Bells

San Rufino

Santa Maria Maggiore

Santa Chiara

San Stefano

The Temple of Minerva, P. Comune

And, of course, last, but not least, the magnificent Basilica of San Francesco

 These were the days, my friends, we thought they'd never end......

But, not wanting to have it hanging over our heads as we approach our early morning departure later this week,we have already been packing and getting ready.  It's not exactly a favorite part of a holiday, for us of for anyone for that matter.  It's especially hard when we're not only packing "stuff", but we're closing the lid on a life that we have grown rather fond of during the past two and a half months. We're saying good-bye to long, long days, to breathtaking views and saddest or all, to wonderful friends and acquaintances.

We have a thousand new stories. I still have a few to write and promise myself that in the next few weeks, I will. Right now, I am hearing the church bells that have become my clock. I almost don't have to count along with each peal to know what time it is. The bells have a way of sinking in, creating an instant memory of just how many have rung at a given time. Every once in a while, for reasons I do not know, they just start ringing. A cacophony of  hard, loud chimes that last for at least five solid minutes at a time. When I am back at home, I am sure that the little videos I have made will play over and over and each gong will bring me back here. 

The adventure is coming to a close for us but, for others, it is just beginning. Each day, we see the arrival of tour groups, busses parked in a lower lot, refilled late in the afternoon.  After our dinner, we take our own passigiati and savor the feeling of being "alone" again, the little city, quiet and calm, closing itself like a giant clam, protecting the life within, awaiting the arrival of the incoming tide when the new day brings the multitudes.  It is simply amazing, how many Americans are visiting Italy. The term "revenge travel" has been used. The post-Covid return of tourism. So many young families. Lots of gelato. Tons of pizza. Really great pizza. 

I hope to remember every last second of every last wonderful hour. Of every last kind person. Of every new word I have learned in Italian. Of every scent of every rose, jasmine, wild flower on the way to and from the little market where we have shopped for groceries in between our trips to the "big" supermarket. Of every person behind every counter in every cafe. Of every cappuccino that has been lovingly delivered to every small table with a view to live for.

My promise is to not bore my friends with details, to not thrust my phone and show the six thousand new photos that it holds. But if you ask, I will tell you and if you want to know what my personal favorites were and always will be, it won't take much persuading. But, for the moment, it's all on hold. I hear bells. 

Weekend Wonderful

 The days of drizzle seemed to have passed and this morning marked the start of what promises to be a return to Spring and lovely days of Umbria. We're happy to still have time to enjoy it. And, a day to hang out the freshly laundered sheets. Without a dryer, it takes a very long time for clothes to achieve what you might call a state of "dryness", so this truly is a day to rejoice.

Not far from our apartment, located at a "bella terrazza panoramica" is the tiny church of Santa Margherita. Having completed all of our domestic duties in preparation for having lunch guests this afternoon, we went down for the 9:30 Mass (in Italian). A cappuccino at a local favorite spot and a hike back up to pick up a few groceries, complete with a vocabulary tune-up. I really find it hard to know where to hit the accent on an Italian word and if hit at the wrong place, the word is totally wrong and nobody understands anybody. So, "parsley" is "Pret-ZEE-mow-low" I learned. Not prezze-molo. I enjoy making errors because for me, it's a way to learn. The proprietor didn't have any in his "alimentari" anyway

The weekend started with a visit to the "Palazzo Dei Priori" on Friday evening. Inside, the Galleria Le Logge was the setting for the opening of a beautiful show entitled "Shine on Japan". The artist, Francesco Mazzi has done magnificent work using mixed metallics that, under the correct light angle, radiate or shine. Friday was the opening, the artist and his Japanese wife had time to spend with the guests and we toured each work of art with his expert guidance.  He explained that he has lived in Japan for seventeen years and after showing pictures of his atelier, he presented us with a copy of his book. And, then, the Mayor came and it was her turn to get all of his attention. So much for us. 

https://youtu.be/y2DyfWgfDh8

Last night, another show.....this time, the "Concerto Basilica Regia", a free and heart-stopping concert in the Upper Basilica of San Francesco, marking the anniversary of the dedication of the Basilica. Concerts here don't usually get underway until nine o'clock at the earliest, allowing people to have dinner before starting out. We had stopped in and made reservations days ahead, at a cozy trattoria which was on the way and, to our surprise, there actually was a table waiting for us...."Guiseppe!" We weren't sure the waiter had written it down but he had in fact and what followed was a very nice meal before the concert. It was Bach. The "Missa Soleminis" and "The Magnificat". And, it was very, very, very beautiful. I mean, knock your socks off gorgeous. 

This is a photo of the Upper Basilica:

This is the Concerto Basilica Regia......

https://youtu.be/upKsIM6i8vI

What's next? 

Calling All Creatives

On last Thursday morning, I had the pleasure, and I do mean "pleasure" of sharing time and space with a young woman who I met here for the first time in 2018 during the International collective exhibition of Literary, Visual and Performing Arts, an exhibition that she puts together several times a year at the Palazzo Dei Priori in the Piazza del Comune. The exhibition showcases the work done by people from all over the globe who come to her residences in pursuit of the atmosphere  for their creative work.

