Where Have You Been?

 Yesterday, a friend texted and asked "Where have you traveled to thus far?"

Hmmm, not quite sure how to answer that. We've probably walked the distance of the Camino de Santiago since arriving in Italy but, other than two weeks in Rome, we haven't traveled to many other places so far. Are we missing something here?

Every day is magical. Every second is delicious. The sky is jewel-toned blue, not one piece of pollution. The birds sing, the flowers bloom and the air is perfumed. It smells of Assisi. 

On our walks, we have moments that no guide book could ever promise. Just down a steep and twisted set of stairs opposite the entrance to our temporary home, we often encounter a street musician, playing his violin, a repertoire of songs that make us cry. Yesterday, he was accompanied by another young man on a bass. I sat on a step opposite them, flanked by a man from Milan and his wife, a lovely woman from Madrid. Joe stood apart from us. I know he wanted to weep in privacy. My partners on the step swooned with me and we hummed along to the beautiful theme from my La Vita e Bella. We openly wept together. He patted me on the shoulder and said "Coraggio, Senora". Can you stand it? How can I leave here? Ever?

Joe succumbed to "Somewhere Over the Rainbow". 

The Palazzo is situated between the major churches in Assisi, Santa Chiara to our left, and the Basilica of Saint Francis, to our right. In the middle of the two, lies the smaller but significant Chiesa Nuova, the one that sits upon the birthplace of Francis. All of them can be reached in minutes, something that we never take for granted, especially when we are stopped and asked for directions from people who have traveled miles to get here, just to see these beauties firsthand.

So, to my friend....."We're being".

Sunday and No Bus

Gotta love Sundays in Assisi.

Church bells ring like there's no tomorrow.  They ring regularly throughout any ordinary day but, on Sundays they take a special liberty and make sure everyone in town is awake. Joe wants me to make a little recording so that one day, when we are totally sad about not being here, I can play it back and we can swoon.

Yesterday was another of those perfect Spring days. We had decided to "take it easy" and not have any real plans so we started with cappuccino at the charming "La Piazzetta di Agnese", named for the little square that has a seriously sweet view.  The owners are two lovely women and service is always great. That is not all that unusual here in town. People who work in the bars (aka cafes), are pleasant and welcoming. And, they do not expect a tip. It's just customary to be nice. Of course, there are exceptions but we've already eliminated them from our list and keep going back to the "nice" ones. There are choices. Many. And, lingering is allowed. No need to rush. Ahhhhhh.

After lunch at home (there were some nifty leftovers from the night before), we set out on a walk down to Santa Maria degli Angeli. It's one that we always enjoy, especially on a day when there are lots of tourists in town. A great escape route. Our plan was to walk the two miles down and then take the bus back from the train station. With, of course, the requisite stop at McD's for use of their restrooms.

There's an ante-room adjacent to the toilet room. It's where you wash your hands. Quarters are tight and there's a sign on the main door to the toiletti that reminds people to not crowd while waiting. Just a little Covid precaution. So, when it became my turn to join the waiting group, two little girls entered. A nice dad was exiting with his son and he pointed out that the senora has been waiting and that they would have to get to the rear of our little line, which they sweetly did of course.  So, we stood there together, and we exchanged a few little words. I told them I was American and asked if they spoke English. They did not. I said something about us being women and therefore waiting to use the proper toilet room. They giggled a bit and said...."Dough-knee", correcting my "Donni"(donna, meaning "woman"). And, then they jumped the line. But sweetly. 

Our walk was complete, or so we thought, when we hit the bus station. It was us and another darling  family of four and yet another Italian language lesson. This time we found out that these kids were taking English lessons in school (they start very young here) but were finding it difficult. Hey, when I was seven, I could barely speak English! Can you imagine assuming that everyone in our country could also speak Italian?? Well, we waited about an hour. Met a bunch of others who were also awaiting a bus that never came. And, then, having decided that if the bus actually did arrive, we were way over the passenger limits and probably would be left behind anyway. Lots of line jumpers were arriving and surely organized chaos was about to ensue should that bus ever arrive. So, with bus tickets in hand, we decided to start walking back. Maybe a bus would come along at some point. Eventually, we came to a stop where we met up with small group of people also waiting for same bus....which still wasn't coming. Finally, a bus was spotted. Only this, was not THE bus for which we were waiting. This nice, huge, empty bus was not in service. But...a very kind gentlemen and his wife flagged him down and, much to our surprise, he stopped and invited everyone at the stop to hop on board as his guests, providing we were all willing to get off at San Francesco. 

An hour of our day saved, we did exactly that. San Francesco, the area below the Basilica, and off we all went, profusely thanking both the driver and our new heroes. Our bus tickets still un-validated, we caught the mini bus that took us the rest of the way. 

Needless to say, the Spritzes were-a spritzing when we finally walked through our doors. Hail Mary and thank you Ralph Kramden-inni!!! 

Catch Up

 Live from the Green Heart of Italy, it's Saturday Night!!!!!

