Tuesday Trulli Morning

 The choice of where to plant myself for a writing session this morning came easily despite the numerous options that I have here at "Casa tra il trulli". So, this morning, I chose to sit in my own little trullo, with the door opening onto a view of the countryside and the sounds of a farm beings heralding the arrival of a Puglian Spring morning. In all my life, I've never sat in a more wonderful place.

We arrived at Casa tra il trulli Monday  afternoon (it wasn't easy to find), escorted by Domenica, "Mimma", our young, vibrant and enthusiastic Airbnb owner.  Naturally, at the very last leg of our journey, we got lost (again). We're in a remote area and the GPS didn't take too well to our environs. Fortunately, WhatsApp was working and Mimma was able to find us and we followed her from our rendezvous point. Technology is a wonderful thing. Were we back in the Mapquest days, we'd still be by the side of the road!

I'd say we have hit another home run with our selection of this place. It's in hills, close to the town of Martina Franca. We're in a residential area.  All the residents have acres and acres surrounding beautiful typical homes. The serenity is stunning. Nature is at its best here. Most of the home sites include at least one trullo if not several trulli. Our host, who lives in a house on this property with her family and of course, her parents, owns an ancient trullo which was the former residence of her grandparents and dates back to 1870. In a future blog, with photos, I will describe the trullo with photos. But for now,  I just want to sit here and take it all in, listen to the birds, the chickens, horses and little dogs.

My personal trullo is accessed through our cucina. A short, narrow path leads right up to a set of narrow french doors. Inside, thick white plastered walls (all original mind you) form a tiny "hut",  a conical shaped room, carpeted with an asian rug. A small loveseat , a shabby chic chest and an antique table upon which rests books, candles and a framed history of trulli. A little antique suitcase on the floor holds a straw hat and a bouquet of dried flowers. There's room for a maximum two. Joe knew where to find me when he got up and he's grabbing his coffee for a well-deserved trullo moment. 

More, much more later........it's trullo time and the sun is shining in the tiny door. 

The only stress I own at the moment comes from the fact that I have problems transferring my photos from my phone to my MacBook Air and until I figure it out.......

Sunday Monday

 

Today finds  us in the province of Abruzzo (AKA "Wild Abruzzo"),  where my roots, and my blue eyes, originated. Many, many years ago.  To get here from Umbria, we traveled mostly good roads, accompanied by lots of would-be Formula One race car drivers. Let me take a momento here to say a few words about driving in Italy.  Don't do it unless you absolutely have to if you are over age fifty. Sound advice. The Italians are good drivers. They like to drive fast and they are impatient. This doesn't have to do with a sense of urgency to do anything, it's more about machismo. Even the women have machismo when it comes to the road.  And, they are fearless. Can't really say that there are such places as "no passing zones". Should you be machismo enough to try this death-defying activity, be sure that you study up on Italian road signs and have a good and trusted person along to ride shot-gun. It helps a lot. So does the bottle of "Calm" that I purchase from my chiropractor.

Along the route from Umbria, through Marche and into Abruzzo, we must have driven through, easily,  twenty long tunnels as we cut under the Grand Sasso mountains. We never cease to marvel at these engineering feats. The Italians think nothing of cutting huge holes into massive mountain rock. Why drive around them when you can simply drive through them anyway? We (at least I did - Joe was trying to please the Italian Formula Ones  by keeping us some semblance of speed and not killing us) saw acres and acres of green grass before arriving at Rocca San Giovanni,  our destination for the evening.  

Rocca San Giovanni is close to the seashore. Think Cape Cod in the off-season. A few miles of bobby-trapped, narrow and circular switchbacky roads and just before you need CPR, the Adriatic Sea unfolds in her majesty. Yes, the water is really turquoise. We've only seen that once before, when we drove down the Amalfi Coast a few years ago. The seacoast is breathtaking.  Kinda hard to describe but trust me, a really nice way to spend Mother's Day.

Trabacchi are restaurants typically found jutting out over the water in Abruzzo. Built high on stilts and not much else, they are used as gigantic fishing huts, poles and lines in the rear, making life easier for those who make their living from the sea.  I had wanted an authentic trabaccho meal but alas, we were too late for lunch and too early for the traditional dinner at eight. Sorry, Bucket List, you lost. In lieu of that experience, we chose to have a seaside aperitvo followed by an earlier dinner of fresh fish, grilled to perfection in their altogether. Yep, whole fish, staring right up from the plate at 'cha. Mind the bones. Loved every bite.