Not only did I want to find out more about the residency programs for myself and for sharing with other Creatives, but I wanted to know more about Marina Merli, the hows and whys of her venture. A nicer and more refined young woman, you will never meet.

Over coffee, she explained that she and her parents are native Assisiani. She's an only child and is happily sharing her life with her retired parents now. Her education, at the University of Perugia, was in Economics with a focus on tourism. From that, she built her dream. Tourism in a very niche market. Her first venue, in 2008,was in the part of Assisi that is away from the old center, up in Mount Subasio Regional Park. There, she created a "community" known as "Arte Studio Ginestrelle", catering to groups of artists and writers. In 2012  It became difficult for the family to continue operating such a large property so she scaled it down and now runs a small private Writing and Arts Residence.  The first of the two, built in the early XIV century, t is located on the first floor of a building that is adjacent to the Church of Santa Maria delle Rose, in the most ancient part of Assisi, a few steps away from the Cathedral of Assisi, San Rufino. One can only imagine the bliss that comes from sitting down to write here, where once a Roman Temple (I century B.C.) stood. Can it be more ideal? The whole apartment is "empty" of objects. Walls are bare. Minimal furnishings, all made by Italian craftsmen, create an atmosphere that allows creatives to focus and slowly immerse into what Marina refers to as "the authentic spirit of this ancient site". 

After showing me the residence at Santa Maria della Rosa (which, by the way, is the location of the now defunct church of the same name that houses the beautiful collection of wooden Madonnas for which it has become famous, we went on to her second residence on the Via San Rufino. This one, located off the main (narrow) street, is accessed through a set of door off of a flower-lined ascending pathway. It could not be more fitting a place for artists with the shop "A.Gallo Colors" located just downstairs. "A.Gallo" is the little flagship store that sells watercolor paints that are mulled by hand, in Assisi, using a traditional recipe of raw pigments, gum arabic from the acacia senegal tree, local honey from Umbria and essential oil. The result is a highly pigmented and exceptional range of colors. Needless to say, I am the proud owner of a few already. 

When it was time to part, we promised each other that we would keep in touch and of course, I asked for more details on applying for a residency and......is there a "Friends and Family" place on the list. You know that book I might just write someday?????

Bella Figura

“First of all, let’s get one thing straight. Your Italy and our Italia are not the same thing. Italy is a soft drug peddled in predictable packages, such as hills in the sunset, olive groves, lemon trees, white wine, and raven-haired girls. Italia, on the other hand, is a maze. It’s alluring, but complicated. It’s the kind of place that can have you fuming and then purring in the space of a hundred meters, or in the course of ten minutes. Italy is the only workshop in the world that can turn out both Botticellis and Berlusconis."  Beppe Severgnini

Beppe Severgnini is an Italian journalist, essayist and columnist.  He has authored several books on the lifestyle of his country, the latest "Italian Lessons: Fifty Things We Know About Life Now", published in May, 2022.  His "La Bella Figura: A Field Guide to the Italian Mind", published in 2008, is a classic.  In La Bella Figura, he starts Chapter One with "Being Italian is a full-time job. We never forget who we are, and we have fun confusing anyone who is looking on". He goes on to caution readers to not take his country at "face-value" but if you do, don't complain later.

Needless to say, he's a favorite author. Kind of like an Italian David Sedaris. In Beppe's case, he calls Italian lifestyle as he sees it, through the lens of a man who clearly loves his country without apology and is proud and happy to be Italian. I get it. 

In my humble opinion, the only way to understand Italian life is to live it. The best way to accomplish that is to dive in, feet first and stay afloat for as long as you can. And, save yourself the aggravation, don't complain about it. Nothing is going to change. And why should it?

I have come to accept the quirks that Beppe describes in his books, probably not thinking twice about most of the differences that are part of the daily life of those who graciously share their country, some more gracefully than others. Having rented many an Italian home, it is with authority and generosity of heart that I say that Italy is bobby-trapped. From steps up to get into bathrooms to washing machines that take no less than one and a half hours with absolutely no directions for use, the best of accommodations prove that life is confusing. Italian life does not come with an owner's manual and if you ask too many questions, you will get some version of "Allora, Signora, how many times I must tell you?"

Do not come to spend time here if you are intending to offer suggestions on better ways to do things or if you are an accident prevention specialist. Your words will be half-accepted with a smile but guaranteed, nothing further will come of your efforts. Why change it? In the Bella Figura world, nothing is broken, all faults and mishaps are hidden. And, as Beppe or anyone who understands Italian culture will tell you, if it looks good, it is good. Pretty oftentimes overrides practical. Form takes precedence over function and why worry about finding your seat belt in the backseat of a car when seat belts are only required by law for the front seat? It's all very easily understood. 

So, from the complicated and alluring, Green Heart of "My Italia", I remain purring and refusing to complain. My "workshop" is a corner of Heaven and always will be.

Assisi Morning This Week

Life in Assisi has become so rhythmic and soothing. We've found our water level and each day, we seek it and every moment is intoxicating. 