The weather has been absolutely to live for.  After feeling chilly a lot of the time, we're now enjoying the most beautiful Spring weather and there's not much better than Springtime in Italy. The Wisteria and the Azelia are blooming, the tulips have already gone past their due date and the wildflowers are running mad. The air has a special quality to it, a mixture of wood fire and wildflower scenting. If I could put Umbria in a bottle.....

We're spending lazy, lovely days consisting of walks and sit-downs here and there.  The center of Assisi, known as the Piazza del Comune, is a perfect spot for people-watching and enjoying the sunshine in the afternoon.  The tourist population thickens and thins according to the day of the week.  There still are many, many school groups and tour groups from within the country and outside of the country. Sorry to say, it's not exactly brain science figuring out which are from the U.S. Last week, I was in the shop of a friend and a group walked by.  She immediately said "Americans". I asked her how she knew and she politely answered, "by the round faces".  

When we're not on our walks, we often spend time here, at the Palazzo, in the wonderful garden that overlooks the valley. This is a condo and the shared space of the owners is just a bit of Paradise. We take an elevator to the third floor in the "older" part of our building and a few steps away is a door that opens up to a serene and heart-stopping area. It's in three levels. On the second level is the church. Yes, we have our own church and, we even have a "Church Key"!  Sunsets from that part of the building? Mesmerizing to say the least. 

Joe has been in need of a haircut and has been procrastinating. He was unsuccessful in his attempt to get one in Perugia at a place called "Machete". I'm kind of glad that didn't pan out......But this morning, exiting our favorite little supermarket, he ventured into Il Parrucchiere Belloni Paolo which is right next door. A great hair wash from Carla and then, into the hands of Il Maestro! Joe was in Heaven. Paolo, it was instantly clear, is experienced. Everything went exceedingly well and the deed has been done. Check that one off the list. Next week, it will be my turn.  An appointment has been made but I don't know with whom or exactly where.  I was told, "it's on the Via Fontabella, just above my shop". May I add that Italians can be vague at times.....Stay tuned for what I am sure will be yet another adventure.  Oh, I do know one thing....my hair's future, I am informed,  will be in the hands of one who speaks not one word of English. 

On our way home, we had one more list-checker. Each Saturday morning, there is a market set up right near the entry to the walled city. The vendors sell clothing, jewelry, pottery, produce, flowers, and, last but not least, the ever-present big Porchetta food truck. Now, do I really have to say more? 

 According to Wikipedia:  Porchetta is a savory, fatty, and moist boneless pork roast of Italian culinary tradition. The carcass is deboned and spitted or roasted traditionally over wood for at least eight hours...... 

VEGETARIANS, JUST CLOSE YOUR EYES

The rest of our afternoon was spent in the garden, way up high, here at our residence. We spent a very tranquil hour or two contemplating the beauty of the valley and exploring the area that makes up the upper reach of the property. There's a path beside the chapel, lined with lavender bushes and other specimens that are starting to bloom.  We rounded the afternoon off with a nice little stroll down to the cemetery (again) and it didn't for one moment, occur that we should be anywhere else on the planet but.......guests were due in a few hours.

Yes, "guests", for dinner, no less.  One, American, the other pure Italian. Am I nuts or what?This was the second hosting of the week. Josie came for lunch on Thursday (Umbrian lentil and farro soup) and Paul and Pietro,  Saturday night (and I do mean "night") for Lasagna Bolognese and baked fennel. A nice bottle of Montefalco Rosso and a gorgeous apple strudel from Bar Sensi, both gifts of our guests, and two very tired hosts....all very, very worth the effort, indeed.

To the home of a friend, it is never far.  We've come how many thousands of miles?

Are we gaining weight?  Heck no. No odometer needed. We're walking and neither of us has been behind a wheel in a car since March 20th. 

How We Spent Our Wednesday This Week

 We left town yesterday!  That's right, we jumped on a train and took ourselves to Perugia for the afternoon. That is, after walking two miles to the train station. 

Our walk to the station is lovely.  Spring is finally showing off here, with flowering trees bursting, birds chirping and green, green, green fields that justify Umbria's nickname as "The Green Heart of Italy".  It's along this route that one catches that first, heart-stopping view of Assisi, the Basilica and monastery prominent on the horizon. Seen from below, it's a photographer's dreamchild. I'm guessing that there have been a lot of minor accidents over the years. Gobsmacked first-time visitors, totally distracted. It's easy to understand why. 

Another lovely feature of the walk to La Stazione is the MacDonald's, unique for its position and for its modernity. Not to mention the fact that one can get an espresso here, along with a rather pricey burger and fries set. But....they do have a public restroom. Thank you very much.

Perugia is easily reached by train and is anywhere between 20 and 30 minutes away. The train stops in the newer part of the city and from the station, a cute little train called the "MiniMetro" climbs up to the top and from there, the old part of Perugia is accessed. Think of a big cable car on railroad tracks. 

We had a nice lunch, strolled around the city for a bit, and then did the whole thing in reverse, getting back to the Palazzo in time for a freshen up and then.....back out again for a seven o'clock dinner date with our friend Paul.  

