Weepy Walls and All

The past few days have been rainy, more typical for Umbria during the month of November than the sunshine we have enjoyed since last month. Humidity is high. The paved streets and sidewalks can be a bit slippery so we walk slowly. We honestly don’t have to rush. This is, after all, Italia!!

And, each day still brings the joy of new discoveries. Seldom does one not. 

So, yesterday, over morning coffee, as Joe glanced at our surroundings, we made yet another one.

The living room walls of the apartment are at least twelve feet high and three outside walls are made of stone, one wall interrupted by two arched doorways that look out onto a courtyard. It’s the epitome of what a house in the historic center of an ancient Italian town would be. Can’t imagine in what year this was constructed. It’s probably as old as St Francis.

The walls were wet. Not dripping to the floor, but oozing. Sections of stone appeared to be “crying”. The sofa which was very close to one wall was getting wet. Our concern was aroused. This apartment is leased by friends who have sublet it to us. We had to alert them.

“We’re not complaining, we can live with it (damply), but you should come take a look at this. Either we’re experiencing some kind of miracle or there’s something wrong!”

Our call to Dolores promptly set her into action. She’s a warrior woman and Scott’s an engineer by profession (wait, wait…is that still a “profession” or has he also been insulted by Donnie?). Within the hour, a response containing the explanation came from the landlord. No, we were not on the road to canonization. We simply were witnessing a “physiological phenomenon from the geological point of view”. Our stone walls, they are known as “Pietre del Sanguinone”. They cry when the humidity is high. Not exactly a miracle but interesting. One might wonder why, knowing that this would happen over and over again, would home builders use this type of stone for interior walls? Simply put, they didn’t have a choice all those centuries ago. The stone that were used in construction is a rose and white color, typically found on nearby Monte Subasio. Subasio limestone runs from greyish or brownish white to beige and deep pink. It is the stone that was used to build most of Assisi, “Pietra Rosa di Assisi”                                                      

  

 

So, there you go. Simple explanation and a call to even more action. In researching this phenomenon I discovered references to some other uses of the stone and the agenda for the next few days includes further exploration of this mystical, magical city of miracles. While we weren’t experiencing any miracles first hand, we’ll settle for the mystery and the magic in our lives and will ask for miracles for those who truly need them.

Chocolate Day

After a rainswept day on Saturday, we welcomed the weather forecast for a sunny Sunday and the prospect of once again being outdoors, enjoying our surroundings. My reward for all the efforts it took to get to the big supermarket a few days before was my favorite Sunday breakfast of smoked salmon with cream cheese on a Scandanavian cracker. I was delighted to have found all of the ingredients. The salmon was up to and beyond my standards and, it was Philadelphia Cream Cheese!

Knowing that it was to be the final day of “Eurochocolate” in Perugia, we decided to make it our destination. But first, some other traditions were in order. 

We headed towards the train station on foot, taking the Strata Mattonota, the 3km brick pathway that goes from the Porta San Pietro at the base of the city of Assisi, to the Basilica of Santa Maria degli Angeli which is just behind the train station. It is, and always has been, our favorite slice of the city. It’s paved with inscribed bricks, donated by people from across the globe to help reconstruct the city of Assisi following the earthquake of 1997. In 2012, when walking down the pathway, I discovered the four thousand-plus bricks that are inscribed with names, ages and places of residences, of the victims of the World Trade Center tragedy. 

As the route continues, and the train station is in sight, we seize the opportunity to partake in yet another favorite tradition, our lunch at the Assisi MacDonald’s! The same, but different. Joe ends his meal with an espresso. That’s part of the charm.

We arrived in Perugia in the early afternoon. It’s a short train ride and after we reach the station we take the mini metro way up to the very top of the city. It’s great for kids who delight in standing in front of the train window as it climbs. Kind of like an amusement park ride for them,  great convenience for everyone else. 

Eurochocolate is an annual festival that takes place in Perugia at this time every year (it could not be held during the warmer months for obvious reasons). The festival has been held since 1993, and is one of the largest chocolate festivals in Europe. For ten days, events and stands featuring industry-leading companies from around the world, completely cover every inch of the city’s historic center. There is chocolate in every shape, form and version, being sold at a rapid pace. Thousands of people attend (many accompanied by their dogs who would die if they ate chocolate, so why?) It’s totally mind-boggling and something that we agreed, was not to be missed. Of course we had to practice a huge amount of self-control, allowing ourselves one hot chocolate drink each, and a few truffle delights for Joe. I’m not talking Swiss Miss cocoa here. It’s liquid chocolate, topped with fresh whipped cream. Thick and creamy, not sweet. Delicious!