Our days usually start with a trip to a cafe for a cappuccino for me and a caffe latte for Joe. We have identified a cafe as "ours" as most residents here do.  The decision to claim a cafe is based not only on proximity but on general ambience as well. Proximity plays a huge role because the morning's official start should not include walking a long distance and performing a penitential rite in getting home. Nice outdoor seating with a view, well, it doesn't exactly hurt. We're settled into "bar La Piazzetta Agnese", named for its location and owned by sisters Francesca and Nicoletta. They know what we are going to ask for, hand over the delicious coronetti first. Our coffees arrive at our table with tiny glasses or water, delivered by one of the ladies. We're greeted warmly, treated as friends, and spend hours lingering without feeling rushed or guilty for taking a table that overlooks a gorgeous panorama. Most of the time, we run into people who we know and foursomes are easily put together for the art of chit chat. Never a bad way to start a day.

This morning, I was on a particular mission. Three years ago, we were told to visit Marco Zubboli, the owner of a book and paper shop bearing his family name that has been in the same location since it first opened in 1870. Hand printed cards, note papers, bound books and a variety of other beautiful items fill the tiny shop.  Marco arranged for us to have a tour of the workshop where everything is made. During that fascinating visit, we were introduced to Gianfranco, the "marbler" who designs and hand-manufactures the exquisite papers. He cordially invited me to return and spend more time one day and so, today was the day.

As Gianfranco assembled (one step at a time) folders that will be used by choirs for sheet music, he explained the process, what type of glue he uses, how he fuses the papers to the covers and gets the bindings to lay flat......I sat across from his work table. He allowed me to peruse the stack of marbled papers that will eventually be used on the blank-paged books that are sold in the shop and he patiently answered my questions about the process of marbling that fascinates me so. He's a master, that's for certain. He told me that he was familiar with New England, having taught at R.I.S.D. amongst other places, workshops for marbelists. 

Marco, Gianfranco and Pietro

After a little while, I took my leave, went back to the shop and purchased a few cards, some bookplates and a very, very nice book to hold my beloved Umbrian recipes. I have been cooking here, using authentic regional recipes and want to put them all in one place. Most require translation.  I do have to say that one of the things I will enjoy about being back at my house is cooking in my own language.  Everything that I purchase from supermarkets has directions in Italian of course.  So, not only do I struggle with a new recipe, but during the preparation, I also slug through the translation and oh, there aren't any measuring cups here at the apartment. In fact, in all my Italian kitchens, never have I seen a set of measuring spoons or cups. Now I know why my grandmother, when telling us how to cook something, used her cupped hand as her tool of communication.

It doesn't always work. 

Passeggiata People

There's a time-old tradition in Italy known as "Passeggiata".  The word simply translate to "stroll".  The observance of residents, most likely the elders of the community, taking a passeggiata after dinner, was one of those things that tourists found endearing and came home describing. The gents, impeccably dressed, a sweater vest at the minimum, a sports jacket oftentimes their strolling attire. The ladies, well, you might call it a "Passeggiata Uniform". It consists of sensible flat shoes, a slim woolen skirt and a well-ironed blouse. The arm, well, it fits  beautifully into the crook of the spouse's arm. Arm in arm, strolling. Observing the goings-on, discussing quietly whatever was needed to be discussed. Greeting friends and family members along the way. Sometimes, the passeggiata is used as a time for an adult child to stroll with an aging parent, again, arm in arm. I am certain that a lot is accomplished in that scenario. Bits of wisdom exchanged, advice given, secrets shared. In Italy, older people are not sent away from the home. They are accepted as the treasures they are and gently guided as they continue to guide. Of course, it is perfectly acceptable to take a solo passeggiata. 

Without always intending, we take many a passeggiata here in this beautiful town. Not usually after dinner, but during the course of the day. Sometimes that is precisely how we spend the better part of the day. The best part. No, we don't wear wool jackets and don't dress in the uniform. I daresay, we rarely hook arms. But we do walk, and strolling is a very darned good way to walk sometimes.

Each time we return to Assisi, or to the region of Umbria in general, we meet more new people. Everyone has a story, their reason for being here, for however long. We have a host of friends who have lived here all their lives and a growing list of ex-pats who have moved here for various reasons and are over-the-top about their decision. Everyone is happy and rarely does anyone seem in a rush to get somewhere. "Italian time" is something that one adopts soon after arriving in the country. At first, it can be somewhat annoying, especially to programmed Americans who never seem to slow down. But, eventually, if you allow it to happen, it will.

So, our days include the passeggiata and making a loop around town takes a lot of time. It's rare that we don't run into an old or a brand new friend. At the very least, a huge smile, a wave, and a "salve!" forms the greeting. As in the case yesterday, it was a "come on, may I buy you a coffee?" from a sweet woman named Catia who owns a boutique that I love to frequent. Amazing, she just grabbed her wallet and didn't even close her shop doors. A nice espresso, an introduction to the cafe owner, and some conversation practice. Afternoon coffees are not to be lingered over and it was back to the shop for her and on to the rest of my own passigiata.

One of the biggest problems we have encountered as temporary residents of the Palazzo is the disposal of our trash. Italy has rules for recycling that are fairly precise. Different colored plastic trash bags, coordinated with bins that are in the house or just outside. A chart in every kitchen that details the days of the week in which each category will be collected. Trash, in any form, is not to be "displayed" outside until after nine in the evening of the day before. It can be daunting and, to these early bedders, that display piece just doesn't fit. So, we do our bit, we seperate and bag properly. But, we have located some unlocked trash bins in the neighborhood, a few blocks away and guess what......