When we made the date to meet for dinner, Paul asked if we had a place in mind, one that we had not tried yet on any of our previous visits.  We told him that we were determined this time to get to the little trattoria on the most charming of all Assisi streets, the Trattoria da Erminio on Via Montecavallo. They have an open fire on which meats are grilled and the tiny family-run place is picture-perfect. Joe and I had the lamb chops, Paul, the rabbit (no thank you).  It was an amazing meal and we plan to return.

Our total bill for the dinner was surprisingly low. The word "surprise" is operative. Everything, and I do mean EVERYthing here has gotten out of whack. The prices are high and we're thinking that, as in the U.S., this is post-pandemic catch up. In addition, there's an attitude that seems to be pervasive with business people thinking that all Americans are rich. Rich and stupid. Do I sound somewhat disillusioned? Do not get me wrong. I still am very much in love with Italy and will always defend the country and the people but....... 

I fear that if this continues, the small regions of Italy will not prosper as they seem to be planning on. Tourists will not tolerate this stuff. They will stop coming or perhaps, they will limit their time and budget to the big cities, crossing the small ones off of the list. 

Time will tell. 

In the meantime.......Mom and Dad......send money!!!!!

Imagine

 On Monday morning, I took myself on an outing. It's not that I don't enjoy spending every hour of my life with my husband.......But, I have done Italy solo. I've spent many, many hours alone here, days on end, living in my own self-imposed cloister, and well, I never complained.

We've been in Italy almost a month. I'm totally fine with some guiltless "me-time" and so, I went the distance and took off for a bit of harmless shopping.  It's been unseasonably cold here and we, anticipating a long stay with a washing machine at our disposal, packed light. We left the Cape, sharing with each other the joy of not "lugging" Winter clothing, hats, scarves, gloves, that we have in the past. While we each could have brought another whole suitcase, we confined our items to only one each. And so, not even a decent sweater. By Monday, I had run out of layers and needed a change of scenery in the clothing world. What turned out to be a great referral found me walking down the Via San Francesco on my way to a shop for locals, owned by a young local who, coincidentally, was having a sale! I am now happy to say that I own a new black turtleneck sweater, my Winter uniform, and a few other lovely items. Surely, the weather will change and all will have been in naught but it felt good being out there again.

In addition to at least a gazillion foods and the production of countless handmade and homegrown products that are held as tradition, Italy has so many more charming traditions and if you rush through al la Disney World, you may miss them. Taking the time, moving slowly with both eyes and ears open, sweet things happen. Take nothing for granted. You will soon realize that there are some things that occur that may be anathema to your time and place but are common here. One of those comes in a simple social habit that almost  with certainty allows one to know if another is local or on a one-week whirlwind through the country. It's the greeting of a stranger, a passerby in the street, the "buongiorno" which can also be a "ciao" or a "salve" depending upon your relationship to, or the causality of ,the greeter. In the afternoon, the word switches to "buona sera" and later to "buona notte". But, it's never missing. 

I hadn't really thought about the training involved in keeping this custom alive. Took it for a big old granted. Until Monday morning on the Via San Francesco. Coming up the street, little kindergarten-aged children, their school smocks peeking out under their coats, hand in hand, accompanied by their teachers. Their sweet little voices filled the narrow street as they filed past and as they neared......the little "bongiorno's" started, in some cases prodded by their teachers and in others, tiny bravissimos already upon the scene. There's always one kid in the crowd who needs nothing in the way of encouragement. Was this a training mission? Is this how tiny Italians learn the art of being pleasant (at least at the start of the day)? 

I could not help but think about this scene in middle America. Marching a group of tiny tots down the middle of the busiest street in the town, having boys hold hands with boys, girls with girls. Not one mobile phone visible, teachers engaged with children instead, prompting them to offer a smile and a "good morning" to complete strangers approaching them. Heads up, eye contact. Can you imagine the angry parents, their notes to the teachers, the meeting with the School Board? 

Can you imagine? 

Imagine (R.I. P. John Lennon)

Agritourismo

 The weekend concluded with an afternoon with friends. Lunch. That lasted almost four hours. No, we were not eating that whole time. The extended lunch in Italy is not all about consuming food.  It's about something so much better. It's about talking and laughing and just being with people you like.  There's a bunch of wine too. And, yes, the food is very, very good.

An "agriturismo" is, by definition, a farm where you can stay on holiday. Agrotourism involves any agriculturally based operations or activities that brings visitors, benefitting both owner and visitor. The word is a combo of the Italian words "agricoltura" and "turismo". The farms in Italy are vastly different from those in the U.S. Much less acreage is found here. As the tiny farms, once used to provide sustainability for families as well as an income, proceeded into modern times, farmers could not make ends meet. Sadly, many farmers were forced to leave their homes and move to cities. Generations of Italians became concerned about the disappearance of the farming culture so that in 1985 the Italian government officially recognized the term "Agritoursimo"allowing farms to remain somewhat operational.

But, alas, there are rules.

An agriturismo has to be a working farm. The production of oil, meats, or grains, along with smaller items such as vegetables and herbs, is required.

Second, the products that are produced must be used in preparation of the food for the guests. Most agriturismi also sell their products to guests. The more income generated, the more tourism activities they are allowed to provide (more rooms to rent).  The number of rooms is limited, not usually luxurious but not lacking in hospitality and graciousness. Locations are outside of cities, outside of town walls.  Silence, beauty and nature abound. A good view oftentimes is part of the day. 