So, today, we're on a long stretch of highway, hugging the coast as we head towards Martina Franca. The road sign just told us that we have left Molise and are now officially in Puglia. We're on our way to meet Domenica, our future hostess but before that, we have at least two hours and visits to several rest stops which are a world onto themselves. Far be it for any self-respecting Italian driver to be far from a place where you can not only use a toilet, get fuel, or buy food and wine! And yes, face masks are still required, as well as reminders of social distancing and hand sanitizing.  There a visible signs everywhere that allow us to have a bit of insight as to the economic and social devastation in this country.  But, there also is a great sense of pride and hope and perhaps a whole other story. 

For now, the sun is shining and it's time to pull in to another rest stop. I'll never stop loving the rest stops - a little secret here......they also sell chocolate, so much and so inexpensive!

https://www.huffpost.com/entry/video-autostrada-rest-sto_b_12319868

Officer Charlie?

 I've always said that Assisi was a place where magic happens. The spiritual world. For me, as a believer, I attribute this to the history of the town, having been the birthplace of two movers-and-shakers, Saints Francis and Clare. Certainly, some of it is folklore but, most of it is amazing fact. Whichever path one chooses to go down doesn't matter because there's a story here for everyone. Take it or leave it.

Whenever I am in Italy, an especially when in Umbria, I tend to feel the presence of both my mother and grandmother despite the fact that neither of them ever set one foot down upon Umbrian soil and a visit to Assisi wasn't on either of their life Itineraries. But, Umbria is a slow-moving, authentically populated slice of this country and it therefore is easy to sit back and feel things. There's time. The pace is set for contemplation. There's even time to remember how to speak the language. But, funny thing, when my deceased mother and grandmother speak, it's always in English.

Yesterday, as we were driving along, on our way up to the center of town, we abruptly and shockingly were flagged down and asked to pull over to the side of the road by a young and energetic man who was dressed rather casually. Oh, I thought, it's a survey and he's going to ask us questions - maybe about our stay in Italy, perhaps about the Calendimaggio; are we attending, did we, what did we think about it? Get ready to use our words.......until he got up to the car window and we saw the badge pinned to his shirt. 

"Polizia"

In rapid fire Italian (why would he not think that Joe was a citizen with that face and olive skin?), he proceeded to demand that we produce our "documenti".  Joe was able to decode it and he quickly ascertained that it was his driver's license that was needed so he fumbled through his backpack and produced it, followed by his International license. "No, No, la signora, documenti!!!" Apparently, he wasn't as interested in Joe's driving skills as much as my passport! At this point, Joe was more than curious when he asked the frantic officier what it was that he did wrong? While we both knew we hadn't broken any laws, we weren't exceeding the speed limit or harboring a fugitive, we both had visions of being asked to step out of the car and worse, into a police car, handcuffed. And yet, I remained amazingly calm as I explained that my passport was back at our agriturismo, not on my person.  (Didn't they touch on potential purse-snatching at the Polizi academy?) 

It was a random spot check as it turned out. 

When I was a child, my father, a police officer, rarely spoke about the job. But he did share a story about apprehending a man who was about to rob his uncle's butcher shop. Dad had stopped by just in time to foil the robbery and took off in pursuit of the man who ran into a public restroom  Or at least that is where Officier Charlie thought he had run. So, the story goes, he banged on the door in the classic "Open up, it's the Police!!!" only to have an innocent and very frightened man appear at the door with his pants down. Case of the wrong man. Poor guy. 

Well, our guy on the job checked Joe's Massachusetts license which is cleaner than a baby's whistle, and didn't seem at all interested in his International version,  finally let up on me about my passport, and sent us back on our way. We knew we hadn't violated any laws but did share a few laughs about the possibilities, imagining us being thrown into jail. Even made me wonder if I had taken an Ambien the night before and had done something foolish of which I had no memory, the night before. 

As I process all of this, I can't help but put it into the right perspective. This is my first return to Assisi since the death of my father. It was his turn to show up. I told you it was a magical place.