We take our trash on a passeggiata every couple of days!

Guarda Medica Santa Maria

 In "Writing School", one of the first things taught is the rule about not...ever....editing as one goes along. So, today, I went back and edited (to the delight of writing teachers and those who teach and have taught grammar and punctuation), the last of my posts. I was tired and intent on finishing up so that I could watch the new Bridgerton series on Netflix. I'm hungry for English-speaking media and I do NOT mean the nauseating coronation ceremony. I watched that because I watched Queen Elizabeth's coronation as a child and wanted to see why my child-self got the impression that the Queen was to be pitied because she could not ever, under any circumstances, leave the throne. How DID she go to the potty???

And now, I am not going to write about anything else about speaking English. Because, I have had to use my Italian very,very,very much in the past few days. Good thing that medical terminology is based on Latin and that makes it somewhat universal. But it wasn't Latin that I had to speak when we went to the "Walk-in" medical clinic on Sunday morning with a wheezing, coughing Joe. The day before, we made our first visit to the pharmacist here in the center of Assisi.  There are no chain pharmacies in Italy. CVS would make a killing here. Nor can you buy over the counter medications anywhere but in a pharmacy. Usually, they are small in size, beautifully appointed and gentrified. Pharmacists are not busy dispensing. They are at the counter, ready, willing and able to give advice. They are very well educated and have some command of the English language. So, our (new best friend) pharmacist recommended that if Joe needed something other than an OTC, we go to a clinic that is open 24 hours a day, all weekend. Just across the road from McDonalds in Santa Maria. Okay! We know where!!

We have a very good Assisian friend. In fact, we are blessed with many which may become the point of this story or another soon. His name is Pietro. I have known him since 2012 when we met over perfume. He is better than a friend. He has a car! He's the friend who forms the third of our "Tre Amici" when we go grocery shopping each week. He drives, we buy the cappuch. We have lots of fun together. I asked him about this clinic, what he might know about it, and immediately, he responded "I will pick you up at nine tomorrow morning". So, the three of us went to the clinic. Without his assistance, we would still be looking for the SNL Clinic. It appeared closed to us and of course, there was a lack of signage. After a lot of buzzing on the  buzzer, we were admitted by the woman who turned out to be the dottoressa. Could have fooled me. Especially when she asked us if we had a face mask for her. She spoke not one word of English. Again, dear Pietro came to our rescue. 

Joe got a reasonably good evaluation. We clung to the fact that healthcare in Italy is rated very high. No pneumonia. A few meds prescribed and no waiting. When we asked about payment, we were told that we can stop by anytime this week and drop off the twenty euros. The doc was having a hard time answering the phone, examining Joe, filling out papers, prescribing medicine and answering the door. She finally did answer the phone, told the person on the other end off, gesturing as if they could see her. "Can't you see, I'm with these people now?" Bam, down slammed the receiver. Brava Dottoressa.

 Next stop, the pharmacy (here we are again!) and this time, a lovely young woman pharmacist who instantly gave us the pre-packaged items, handed us her card and said to stop by if we needed further assistance. The price, twenty four euros. All of this, done during the course of a little over an hour! This is almost as good as free.

So, Joe's on the mend from whatever Puglia doled out to him (no, it wasn't Covid) and we've returned to the pharmacy a few times for "route guidance" or maybe, just to keep in touch with our newest friends and give them our home address for the Christmas card! 

One final note. Don't leave home without travel insurance. We have an excellent plan and having it has given us confidence and a blanket of security. And, if you have an Italian friend, hold on to that person. They are a National Treasure! 

Domani, more about Italian friends. Don't make me cry here.

Calendimaggio 2023

Every year, from Thursday through Saturday of the first week of May, a huge public festival known as "Calendimaggio" is celebrated in Assisi. The word, Calendimaggio, is a combination of "Calendi" for calendar or day, and "maggio" for the month of May. Residents,who have spent an entire year in preparation for the event, dress in medieval costumes and the town, as in medieval days, divides into two parts called "Sopra" for the upper part (blue)  and "Sotto", the lower (red).  The enthusiasm grows during the week before Calendimaggio and the usually quiet Assisi becomes a huge party atmosphere, with festivities that go well into the night. 

Sometime in the 1200's, the two parties, always battling with each other  (Sopra and Sotto) reached an agreement at the onset of  Spring, but the battles began again for some reason. This is the basis for the re-enactments and the celebrations. In song, dance, and drama, the feud and rivalry is reproduced for Calendimaggio. A series of events, parades and contests begins on the first official day and is culminated on Saturday night. While all appearances are medieval, the festival actually did not start until 1926. In 1946, after an interruption by the war, the celebrations became more modern and in 1952, an effort was made to recover the 13th century costumes and music, including reproductions of the conflict between Sopra and Sotto.

 So, last week was the biggie for Assisiani. 