Our friend Eddie runs a beautiful agriturismo just outside of Assisi. It's called"Agriturismo Podere La Fornace".  Eddie is an American who has lived in Italy for many years. His wife, Silvia, is German. She also runs a tourist accommodation, hers, a B&B, also on the outskirts of central Assisi. They both work very hard at what they do. 

So, yesterday, Mark and Giselle picked us up, along with another American ex-pat friend, and we all had a lovely Umbrian lunch at the agriturismo, joined by Graham Hofmann (the author of Lorenzo's Vest) and his lovely friend Patricia. And,while there were sausages involved in the fare, they did not come from pigs raised at La Fornace. The only thing raised at La Fornace are glasses of wine! But, in order to comply with the government regulation and operate as an agriturismo, Eddie does claim ownership to two local swines, never to be consumed by his guests. He's in compliance. Comforting to know and....comforting to those who chose the salsicce for their main course.

Cimetero

It sometimes is simply too complicated to explain. The ways in which the heart moves.

My friend Pietro told me yesterday that "The Maestro" was going to stop by his shop at 8:45 this morning, to do some business with him.  "The Maestro" being one Francesco Quintaliani. His area of expertise, art. Bright colors and wonderful interpretations of Assisi that I have lusted after for years.  I have a few of his pieces in my house, the largest being one that is framed and hangs above the bed. We have Quintaliani mugs that we use every morning at home and ornaments that come out each Christmas. So, I was up and running at 8:30, on my way to the shop on the Porta Perlichi, ready to meet the artist of my dreams. What I thought was a shortcut, turned out to be a long trip up many, many steps. Along the way, I passed a dead mouse.  I guess he had run out of the steam needed to make it to what becomes the path surrounding the city. Eventually, I made it in time to meet Francesco and to receive yet another of his pieces, this a small, signed one. A gift. Well worth the early day cardio workout.

Joe met me at the weekly street market. A beautiful cappuccino at the Cafe Sensi, and, of course, we walked until lunch time. Thank God, our apartment has an elevator.  Lunches usually consist of leftovers from the evening before. A bit of lunch, a bit of rest and back out into what today was glorious sunshine.

There's a cemetery in town. Only one. A quiet, cedar-tree lined street approaches it. It's flat. At least the deceased in Assisi get to traverse a flat surface on their way to be buried. I always visit this cemetery when I am here. I don't know any of the present occupants but find that cemeteries in general have a lot to say about the culture of the place and this one is no exception. There are mausoleums and simple graves. Most of the gravesites have a photo of the deceased, something I find useful in honoring the person. They become very real to me. 

This trip, we both commented on the increased population, many new wooden crosses marking graves of the most-recently deceased. There's a huge jump in the number of new graves between the years of 2020 and the present. Without a doubt, this is yet another of those reminders of the Pandemic. Rows upon rows. 

We sat for a while in the sunshine. Time to reflect. Isn't that what cemeteries are known for? And, as we did, we talked about our own families. With great joy, I was asked by a cousin of my mother to participate in the building of a family website, one that he, as he approached his ninetieth year, thought as important, considering the depth and breath of the family. Where to start? The memoir of our Uncle Carl. I ordered a copy for my Kindle and re-read it. The new version has photos and, for the first time, I saw my great- grandparents and relatives I have never met. It was a thrill beyond words. From a very,very small town, deep in Southern Italy, a family grew. Most of them immigrated.

Both of our grandfathers came to America as very young men. And so, we sat in the sun at the cemetery, marveling at the courage and strength of those people and from the depth of my heart came that feeling that I get so often, that I am rooted here, that my ancestors would want to know that there's a part of them that still resides on Italian soil.

 

At the Duomo

 

Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got.

Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot.

source: https://www.lyricsondemand.com/tvthemes/cheerslyrics.html

Yesterday's afternoon was a thing of beauty.  It was warm and sunny and it, being the day after the end of Pasquetta, was quiet and peaceful in town.

I arranged with an old friend to meet for an aperitivo at a bar that we both hold dear, the Duomo, adjacent to the Piazza Rufino. A "bar" is not a "bar" here in Italy.  Of course, if you wish to have a drink, you will find many here but they usually open early in the morning with coffee and pastries awaiting their patrons. 

During November of 2018, the Duomo bar welcomed me within minutes of its opening each morning and became the background daily posts I made to my blog at the time.  In one piece, I wrote about how the Duomo became for me, the "Cheers" of Umbria.  Every morning, the same cast of characters presented, one by one.  There was Patrizia, the hairdresser (she always brought her own pastry), the little group of retired school teachers and the taxi driver relative, the man with the tie who quickly stopped by to deliver the handful of newspapers, the utility worker and, last but not least, the elderly couple on their way home after daily mass at San Rufino. They were all polite and every day we exchanged a buongiorno or a buon giornata (giorno is for one-time use, with giornata used to wish one a whole day of goodness). It was at the Duomo that I made a lovely friend of the sweet and gracious barista, Isabel. I told her that she was the "Sam Malone" of Assisi and she was delighted at the reference. She knew "Cheers" well.  She looked forward to my morning arrivals and each day, we had a little chat, some Italian lessons, and, as I wrote, she tailored her play list especially for me. Over the speakers would come Leonard Cohen tunes to start my day and hers. To this day, Isabel is a friend. When I arrived in town, she was one of the first people I got a huge hug from in fact.