Our trip back to Assisi was interesting. The mini metro is a series of small, independent trains, each holding a big handful of riders. So, when we arrived at the station, we met up with a few hundred others who also wanted to ride back down. There’s a huge parking lot at the final stop and most of them were heading there. So, we joined the queue and waited our turn to make the cut. While it oftentimes appears to be chaotic, situations such as this are handled very well in this country. Crowd control seems to be a specialty. Efforts to have just so many people at any given spot and time are well-orchestrated and people conform. Standing on a line gives them more time to talk to each other. Kids don’t get cranky. So, in approximately twenty minutes it became our turn to get to the next stage, a few more minutes and our turn to board the mini and then down to our train back to Assisi in the sunset. Which, from the Perugia train station we were able to see…for a long time. An announcement confirmed that yes, our train would be twenty minutes late due to railway strikes. Hey, at least there would be a train! Strikes are common in Italy and it seems more than a coincidence that they occur on each end of a weekend. 

So, after a long and very happy day, during which we complimented each other on our patience and our grasp of Italian lifestyle (we prove, over and over, that we truly are Italians), we were treated to a surprise. The Christmas lights have been lit! Happy us.

The Piazza Commune

To the Moon and Back

 It’s no secret that I am not an Umbrian food enthusiast. Sure, who doesn’t like the amazing cheeses and the array of local products that appear in the smallest of alimentaries and the “super stores” such as Conad? These are items that, if found on the shelves of U.S. markets, would be labeled as “imported” and that would be the justification for the high prices. And nowadays, those prices are even higher due to the tariffs. I don’t think that it needs to be stated here but, heck, a reality is a reality and the Trump name here does not bring out the best in people. I digress. So, we mix it up. We walk a mile to a small market, go across the street to an even smaller one, and on occasion, walk to a bus stop and take a bus to the biggest market. In between that, there’s an outdoor market on Saturday mornings right here within the walls. I cook. Why not? Had a craving for fresh fish on Friday night and it was met with salmon that rivaled that which we get “fresh” from our home markets…at double the cost.

So, no. Not so much on “Italian” food. Unless it’s new olive oil poured over toasted bread. Or crostini or any of the food we ate in Sicily. Or the freshest of vegetables, zucchini still attached to their mother-flowers…

Sushi!!!

Turns out, we’re not the only ones. It came up in conversation one eventually last week over aperitvi, the shared love of raw fish, and…. the new restaurant that has a special price. ALL one can eat, for, I kid you not, twenty euros. The place is called “Moon” and it’s a bus ride away in the lower part of Assisi known as “Santa Maria degli Angeli”. It’s not part of the hill town and it’s approximately a bit over a mile away but it’s a whole different story. Think Wellfleet/Hyannis. 

So, yesterday, in pouring rain and chilly air, we boarded the bus and off we went with Scott, Dolores, Renee and her daughter Luciana, to MOON. 

One has to experience this place. It cannot be explained, for here, in tiny, landlocked Assisi, out of the far reaches of imagination, is a huge, modern, stylish Asian restaurant that blew us away in one swoop. For all we knew, we had actually landed on THE moon. Fortunately, we were with an Asian friend who brought her teenage Asian-Italian daughter along for the ride. Super easy. You order from your phone or from the iPad on the table. The menu is extensive and somewhat confusing for inexperienced older folks but we were in expert hands. 

Within moments, food started to arrive. Waiters everywhere drifted by, dropping off dish after dish of dumplings, shashimi, soups, raw this, raw that, and endless rolls of perfect sushi. It never ended. Everything that arrived was fresh, beautifully presented and delicious. Yes, one can actually have too much sushi. 

Before we left, I visited the restroom which was high tech and stunning. On the way, I passed tables of diners sitting in big brass birdcages, a long, long pond with stepping stones, another huge and elegant water feature and countless jaw-dropping interior designs. The impression was of an airport lounge in Tokyo. 

What a meal!

Who would have guessed?

How is this even possible?

Why here?

How?

And….how does MOON compete with the huge sushi place that’s practically right next door?

Who cares?

We’re going back as soon as we have digested yesterday’s lunch.

After the Rain

We have been blessed with great weather since our arrival in Italy last month. But yesterday, it rained all morning and the weather lent itself to a leisure. No hurry, no worries. 

In between the raindrops we walked up to our favorite cafe for cappuccino, where we had a delightful conversation with a couple from Northern England who also are here on an extended stay. 