Our trip to Puglia was perfectly timed.  The apartment is very close to the center of town, the "Comune," and our street leads directly into it, becoming a staging area for all that is done to create the re-enactments of the "Sotto" part of town. From Day One of our arrival, we heard hours on end of drum rehearsals, coming from the church of San Pietro, in the valley below us. Italians dine around eight o'clock in the evening so this meant late drumming which, at first blush, was charming, but as the weeks went on, the ear plugs came out. One can only imagine the cacophony during the week of the actual event! So, we headed back to Assisi just in time for the final day and skipped all the chaos (which I am sure was wonderful).

We had our bleacher tickets for the event on Saturday but left them home during our morning out. Dumbly, we figured that we could go home, freshen up, grab the tickets and head back out in time for the four o'clock "show". After all, we are only steps away from the Comune.....Big mistake. The entire area gets blocked off starting at 2:30. And there are no exceptions made to the rule that says if a barrier is up and there are security guards manning it, there is no way one can cross it. So, forget about getting from one end of the Comune to the other. Thankfully, I know my way around here very well so I told Joe to stay where he was, and off I went, circling the town, back to the apartment for the tickets and all that we needed for an afternoon of.....waiting.....and waiting. Just because a ticket says "4:00" for a start time, that means absolutely nothing when translated to Italian. 

Around 4:45, the event finally got under way. This, being our second Calendimaggio, wasn't all that difficult to comprehend, but the performances (think of two Broadway shows) are still mind-blowing. It helps to know that the battle between the two sections of Assisi is being portrayed in music, dance and drama. From start to finish. The Costumes, the props, which include live trees, huge wooden structures, fires, adults, children, donkeys, horses and flowers, are testament to the hard work and dedication the people of Assisi have to this. Not one thing is plastic or artificial. Nothing is too difficult or out of the question. No hose carcass or iron platform holding four adult men is too heavy. Trust me, this is really something.

I have heard from an American, Calendimaggio described thusly: "Picture a Broadway show, combined with the opening ceremonies of the Olympics and add to that". Well put. Another of the things about Italy that captivate me. There are no surprises. Everything is a surprise. 

And, by the way, this year's winner was SOTTO. That's us!  Last year, we were in SOPRA and guess what, they won!  We apparently are good luck charms.

 

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

 Lots of catching up due here

Before leaving Puglia and our adorable friends, we took us all out to a "typical" regional dinner. Naturally, that dinner did not even resemble a starting time until a little past eight in the evening on Thursday. 

Mysteriously, Joe began a bout of coughing just as we had exited the Grotto on Wednesday.  After the trials and tribulations and the chilly rain on Monday, we were certain that, added to two hours in a humid grotto, caused a cold. By Thursday, he was coughing for most of the hours of the day but we assured our hosts (who really didn't care one bit) that it wasn't Covid (we tested) and they were fine with his presence.

Now, to add to the drama.....three days after or arrival in Rome, Joe began a round of coughing. And, after the entire Pandemic, he finally tested Positive. We were in a good place, a nice comfy apartment in an actual "neighborhood" in Rome and he didn't have to totally isolate. The weather was fantastic and we continued our walking and exploring while he powered through and neatly got over it before we came to Umbria. 

Our dinner. Well, it was as authentic Pugliese as it possibly could have been. "La Nicchia" is a series of Trulli, attached to each other. The interior is charming, stone walls and arches. The food, well......good thing we were aware of the local custom of antipasto. Last year was our first exposure. No kicking each other under the table this time! Within minutes of our arrival, plates and plates and more plates of the most delicious foods arrived with extra portions of fresh mozzarella and the most fabulous fresh ricotta. The men ordered "meat" and Mimma and I, "fish". I cannot tell you which fish or which meat but we were all happy. 

Friday morning, at eight, Mimma and her son, Antonio drove us to the airport in Bari for our flight back to Rome. Antonio is a nursing student who has almost completed his studies (again, Italians are very vague so we don't know exactly when he will be finished and ready for his career but we do know that he attends the university in Bari where the family purchased an apartment for him rather than a dorm). Bari is approximately an hour's drive and all went fairly smooth until we approached the airport. The traffic situation is similar to the approach to the bridges coming off Cape Cod. 

Karol Wojtyla Airport (named for the past Pope), is modest-sized and modern. Very efficiently operated.Our flight was smooth and we landed at Fiumicino in Rome on time. 

Getting to the train station at the airport in Rome is not easy. Lots of walking and following signs for the "Leonardo Express" train, one that goes directly to Termini Station in Rome, our next destination of the day. Needless to say, the train is always jam-packed with people who have just arrived from destinations all over the World.....with their luggage. 

Off the Express and now to, of course, the furthest-away platform in the entire huge station (it was Friday, need I say more?) and onto the train to Assisi, a mere two hours away. Joe coughed and we kept apologizing until we realized that nobody cared. Covid is a thing of the past in Italy. 

Finally, after trains, planes and automobiles, we arrived at the station of Assisi and then boarded another bus (jam-packed) for our last stop, Piazza Matteotti at the top of the town. We know it well, but not everybody on the bus did so after giving directions to some Italian tourists (I should get paid for the times that I am asked for directions), I was literally crushed in between a young, total back-packed, Chinese woman who obviously was surprised that THIS was where she should be getting off, as she jumped up and without the least bit of concern for my health and safety, squeezed by me. Or should I say, jammed my body between her entire life's possessions and the metal post of the bus.She only stopped briefly to listen  to my yelling about how the backpack should not be "on" the back while riding on public transportation. Yes, it hurt.

