high demand. With all of this in mind, this  time last year I watched one of my "neighbors" with wonder and admiration on many a November day.

Impeccably dressed from head to foot, dignified and confident, my mystery man of indeterminate age, left the sweet entrance to his home for solo morning strolls down the Via Porta Perlici.  Armed with a set of crutches, he made his way, slowly, rounding the corner and proceeding on the bumpy road. He was taking what the Italians call a "passeggiata".  At the time, my own elderly father was recovering from a broken hip, one that would determine the course of the remainder of his life.  I was totally absorbed as I watched him, thinking of how very different his life seemed to be from that of my parent.  Was he a widower?  Did his wife send him out or did he do so on his own accord?  I knew nothing and certainly was not in the position to make any inquiries.  I would not have the faintest idea of how to say "excuse me sir, but what is your story?" so I just wondered and watched.

One day, I boldly asked if he might pose for a photo and he kindly obliged.  Little did I know at the time, that the photo would become part of a later story.

Returning to Assisi, I realize that by the end of the month, I will have spent three-plus months of my life here.  That certainly isn't a great deal but it has allowed for some keen observations and surely has rewarded me with some very nice friendships and some of the best memories.  I think I notice more pieces of routine life than the average "tourist" and have been told more than once that I am more a "resident" than a tourist.  My daily exchanges with the people in my adopted neighborhood give me a great sense of belonging and I truly do care about all of them. So, when days passed and there was no sign of the elegant gentleman, I started to wonder if and when I would see him again.

A little, handwritten note appeared on the door to his home.  His mailbox was taped over and in Italian, the evidence became clear.  "Lombardi" was no longer in residence.  Did he relocate? Was he thrown out by a relative?  Perhaps he wasn't as nice a person as he had appeared to be. I was disappointed.  And then, I did what the locals do.  I stopped and looked at the obituary notices on the board at the end of the street.  And there, in full-view was the photo and the death notice of who I now know as Bruno Lombardi, taken from this world on November 24th.  It was his funeral mass that we had wondered about as we walked by San Rufino one afternoon, having seen the parking lot filled. and the hearse parked at the massive front door.

I never actually met Bruno Lombardi.  I only exchanged a few words with him and we both paused long enough for me to take his photo. But, for the time that I "knew" him, I was inspired and at the same time comforted in the thought that dressing up and showing up on the street where you live is in itself, the art of living.

Thank you for your time, and rest in peace Sr. Lombardi.

The Week in Photos

The Piazza de Commune in the early evening, Aperitifo Time

A valley view, seen from the Rocca Maggiore.  We walked up to this elevation and have walked down there in that valley too

As part of a delightful afternoon, Letizia and I visited Catia, the owner of Madame Bovary Boutique.  It was a day of being with my two favorite ladies!

The entrance to our apartment.  Up three flights of narrow terracotta stairs but worth it!

A free concert by Cantori Di Assisi at Santa Chiara.  Beautiful Vivaldi

A revisit to a friend from last year. Along the route to the Eremo

At lunch with Diane Lennon and her husband, Mike Swartz at the Mill in the Bosco de Francesco.  Pranzo from a wood fire. 

Catia.  I find it hard to resist visiting her and not buying everything in her shop!

The main door to St. Rufino Cathedral, our "neighborhood church".  I see more details every time I look

The skies of Assisi. The hills of Assisi.  Neither exaggerated!

I love this spot for a cappuccino.  Never miss an opportunity for a view.

Finally, we visited the museum under San Rufino. This is the area of the original Assium. Centuries before Francis ever got moving!

I found a beautiful new path that hangs along the Western perimeter of the town and looks up to Santa Chiara. The area is know as the Mojano

A difference is noticed in the color of the leaves since our arrival.  Fall is here!

Joe on the "easy" route up to the Rocca Maggiore. Well worth the trek, any time of day

A Spritz.  Any time of the day!!!

I