I don't have to opportunity to visit the Duomo as early in the day any longer.  It's on the opposite end of town. Isabel doesn't work there now. I've learned in life that it's impossible to "go back". Those days were precious and I hold them in my heart forever.  Joe and I have been to the bar several times since our arrival and the new people who run it recognize us and make us feel very much at home. Sadly, the little woman who came with her husband after Mass, died from Covid I was told. I can still picture them. 

So, yesterday, my friend Josie and I sat in the afternoon sun and caught up. We, of course, hadn't seen each other in a year, but it was like the gap didn't exist. Josie is a passionate woman, very filled with the spirit, always. She's an artist who makes the beautiful silk scarves about which I have talked over the years. We met here in 2012. Yesterday, our conversation was filled with the ways in which the Pandemic has changed the world, how this town has changed, how Italy has changed. The changes have not gone by unnoticed. Our conversation was tinged with sadness, our maturity and wisdom having informed us that things will never be the same. But, for a smiling, shining hour, everything seemed right again at the Duomo.

Mercoledi

 Daily life for us here, isn't all that different from daily life back at home.

We're settled into our apartment.  It's on the second floor of the Palazzo and the windows, each one of them, commands a breathtaking view of the valley below. There's a constant little audio, softly produced by pigeons, that emanates from the windows and every morning, it is a renewed thrill to open the shutters. There's very little street noise except in the evening when the teenagers use our street as the route back into the center of town, after a visit to the basilica. No, they're not necessarily holy kids.  They, for the most part are chaperoned groups of kids on school vacation. Thousands of them, without exaggeration. We see them everywhere, marked by either matching hats, tee shirts, jackets or by their clumping into subgroups as they follow a leader holding a giant pinwheel or flag. God bless the teachers who give up their time to lead these groups!

Yesterday, while returning from our gentle walk downhill to the tranquil San Damiano  (It was here that Francis wrote the Canticle of the Creatures  and it was the dwelling place of St. Clare and the order of Poor Clares that she founded) and our killer climb back up into town, we stopped by our local alimentary (convenience store) to pick up a few items that we needed for dinner.  In the tiny shop was an American couple. As we helped them in purchasing some fruit (never touch it, always weigh it before handing it to the cashier, etc.) we started a conversation (are you surprised?), exchanging the typical who's what's where's and when's. They are from California, "following" their teenage daughter who sings with a gigantic choir group, around Umbria. Joe thinks she said that there are a hundred or so members of the choir. "Oh yes, we have seen them in their red jackets!" They told us that they would be singing at the Basilica this evening. Well, of course we put that on our agenda. After all, we live five minutes away (going) and at least twenty, retuning (all uphill).

So, last night, at sunset, in one of the most stunning settings, the Upper Church of the Basilica of Saint Francis, we attended a Mass and heard the beautiful vocals of a magnificent choir of at least one hundred talented and dedicated teenagers. We were uplifted by the beauty of it all, surrounded by the  twenty eight murals on the walls, depicting the legend of St Francis, done between 1297 and 1300. While tradition holds that these were the work of Giotto di Bondone, there are scores of art historians who, throughout the ages, have disputed this claim, citing an all star lineup of three artists of the late 13th and early 14th centuries. The transept of the church, in all its splendor, is without dispute, the work of Cimabue. 

The Mass, in English, was said by the same Franciscan friar who did our Easter Sunday Mass. His homilies are relevant and current and it was a pleasure being in his presence once again. After our Mass, another was due at 8:30pm. One that would include a thousand! No doubt, most of them teenagers. 

This morning, our faithful friend, Pietro, picked us up again for a weekly "big shopping" trip to the Eurospin market outside of town.  Before arriving at the market, we made a stop at this area's branch of an incredible chain of frozen fish called "Sapore di Mare" Le Pescherie D'Italia" (the fishmongers of Italy). It's impossible to describe the Sapore experience. A huge store, lined with endless possibilities of every variety of flash frozen fish from shellfish to whole fish. Fish combined with other ingredients, fish for anything and everything you could possible require, need or wish for. You scoop the product into a plastic bag (like the vegetable department), weigh it and bring it to the counter. We even got a 10% old folks discount because today is Wednesday!The label spit out from the scale also prints out the cooking directions (in Italian but hey....). Pietro guided me through the process and assured me that when defrosted, everything there was remarkably good. Can't wait to try some. Risotto?

Trip to the big Eurospin, and to Sapore and back home with a huge haul for around $70.00 by 10:30. 

Life here is very different from back home. There's no disputing that. 

Pasqua

 Easter Sunday, and not one bunny in sight.

This is Italy and the Easter Bunny does not exist here.  Chocolate eggs, yes. Bunnies, no. 