Assisi completely turns herself over to a once-a-year celebration and, at that point, nothing, absolutely NOTHING else matters. This is a three day event called "Calendimaggio", the celebration of the official arrival of Spring, that starts on the first Wednesday of the first week in May and never stops until that Saturday night....very late that Saturday night. Every resident of Assisi cares very, very much about all of it and they all participate in the planning and execution. Most of the preparation for the events of the week are done on the tiny streets that feed into the center and it causes major disruptions and hazards to people who are attempting to get from one point to another. So, getting through it all was our final challenge of a very challenging day at the end of a very sweet but exhausting get-away. 

And Joe, well, he continued to cough, non-stop and I, continued to be a nurse and a wife and a very tired sleepless individual with more to come. 

Domani.

Volare!

 The mental image of putting the key into the big wooden door at the entrance to the Palazzo Spagnoli once again, kept me going through a long, long and exhausting day of travel back to Assisi from Puglia. 

We spent our final day with Mimma and her daughter Fausta, touring the city of Polignano a Mare. First of all, as mentioned in previous posts, small Puglian towns such as Martina Franca, have small, narrow roads that go on for miles and miles. They were built for horses, not horse powered vehicles and they are just about wide enough for one of those vehicles. Yet, they are two-way. Next, people who were born and raised in small Puglian towns, have been driving these roads almost exclusively, all of their lives and they drive very, very, very fast. They are issued some type of license when they are a mere fifteen years old. Fausta, now almost seventeen, explained that this early entry into the driving world has lots of strings attached. The car must be a step up from a motor scooter, as in "Smart Car". Kind of the size that you can drive into your bedroom and plug into the nightstand over night. For the first year, you may only have one passenger. The next, three are allowed in one car at a time. And then, finally, when you turn eighteen, you may drive a "real" car and have all the people you want in it. Seat belts are only required in the front so, the back belts are never used and are difficult to use if you are an American who is petrified. It's like they haven't been broken in yet. But, the car owners will just tell you "oh, don't worry, they are not required" and everyone moves on. We broke them in. It was either find a way or jump out. 

After safely arriving at our beautiful destination, we toured the city. Built upon cliffs, it is one of the most picturesque of the small cities and the views of the Adriatic are commanding. The water color is true turquoise and it's hard to not stop and stare. A cliff walk wraps around the area like ribbon on a birthday present. Imagine how lovely the restaurants are there.....what a setting for a fantastic seafood meal or aperitivo. There's another big feature in Polignano and this one forms an earworm very quickly. We know him as a "One Tune Wonder", the residents of Puglia, as a hero to the song world. His name is Domenico Modugno and his 1958 hit song, "Volare".  There's a whole plaza dedicated to him, a huge statue with outstretched arms and sets of stone seating with the words to the song inscribed in full view. Naturally, everyone becomes a singer.  It's too hard to resist. 

More tomorrow about our family dinner and then the trip back here.  It's a long story.

O. O.

Grotte de Castellana

 The rain stopped and the sun came out early yesterday afternoon. After two cloudy, wet and chilly days, it was time to enjoy some time in.......a cave. How ironic is this one?

When we were planning our visit to Puglia, our hostess asked if we would like to visit a very special place not far from her home that we had not seen last year. She excitedly messaged back that she had purchased three tickets to "Grotte de Castellana" and we were all set for a tour in English. Was this going to be a fun excursion or were we going to be giggling the whole time at how we came to an area that is known for its beauty in the Springtime, for the way the sun plays with the clouds and the gentle breeze pushes the fields of poppies and makes them look like they are dancing and we visited a "CAVE"??  We were totally at her mercy and her enthusiastic approach was welcomed, easing our trepidations somewhat.

So, we hopped into the car, sat back, and relaxed as her husband, Pietro, expertly and swiftly drove us all to Castellana. Our "taxi". What a nice guy he is.  He had the day off, as he had the day before, from his work because of the rain.  He and his brother own a huge paving company and it appears that he's a hands-on owner and can only work in good weather. Must be an abundance of good working weather here because they are very comfortable in their lifestyle.  God bless.

While waiting on the entrance line (we joined the folks at Door Numero Due, the English-speaking tour line), Mimma handed our wool caps. Told us it might be very cold in there. Then, she asked if either of us had claustrophobia. Huh? Nice time to ask.....we're going in soon. And then, she pointed to a woman who had been escorted out and seemed intent on getting as far away from the venue as her feet could take her. "Couldn't take it!". Oh great. I do have some issues surrounding enclosed spaces (and elevators, and total darkness, and lots of other related things). I told her that I always carry a bottle of "Calm" which of course she concluded was a controlled and possibly illegal substance. Not to worry, Mimma. I'll be fine.At that point, she reassured us that the caves were big, that there wasn't any real need to be concerned. Gee thanks.