We were then back home for lunch and more luxurious time as we awaited the finale to the day’s rain. We haven’t had many downpours which is kind of unusual for this time of year here in Italy’s green heart. The soil which produces the olive trees and vineyards depends upon the waters of the autumn season. 

After the rain, the sun made an appearance. Chill remained in the air and the buildings sponsored a glow that is enjoyed by the few who are not rushing through town. It was serene, quiet and perfect for a lovely walk, una passeggiata, as the Italians say. 

Our passeggiata found us strolling down to the lower reach of town, along   Via Sant Paolo to Via Metastasio and then a left and sharp right towards the beautiful Vicolo Santa Margherita where the Chiesa di Santa Margherita sits as it has since the 1200’s. Entertaining the doors to the tiny gothic styled church brought not only the warmth from a modern heating system, but from the beauty of the interior. The doors are always open and the beautiful Saint Margaret is always ready to welcome the few daily visitors who have, as we have, come to know about one of Assisi’s best treasures.

The tiny piazza in front of S. Margherita overlooks the Basilica of San Francesco and, simultaneously, the valley to the left and the mountains to the right. Stunning views that are rarely shared by others so the benches are always available. Ready and waiting for those who come in contemplation or in plain, old awe of what’s in the neighborhood.

We paused for a while, both inside and out, before resuming our sunset walk. This is why we come back, over and over, to Assisi. For evenings such as this. We stopped several times to check out the setting sun and its resulting array of gorgeous vignettes as it played with the clouds in the stillness of the valley. We walked back up to the piazza that fronts the Chiesa Santa Chiara and then the stillness was interrupted by the lovely carillons that signal the end of the day.

As we returned to our apartment, we crossed the Piazza Commune for what I am sure was at least the thousandth time, and noted that the tower is now lit by blue lights. It’s beginning to look a bit like Christmas. 

 

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Autunno in Umbria

 I have, on more than one occasion, written about the period of time between the end of September and the arrival of Christmas. It’s a time slot that I love with all my heart and it’s the one in which, if we’re going to be in Italy and there’s no global pandemic stopping us, we will be.

So, here I am again, early on a November morning in Umbria, examining my heart at the tip of daybreak, thinking about all that makes time so precious and days so worthy of the time and effort required to commit them to memory. Because, this is after all, my memoir. I write for me. I know that my memory isn’t always going to be sharp but I also do know that my memories will always be important to me. That’s why we travel. There are lots of empty pages to fill.

So, an autumn day in Umbria moves with grace. Slowly. The mornings and afternoons are chilly. Sunsets are spectacular. As the evening approaches, along with the smell of fallen leaves, wood burning in the first fireplaces lit for the season delivers an aroma that lights a fire in my heart. Home is where the heart is. I make it no secret that Italy is my true home. 

“Nebbia” is the word for “fog” or, in that which is observed at the start of nearly every morning, “mist”. For those who choose to travel during sultry summers, my sympathies for missing out on so many wonderful sights, this being one. The Valle Umbria is rich and fertile. It’s the stretch of land from the city of Perugia to the hilltop town of Spoleto. Rolling green hills, tall cypress trees, olive groves and vineyards dot the landscape. The region is actually crossed by two valleys, with the Tiber Valley running northward. So, it’s from these that the morning mist is born, rising up and lying in a dreamlike wisp that can only be compared to the work of angels. 

By late morning, the sun warms. The hills light up, each showing itself off as the earth ever so gently rotates and causes individual pockets of radiance of amber, rust and the deepest of greens. Dampness permeates the air. The tour groups, though far fewer than those of the summer, gather in the piazzas or in front of the major churches here in Assisi as they prepare to capture one last glimpse before heading back to their origins after a day of climbing up, up, up. We often wonder if they came with the understanding that a day in an Italian hill town is akin to a week at their local gym. Maybe if they were told this, they wouldn’t come? 

Throughout the day, gentle sounds, and oftentimes, the not-so-gentle gongs of church bells, can be heard. No need for a watch. From seven in the morning until evening, the hour and its divisions, are clearly announced. 

When evening returns, the magic edges are softened further and it’s time for aperitvi with friends. Perhaps the same ones who shared morning coffee in a favorite cafe. Maybe a little group of kindred spirits, or a one-on-one. For me, an Aperol Spritz is always on that menu. It’s a delightful custom and it’s one that is found in every part of Italy. The welcome to the day coffee and the time for saying goodbye to the day. Rituals, neither rushed by those who have time. Aperitivo is peaceful and grounded, a time that allows one to take it all in.