The Easter weekend concludes the holiest week in the calendar and it is a full three to four day weekend for Italians. Here, the holiday does not end on Easter Sunday. There's an extension known as "La Pasquetta" and it's a legal holiday. So, there are thousands of visitors in Assisi at the moment. The crowds have been growing since Friday and surely will remain through Monday. It's still a bit chilly but it isn't unusual to see Italians bundled up for the cold even in warmer weather.  Thick, wooly scarves and hats are seen on those who fear being hit by the air, the famous "Un Colpo d'aria" that would mean bedrest and misery. They prefer to not sit by an open door in a restaurant or cafe for the same reason. But the sun, it did shine on Easter Day.

I woke up to the beautiful sight of the valley and caught a brief view of a hot air balloon that was off on an early morning cruise. 

We had a traditional Easter breakfast of Torta de Pasqua, a lovely bread infused with cheese. And of course, our Italian coffee. Not Cappuccino. That's a treat that we have outside of the house, at a cafe. But this morning, we had to get ready for Mass so we did not make a stop.

Instead, we went down the hill to the Basilica de San Francesco for the English Speaking Mass which is held weekly in a small chapel adjacent to the Lower Basilica. There's a large English speaking community here in Assisi as in other parts of Umbria. 

Following Mass, we came out into the brilliant sunshine and huge crowds of people awaiting entrance into the Basilica, a long line of those who awaited their turn to go down an ancient stone staircase that leads to the tomb of Saint Francis. He's a popular guy here every day but it seems his credibility rating rises on religious holidays. Never, in all my Assisi days of yorn, have I ever seen as many people at the Basilica. Usually, I can just pop in and say hello to the founder of the largest order of holy people in the world. No lines, no waiting. But, this is Easter after all.

Again, the town is crowded with tourists and businesses seem to be booming for the first time since the Pandemic. So many restaurants shuttered during that time, some forever more. But, some have come back strong and ready for what existed pre-Covid. One of them, a special place owned by an American woman from.....Rutland, Vermont. 

I spent a lovely Thanksgiving dinner here at Nonna Nini in 2018. Sadly, it was closed when we returned in 2019, prior to the arrival of the Pandemic and it remained closed until recently. Traci, the owner, remembered me and was delighted to meet Joe this time. She's married to an Italian man so she gets to stay but she does have to become more official at some point. Becoming a citizen requires passing a language test and she's awaiting results. Her English is spoken with an Italian accent but she struggles with the use of the language. Go figure.

After a delightful meal and a few complimentary glasses of Prosecco, we had some time to chat with Traci and the lovely Sophie, our waitress who thought Joe was Italian and I, sadly, was not. Ahem, hello.....I'm the one speaking Italian here.....and my blue eyes are 100 % Italian. My grandmother's could not possibly have been bluer nor could my mother's.

One more day of tourists. Notice, I do not consider myself to be one........but you gotta think about the un-natural order of things for a moment. We're Americans, living in an Italian palazzo that was owned by a French scholar. We went to the Basilica of the patron saint of Italy, to a mass in English and then, to an Umbrian restaurant owned by an American woman who is married to an Italian man and serves fusion food cooked by her new Indian chef. 

My head is spinning now but not as hard as was the French washing machine in the bathroom here at the condo that is now apparently owned by an Italian woman who had some connection at some point in time to a French man.....who died.

Happy Easter bunnies!!

Sabato

Holy Saturday in Assisi. So many families enjoying the nooks and crannies, the central piazza, the beautiful and iconic churches. The Easter Weekend at its peak. A gorgeous day for joining in the celebration.

Our day started with a visit to the weekly street market and a stop into our favorite local supermarket for, guess what? Umbrian white wine. Can't get it at home. Might as well enjoy it here and it will not break the bank. The supermarket is a little over a mile, round trip. Not so bad getting there but a bit more cardio work getting back, especially with a backpack carrying two bottles. For larger and heavier hauls, we have the service of a good friend who lives in town. 

Typically, we divide our day into parts and we're still in the process of getting into that rythm. A morning walk or task accomplished, home for lunch and a rest and then back out again until dinner, the ingredients perhaps having been purchased during the first part of the day. We are in a hill town. Make no mistake about it, we are forever challenged by the fact that Assisi is made up of hills and lots of steps. Each day, we find that we are better conditioned. It's a matter of reminding oneself constantly that what goes down so beautifully, must come back up. If you are not in top form, best to not consider a stay in Assisi. Come for the day and suffer the pain later. We won't fault you. Lots of nuns do it!

Yesterday, following lunch, we walked down to the Basilica de San Francesco, the Big Daddy of them all.  Everyone who comes to Assisi visits San Francesco at least once and stops by to visit the tomb of the beloved saint. Announcements in the upper and lower basilicas every so often are made....."Prego, silencio, gracie".  People have a tendency to forget that this is highly sacred space and quiet must be observed. Guys, don't even think about entering wearing your baseball cap. You will promptly be asked to remove it. Never mind shorts and tank tops. Not allowed. 