The appointed time came and our group walked way, way down a big stone flight of stairs (hmmmm, we're going under the ground and what goes down, must come up. Elevators?) Our first stop was THE most gobsmacking, mind-boggling, positively incredibly beautiful, unreal cave with an open top, way, high up. We learned at that point, that the formations, the stalagmites and stalactites, were formed ninety one hundred million years ago (what?) when Puglia was submerged by the sea. I cannot even begin to describe this. I can tell you that the caves were discovered some time early in the nineteenth century by a man named Vincenzo Longo who was curious about what he had been observing (bats?) and he, along with some of his friends, ventured in. I cannot begin to imagine their bravery. Nor can I imagine the surprises that awaited them. Take a peek https://www.grottedicastellana.it/le-grotte/la-scoperta/.  No use in trying to describe this. Our mouths dropped open and never closed as we traversed three kilometers, descending, ascending, and winding our way through narrow passageways from one incredible natural beauty to the next. The lighting is done well, making individual areas look even more dramatic. This went on for a full two hours, ending in the tour of the "White Cave", a stunning set of formations that look like icing, dripping here, there and everywhere. That cave is white because there are zero cracks in any of the walls that line it. 

Our two hour tour passed quickly. Not one moment of claustrophobia or anything other than wonder and amazement. And, yes, elevators completed our ascension and our "taxi" showed up to whisk us back to our Casa. 

Next trip, I am bringing a different laptop. I so regret that I can't post photos. But, the website has some really, really great ones. 

Puglian Wednesday

 At this very time, last year, we made our first post-pandemic, highly-anticipated, journey back to Italy. After two disappointments, we finally were "allowed" by the governments and the airlines, to make the trip providing we adhered to the vaccination proof, pre and post travel testing policies and that we remain Covid-free during out stay. So, with all of the boxes checked and with hearts in our mouths, we came back. Our gap in between visits allowed us the time to decide that we needed to see and experience the peaceful and tranquil Puglia region, further south on the map, coastline Italy, the opposite of the Amalfi Coast that we had found so beautiful on another trip. Puglia has been touted as an area that has not yet been tainted by the influx of tourists largely responsible for the current "theme-parking" of the "Big Three"....Rome, Florence and Venice. It is a fact that many native Venetians have left their birthplace and the population has dwindled to the point at which the remaining residents have actually held a funeral for their beloved home. They are fighting hard, to this day, to push the enormous cruise ships that invade the lagoon, and to reclaim the culture of the city which now is referred to as "VeniceLand". 

We chose "Casa Tra I Trulli" from an Air B&B site, largely because of the photos of the property on which it rests, complete with a family of horses out back. Not to mention the presence of three authentic trulli houses which date back to 1870 when the owner's grandfather raised his own family right here. You know you are in Puglia (Apuglia) when you start to spot the tulli houses which dot the landscape, like the homes of Gnomes. But they are real and lived in as they have been for centuries, never to be confused with a set-up for tourists!! After a lovely two week stay, a bond developed between us and the host family, resulting in a transatlantic friendship that resulted in a very kind invitation to return here, to Martina Franca and the Casa as guests of the family. That family consists of Mimma, Pietro, Fausta, Antonio and the parents of Mimma, Theresa and Stefano.

Last year, we had a car. This year, we do not.  Suffice it to say, we will never drive in this area again.And that, dear readers is why we took a bus, a train, another train,  another overnight stay, another bus and an expertly-executed ride from Pietro and Mimma who awaited us with hearts filled in Alberobello, the neighboring town. From the first embrace, we knew it was all worthwhile. 

The weather has not been in our favor. It did not rain all day yesterday but the sun only poked out a few times and the cold, damp air prevailed. Here, as in most everywhere in this country, the houses are made of varying stone materials. When the sun does not shine, the materials retain the cold and we are chilled to the bone but there is a promise of warmer, more Spring Like weather, returning tomorrow. 

So, we "rested" most of the day yesterday.  Mimma, the darling person that she is, stocked the refrigerator with food for lunches and breakfasts. Fresh eggs from the farm, salad ingredients from the garden. Coffee, a homemade cake, snacks, you name it. We are all set for the times that we will be on our own. I immediately set out to survey the property, to see what has changed since last year, and to say hello to the horses. One of those beauties is the "baby" named "Pete" who was born here within hours of the sad death of our dear friend, Peter Rosenberg. He's grown, but is not yet full-sized. It was explained that he will do most of his growth spurt during the Spring when he can eat the nutritionally perfect green grasses that surround him and his family now. Following my time with the cavalli, I retreated to the little single trullo that is accessed through the kitchen. Located between the cucina and the roof, the trullo is a perfect space for sitting on the little sofa and doing whatever makes one happiest. It's my space in Puglia and on warmer days, I love to sit there and write. Or just sit here and gaze out the door at the lovely view. No need to plan. No stress for many, many miles.

We were invited to dine with Pietro, Mimma and their children. "Come at seven". Italians don't lift a fork until at least eight. And, at that time, we all sat down to a typical Puglian dinner. The freshly made orecchiette pasta, a regional specialty, was made by Theresa, Mimma's mother. The sauce, by Mimma. Following the primi piatti, a round of braciole and polpette (real Pugliese style "meatballs") the recipe for which I must get today from Mimma!  They were not made from meat and they were light as feathers. Next, Puglian sausages and perfectly roasted potatoes. The amounts were just right. We were getting full but trying very hard to not get over-full. Finally, dessert of a very regional tart-like cake, filled with pastry cream and cherries. A round of some nice grappa sent us back out, up the driveway and to our guesthouse for a well-earned sleep on a very chilly night.