Locals dine at home for the most part. Dinners are, in my case, painfully late in the evening. It’s a tradition that I will never be able to embrace. My physiology will not allow it too often. But, if you grew up here, eating dinner before eight o’clock is sinful. So, we cook. That means that we shop a lot.

And that means that another blog post  will follow one day soon. But not now. Morning is calling. I have two sets of shutters to open and my Wordle to complete. 

Remembering Sicily

 The Sicily visit is one that will always be remembered and treasured.

I want to remember the spontaneity of the answer “yes” without hesitation or today, without regret.

I want to remember the quirky country house in Catania…long, dark road, through not one, but two locked gates, the secrets unlocked by Dolores, the doors, swung open, the car flowing through. Alone, we may have given up. This can’t be right. But it was. The light and late dinner. Just how many of us were they expecting? An array of local lite bites and that first sip of Nero D’Avola. Can anything in the U.S. taste that well? I seriously doubt it.

I’m sure I will remember the tour of Mt Etna. The passionate young guide. The excursion through a microclimate. The mist, the sun, the rain. The cave. Clean air. The height of it all. Grateful that we hadn’t chosen to not use a tour guide. He knew the volcano, inside and out and he, like his neighbors, didn’t fear it whatsoever. So, sit back and relax. We practically did.

With amusement and laughter, we’ll all look back at the little apartment somewhere between Catania and Agrigento, right smack on the coastline…oh what a sunset…and count cats. I think there were thirteen. Were they from the same litter? They loved us. Dolores didn’t like them. But the pizza was good. The next day, we were back in the car. Scott handled every mile expertly. We just kept looking at the magnificence. Eyes on coastline and mountains all the way, even beyond those precious days. Mouths open. 

Agrigento. A place never forgotten. I’m always going to remember the temples in the valley. How user-friendly it turned out to be. How much we appreciated the taxi to the entrance. How did they do it, thousands of years ago. Apparently there’s always been technology. It was different technology. But, it did exist. I remember someone pointing that out. Still, I was awestruck and the weather was perfect. Couldn’t do it in the Summer. No way.

From Agrigento to beloved Sciacca, the birthplace of Joe’s paternal grandfather. The Guardino name. In that town, in all its little splendor, the highest number of people named Guardino are found. Joe’s grandfather worked on an olive farm. I remember him. But he did make his livelihood as a successful seafood dealer in White Plains, New York. I remember his shop. I knew it before I knew Joe. Can’t help but wonder why he wasn’t a fisherman in Sciacca. So many are. And, so many men. Saw very few women congregating. Looks like a town ruled by masculinity. I will never forget the 2 days and nights. The sunsets, the gorgeous dinner we all had at the Porta San Paolo. Dolores and Scott, you were so right. Together, we relived your memory of this beautiful restaurant and the harbor with the lights. I will always giggle as I do now, when I think back to the groups of local gentlemen who gathered at the Piazza Angelo Scandaliato with its panorama, the living room of Sciacca. They laughed and laughed and showered the square with a love of life that is rarely seen in men of their assorted ages. How I wondered how they would take to a woman breaking into their pack, randomly. I was invited. We shared a proud sunset view of the far-off island of Pantelleria. Apparently not seen every night or, did they get this excited every night? Thank you for sharing. And for the hugs, kisses and the little dance. Who knew I would meet another Abruzzese in the Sicilian man tribe? We both had the blue eyes to prove it. He was happy happy happy.

I will recall that our travel companions left us in Sciacca and went on to explore more future homes. They really are going to fulfill a dream. She wants a beach house in Sicily. He’s going to make it happen. When, we’re not sure. For now, one house in Assisi is filling their dreamscape quite nicely. One dream at a time. And I will remember our gracious host, Angelina, who picked up the phone and made the arrangements for Joe to meet Caligaro Guardino, his very own cousin. Who could forget that kindness? She walked us directly to his workplace. He’s a laborer, working atop a building within minutes of the B&B. It was a magic moment. Brief. But a promise was made. We will return to Sciacca one day and have a real seafood dinner with the family. Si? Certo. Our persuasive next driver, Enzo, has us almost convinced that we are to return for an extended stay. Rent can be inexpensive. Shhhh, don’t tell anyone but Enzo, the how and why. And the weather. Bellissssssimo! No, 

I already remember that about Sciacca. Assisi isn’t sunny and warm. We’re living in an 800 year old building and it’s cold in here. 