A happy walk up a hill and it was time to visit Bibenda, a cozy wine bar owned by Nila Halum, a proud and strong Ukrainian woman who became my dear friend during a visit in 2018. It was good to note that business is picking up after the Pandemic and in addition to the delightful company of Nila, we quickly made some new friends, had some interesting (and informative) conversations (in English and Italian) and a few laughs. God bless Nila for always ensuring that outcome.

Refreshed, happy, feeling fit and strong, we returned to the Palazzo Spignoli for a dinner of umbrian sausages braised in fresh fennel. Another of Letizia's recipes. 

Venerdi Santo

Holy Week in Assisi is marked by ancient rituals, rites that are observed in the major churches, monasteries and convents throughout the town. Here, bells normally ring on the hour and half hour from a number of bell towers but during this week there have been extra ringings. The observance of the Easter triduum begins officially on Thursday with the "excavation" of the crucified Christ at the Cathedral of San Rufino and its transport down the long and narrow road to the Basilica of San Francesco. The town comes out of the sleep of Winter and becomes alive with people. Families are free for the next four days as the observance of Easter spills into Monday, "Pasquillina". The town center, the Comune,  is noisy, bustling with people of all ages, none of which seem too sorrowful as they foresee the holy and sad days ahead in accordance with the Christian tenets of faith.

So, we made our own preparations, taking full advantage of a beautiful Friday before Easter, known as Venerdi Santo or "Holy Friday", and we walked the beautiful 2.2 km paved path that bridges ancient Assisi with the newer Santa Maria degli Angeli. It's a lovely walk, especially on a sunny Spring morning. Joe likes it because it's all downhill and then it flattens as we near the train station and the elegant (not kidding) McDonalds (they have an espresso bar). Our goal was to find a "torta di Pasqua" and a few other grocery store items in town and, of course, to experience some very darned great slices of pizza for lunch. Both missions accomplished, we visited the beautiful basilica which houses the sacred Porziuncola, the tiny thirteenth century church where St Francis started his work of rebuilding in accordance with his message from God. It's beautiful and very sacred to those who follow Francis. Our torta, purchased at a small local alimentary, ready for the traditional Easter breakfast.

A bus ride back up to our part of Assisi (filled with noisy Italian teenage scouts on holiday) and a stroll back to our apartment......after stopping for an aperitivo in the piazza. Dinner (I'm using recipes from my dear friend, Letizia Mattiacci's cookbooks) and then, after a glorious sunset, we walked back up to the Comune in anticipation of the most sacred of Easter preparations, the "Processione del Cristo Morto" or "the Dead Christ Procession". An ancient ritual, as ancient and as moving as it could possibly be.

The Piazza del Comune transforms itself from a noisy and vibrant town square, into a dark and silent gathering as all of the lights are turned off and slowly, the procession begins. In the distance, the sole thump of a big drum, sounding almost canon-like, is heard, repeated every few minutes as the candlelight procession of hundreds of people, members of the churches and confraternities and their families, slowly make their way through the narrow and otherwise silent streets that wind their way from the top of the town to the bottom. The participants, dressed according to their individual confraternity, include in their grouping a person, barefooted and somberly attired, carrying a large and what appears to be heavy, cross. It's eerie to observe. This, of course, replicating the route traveled by Christ during the passion. Slowly, silently, somberly. The most moving sight, one that left me speechless and in awe. Finally, the last group carries a huge statue of the Blessed Mother which, because of its weight, takes a huge team of men. This is no easy walk through Assisi. Thump, thump, silence. The procession continues down the hill, along the Via de San Francesco, until the arrival at the Basilica where the cross holding Christ is met. The union of sorrowful mother with her son. And then, the return of both, now uphill, to San Rufino.

At the end of the day, Venerdi Santo, I can't help but put the pieces of our day of walking together. The walk down to Santa Maria is along a modern-paved path. At the start of the walk, in excess of four thousand bricks make up the first of a series of memorials. The start of the path, one I have traversed many times, consists of bricks bearing the names and hometowns of victims of the World Trade Center. Looking down at the names becomes a ritual in itself, a memorial to another kind of suffering and indignity. Some of the names have become familiar over the years, one especially, a young man from Barnstable Massachusetts. When I first discovered this particular brick, I photographed it, made contact with his wife and assured her that he was being remembered even here, thousands of miles from their home, in Assisi, the city of peace. 

So, on this Good Friday, Venerdi Santo, passion and suffering are remembered and I am sure, always will be.

 

Grace

 Today is Wednesday and we're so much more settled in than we were a few days ago.

The weather is a tad bit chillier than we had anticipated. But the next few days promise the return to Spring and the days before Easter will hold traditions and religious experiences. This will be our second Easter in Italy. Seventeen years ago, we were in Chianti, sharing a beautiful vacation with friends from the States. It was during dinner in a town called Castellina that we learned first-hand how the evening of Good Friday is marked with a unique procession. Here,  the day is called "Venerdi Santo" of "Holy Friday" and it is a day of great solemnity and ritual.We're looking forward to witnessing the observance here in our little town. Surely there will be much to tell.

For now, the daily routines have set in. It helps a whole bunch, knowing the ins-and-outs of life in a small Italian town and the quirks of living in an apartment where there are so many  details that are unique and, many of them, beyond explanation. Just knowing how to turn lights on and off can be daunting, never mind the art of using a stove. Do not expect high water pressure and don't count on hot water being hot, for starters. The water is soft so lathering up in a shower is not always possible anyway. Get in, get out. 