We're heading out soon.  It isn't raining, just an occasional drizzle now and the promise of a nice day tomorrow.  Mimma has purchased tickets for the three of us to visit the Grotte di Castellana this afternoon. Coats have been loaned to us. Caves on a cold, wet day........and we're as ready as we can be. This should be quite the adventure. We've had a nice breakfast - fresh eggs from I Trulli, and Mimmi dropped off some heavenly fresh mozzarella and a loaf of bread. That, plus a salad made with produce from their garden, and we had a feast for lunch. I've been invited to the kitchen to learn how to cook a regional favorite called "Panzerotti" later today. I've had them. They are very tasty indeed. Description to follow tomorrow, no doubt. 

We better return to our hill town on time Friday afternoon so we can walk off our calories or we're going to need a diet doctor. 

Busses and Trains......

As Rodney Dangerfield has said, "it's like deja vu all over again".  I'm back in my one-woman trullo, here in Martina Franca, just where I was almost exactly one year ago.  This time, we're here as invited guests of the lovely family that owns what is one of the loveliest Air BnB's in this glorious region of Puglia. It's quiet, peaceful and it even smells wonderful. When Mimma invited us, we could not resist and so, here we are and here I am, alone in my trullo, experiencing yet another bit of Heaven on Earth.

But, we didn't tweak our noses and arrive here from Assisi. Not for one minute should that be thought.

We left our Assisi apartment on Sunday morning, just catching the bus to the train station on time. A few minutes later, we were on the train, headed for Florence, two hours away. 

Florence, on the lovely Sunday afternoon, was overrun by tourists. Thousands of them. Lots of Americans and lots of everyone else, including Italians. It was yet another holiday weekend in Italy, yesterday was Labor Day. We were at the tail-end of what they refer to as "the bridge" or the week in between holidays. Two three-day weekends in a row resulted in everyone and their brothers and sisters taking what is now known as "revenge vacations".  There are so few vestiges of the Pandemic and all that pent-up feeling of I need a get-away, is evident. So, lines everywhere and sidewalks that were difficult to navigate. We've been to Florence a number of times and therefore did not need to join the lines so we found a nice quiet little wine bar for lunch. The waitress even set up a makeshift table for us and we sat at a fold-down table on a side street. Perfect. 

My husband has a lot of trust in my ability to find my way around almost anywhere and to come up with a place to spend a night. But, I think his trust truly was put to test when we took the tiny elevator up to the third floor of an unmarked former palazzo on a quiet side street and rang the bell at the Artemente Florence B&B. Small and charming, especially to a person, like myself, who finds joy in off-the-track accommodation. Artemente is owned by a lovely woman named Anna Maria who is an art restorer. She's a perfect host and she and I wear glasses that could have been twins. She explained that her B&B has brought her a tremendous amount of pleasure and was the result of a need to find an income because her work in places like the Uffizzi and the Pitti Palace brought payments (by the government) a year and a half after completion.  A small, comfortable room, an encounter with an elevator door that refused to open, and an amazing breakfast, served in time for our early departure yesterday morning. 

Our next stop.....Santa Maria Novella Train Station again. This time for departure on the Frecciarosa, Trenitalia's crown jewel railway system that is also known as the "high speed" train, to our next destination, Bari. A comfortable ride, thank God, because it is almost six hours from Florence to Bari. And yet, another adventure....a cab ride to our next quirky spot for the night, one that stumped the cab driver and left Joe with an even bigger question mark. "Now where are we going?????" The driver asked another driver and at least he got an idea of where we should be headed.  I'm not a fluent speaker of the Italian language but I do fairly well so we worked it out.  We were to stay in the old center of Bari where cars aren't actually allowed, so he would bring us as close as he could without getting his license pulled. After that, we were on our own. God help us. We knew not one thing about Bari, except that we had a reservation at another B&B, this one called "The Sisters" and oh, it was pouring rain. We came across a little trattoria that was bustling with activity, adjacent to a bar (cafe) that was really bustling. A small sign told visitors that the "hotel" registration was in the cafe. Okay, so we asked. Nobody seemed to know. So, we walked,  in the rain, until I found a little lady who appeared to live in the neighborhood. When I say "neighborhood", understand that I mean, on the same very, very tiny street. Yes, she knew where the "Sisters" was and knew how to get to the registration. And, she told me to follow her. The three of us scooted down the little street, she dumped her trash on the way, straightened out some flower pots that were positioned under downspouts (too much water!) and she brought us right to the cafe where the owner, one of the "Sisters" actually had our names and our keys. Back out into the rain, we headed next door, through the trattoria, and then through a door that led to our door. A tiny, clean, room with, thank you God, a bathroom and hot water. 

But, we had not yet gotten to our final destination, Alberobello. Google it.  It's scrumptious. 

I will leave off here.  There's oh, so much more to the story but I will use my time wisely today. The weather is changing again. There is sunshine and it's sublime so I am going to focus on all that is surrounding me for now. Tonight, we're having dinner with the family and I think I need to rest up for that. And to brush up on my Italian. Only one of them speaks English......

Ci vediamo.