What I will remember about Palermo is the chaos. The storm after the calm. Lots of graffiti. Cars, motorcycles, scooters, bikes, people everywhere. Food, everywhere and everything food. Good thing we walk a lot. Good thing we almost never eat in between meals when traveling. But there are an abundance of good things everywhere in that city. And, it’s cheap. I will remember that we drank Aperol spritzes that cost 3 € the next time I see $12 on a menu for the same thing. Ugh.

How can I forget Elene, the sweet young tour guide, a friend of an Assisi friend, who showed us some of the most gorgeous and interesting sights in her city, introduced us to granita’s and the endless Mercato del Capo where she ordered an array of typical lunch foods, all prepared by an elderly owner who never smiles she says. Too busy making other people happy. Right? That market. OMG!! You’re going to have to be there to understand what I am talking about. Damn!

And, the Palazzo Corvino. Not going to forget the hospitality despite the fact that we only met an older gentleman who appeared out of seemingly nowhere to act as a substitute host for Gabriele who wasn’t well but still was capable of communicating throughout our lovely stay. And Rosanna who gave us breakfast and stood, waiting for us to ask for anything we desired. Not one word of English from her or that sweet greeter-man. Thank you and you and you, for all of the Italian lessons and for years of visiting this county. Filled with beautiful people who challenge my every word and oftentimes, even forgive me as they fabricate what I am trying to say. I sometimes can understand you but not always can I say what I am thinking. I remember many blunders in my part. 

Not least of all, I will remember the flights back and forth. Sicily isn’t far and flights are astonishingly inexpensive with Ryanair but there are rules. The airports are small. When we arrived in Perugia, at the Aeroporto San Francesco d’Assisi, we were amazed at the number of fellow travelers who were to board a plane that wasn’t anywhere to be seen yet. One arrived. They got off, we got on. Quiet. Orderly. Polite.  No pushing. No shoving. No attitude. No overhead bin problems. Up the stairs. Half went into the back door, half, the front. It’s indicated on your ticket. Same scenario at the Falcone Borsellino Airport from where we departed on Saturday morning. I do recall an announcement that warned us to avoid walking around the wing when making our way into the terminal. 

Giuseppe Respa, our much-loved taxi driver friend, your kindness and warm smile will always be a part of our fondest of memories and to those of you who welcomed us “home” when we returned to Assisi yesterday, a huge grazie tante. We love Assisi, but this morning, sitting here in the chill of our former Benedictine convent, it’s hard to forget our fantastic journey to the warmth of Sicily. 

Despite the sapphire blue sky that appeared over the Piazza here last night.

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FROM THERE TO SICILY

If Italy is a work of art, then Sicily is a masterpiece 

We’ve traveled from Catania up to Sciacca via the coastal route, thanks to our fellow vagabonds who invited us to join them soon after we arrived in Assisi. Their plan was to go house shopping and to have some fun for a few days. Together, we toured Mt Etna, visited the ancient ruins in the Valley of the Temples in Agrigento and made our way to the beautiful birthplace of Joe’s paternal grandfather. Scott’s expert driving, coupled with Dolores’ skilled navigation and trip planning were cause for celebration in themselves. The perfect weather and blue skies didn’t hurt.

At last, we have an answer to the question “do you have family in Sicily?”…..We most definitely do. Aside from the fact that the Guardino name in Sciacca is akin to Smith in the States, we know that we have true, Sicilian-blue family members because our gracious B&B hostess called one of them up and led us to his workplace where Joe received hugs and kisses from Caligaro with whom he shares great grandparents. His bis Nono and Joe’s became oceans apart when Joe’s grandfather immigrated to the US as a teenager.

Our travel buddies left us after the first of our two nights in Sciacca and drove on for more house hunting and fun adventures and we hooked up with Enzo, our newest Sicilian BFF. Why take a bus when for a lot more money you can get a guided trip through the countryside where your breath can easily just stop. Thanks to Enzo, we arrived safely in Palermo.

WOW! POW! Palermo! Mamma Mia!

This is the most frenetic place I’ve ever been and that’s saying a lot coming from a native New Yorker. It’s alive and so much grittier than any place we’ve seen so far on this foray through Sicily. Fantastic. Food is everywhere. Love of food is in the air. Luckily, we get a lot of exercise every day.

We’re now staying in a B&B in the heart of the city, the Palazzo Corvino. It’s owned by friends of a friend in Assisi who has put us in touch with a guide, someone for which I will be eternally grateful. We’re heading out this morning.

Surely, more will follow