We are finding many things changed here since the Pandemic. Just as in the States, prices of everything have risen. It's sad to see shuttered businesses, those that did not survive. Those that did, have invested in what their owners hope will be a great comeback. But it's way too soon to predict that future. Yes, the tourists have returned to Italy. Americans and Germans are everywhere. But the landlocked province of Umbria has always had a harder time than the big boys. The Big Three, Rome, Florence and Venice, are on everyone's hit list as they make up for lost time. Umbria, the little step child, must wait her turn and it's hard to imagine how people survive financially during that wait.

This is our second visit post-Covid. Last year, we split our time between Umbria and the province of Puglia, much further to the south. Most of our time in Assisi surrounded the celebration of the Calendimaggio, a fabulous four days during which the entire town comes together to welcome Spring. We will be on hand again for this again and of course, we're looking forward to it. Hopefully, it will be warmer!  

The cost of groceries has gone up. What a surprise!  But, still, nowhere near the prices seen near our home. And, the quality, well, that's a world onto itself. Shopping in the supermarkets here is one of my favorite pastimes. If you haven't had the pleasure, picture this.....the most ordinary of stores has the feel of an upscale specialty shop. So, I cook. Eating in restaurants for two whole months is not going to happen. Even with the price of a good cappuccino at $1.50. 

With all its quirks, problems, woes and dramas, Italy still continues to charm and delight me. I feel very, very much at home and right now, especially with all that is going on in the U.S., I accept the gift of peace and tranquility that Assisi offers and will never ask more than for one day of grace at a time.

Pace e bene

Chocolate Queen

Luisa Spagnoli

Giovanni Buitoni

We are ensconced in a rather nice condo within the walls of Assisi.  The views are breathtaking. It's an enormous space, filled with art and music. We have both an organ and a piano and bookcases that hold well over a thousand books, sadly, all in French. Most importantly, we are living in history. I am now a "principessa" and am living in a real palazzo......the former home of an important Assisi citizen by the name of Sigismondo Spagnoli. Sigi had a true passion for art and education and he co-founded a drawing school for the young people of Assisi in the Palazzo Locatelli, one of the first buildings to have been renovated under his direction. Later, he is credited with many works of art and reconstructions for which he will be remembered. His brother, Annibel, will long be remembered for another famous art, one that he would pursue with the help of his future wife.

Luisa Sargentini was born in Perugia, the "big" city of Umbria on October 30, 1877. She was a chocolatier and eventually, she married Annibel and together, they took up residence in Perugia.

Stay with me here....

Giovanni Buitoni was born in 1891, also in Perugia. In 1827, his great-grandmother, in the light of her husband's illness, was faced with providing a livelihood for her family so, she pawned her wedding jewels and grabbed a few simple ingredients and guess what Mamma Buitoni made.....you got it.....Macaroni!!! The rest is history. And, there will be more about that history some other time but for now....more about my most favorite subject

Chocolate

Simple ingredients

The formula to every successful recipe produced in Italy, became the rule for the very first of the confections later to be known as "Perugina".  A rich dark chocolate exterior which wraps around a blend of finely-chopped hazelnuts and chocolate known as "Gianduja". The top of each piece, a whole hazelnut. To this day, same, same. Another interesting fact....the candy was the brainchild of Luisa who designed the shape, wanting each piece to resemble a knuckle of a closed fist, a "Cazzoto"

Following his graduation, in 1909, Pappa Buitoni sent his son on a trip to Germany where he studied languages and observed industrial operations as he prepared for life on his own. There, he learnt of the impending failure of the Perugina chocolate factory and, at age 18, he decided to take it on when he returned to his birthplace and family (remember, he was Italian).

The return to Perugia and the factory brought the count of employees up to 100. 

Meanwhile, back at the assembly line, the decision was made, by Giovanni, to change the name to "Baci" meaning "kiss" and now, instead of a punch, one would receive a most softer version of the chocolate, wrapped in foil. The color of the moonlight.  Ah, this is turning out to be so romantic. And, to make it more so, Luisa and Giovanni, 28 years her junior mind you, were becoming an item and slipping love notes to each other at their place of work. Not sure where Mr. Spagnoli was at the time, but I do know he was ailing during the war and Luisa tried to keep things running to support the family of five.

Legend has it that in the 1930's a man named Federico Seneca, inspired by the little love note exchanges, decided to have a tiny strip with romantic notes inserted under the wrappings of each piece. The custom continues to this day. And, Giovanni became the lifelong companion of Luisa, helping her eventually to manufacture clothing (using Angora wool, a process she invented). Her line of clothing is still alive in well. Together, they relocated to Paris (I told you this had romance) until her death at age 58.

My joy is abundant

I am living in a palazzo steeped in beauty and history......in Italy

Amongst thousands of books, works or art, a piano, an organ and oh, so much more.

Happily, I will concede that although I may have thought myself the "Queen of Chocolate", that title belongs to one Luisa Spagnoli. May she forever reign.