Okay Officer Charlie, your watch is not over. Not in Assisi. Not in forever. Enjoy your tour of duty.

Calendimaggio!

The Calendimaggio of Assisi (sometimes also transcribed Kalendimaggio ) is a festival that is celebrated every first Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday after May 1st of every year, to greet the arrival of spring . The two Parts into which the city is divided, the Nobilissima Parte de Sopra and the Magnifica Parte de Sotto , compete for the conquest of the palio , through the development of processions in medieval costumes ( circa 13th century - mid 15th century), recited scenes of re-enactment of medieval life in the alleys of the city and musical performances: the winning party is decided by a jury, made up of internationally renowned experts, that is, a historian, a musicologist and a personality from the world of entertainment. ^[1]

So, that's the Wikipedia version.  Wanna hear mine? 

The Calendimaggio of Assisi is, and always will be, one of the best memories of my life.  

We started on Wednesday afternoon, standing on the sidelines and watching, for the entire afternoon, as just about every single resident of the town of Assisi, their children, mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers, dressed in the most gorgeous  of medieval costumes, took part in a big or small way, in the fantastic celebration. Drums, trumpets, horses, riders, young, old. Procession after procession, pageantry, tradition, pride, joy, laughter, smiles and one gorgeous way to welcome the Spring. The contest between the upper part of the city and the lower. But oh, so much more.

And, we were there. 

Yesterday, we returned for more.  This time, I had the pure joy of meeting up with my dear friend Isabel, a resident of Assisi.  She and I have been friends ever since the first day, in 2018, when I entered the cafe at which she worked as a barista, and sat, writing my blog at 7AM.....every day....for a month. I nicknamed her "Sam Malone" because after a while, it occurred to me that Cafe il Duomo and the Cheers Bar in Boston has so much in common. I was saddened the next year, when I returned and she did not. A better job lured her away but the things that drew us together have kept us in touch and, despite a twenty five year age difference, we still enjoy our times together. So, yesterday, my dear buddy made sure that la signora got a front row view (she can be aggressive), and, armed with a few Aperol Spritz, we did Day Two of this glorious event. Again, processions, drummers, beautiful prospective Madonne di Primavera and skilled archers, sportsmen and musicians.  I don't think I have smiled as much in a very long time. To say I was thrilled would be an understatement.  It was amazing and it isn't even over yet. 

Tomorrow is our big day. We have tickets. We get to sit down and see it all. This has been on my bucket list, that's a fact. But, I never anticipated that my heart would burst in the way that it did. After two years of the Pandemic, two years of cancelled Calendimaggio, the crowd was ripe and ready for a good time and, the Italians were never slackers when it came to a good party. 

Breath of Umbria

 If I could find a better place to sit and write, I would surely have to be dead. And that is because I would be in Heaven and from where I am now sitting, I believe that the living of a good and righteous life would be well worth the wait.  We're at an Agriturismo, a few miles from where we had planned to be right now up until the day before we departed. Our friend and usual landlord in Assisi, informed us that our apartment was without heat or hot water and, just like home.....he could not even get an answer from his plumber on his telefonino. So, he offered very kindly to apply our payment to this glorious place, owned by a business associate, outside of the hilltop town. I'm still taking it all in. It's Umbria and it's Spring. Even the roses are in bloom. 

After two days of travel and sleep deprivation, we arrived in Rome early yesterday morning. (Oh, how we miss the direct flights of the now-defunct Alitalia). Our United Airlines flights were superb however. Brand new planes, lovely service with an easy check in. Not one word was asked concerning our Covid status.  For all anyone knew, we could have been sick as two and a half dogs. Both Logan and Newark airports were bustling with un-masked travelers who didn't seem to have known that the past two years were obliterated from the face of the Earth. It wasn't until we boarded our plane to Rome that face masking, specifically the horribly uncomfortable N-95 version, were enforced. This is only because the "Italian Government" demands this with the insistence that masks remain on during the entire flight except for meal consumption. Anything after the meal, mask, sip, mask, sip.  To make this even more amusing, upon arrival at the Rome airport (by the way, it's Leonardo Da Vinci Airport IN Fiumicino), we saw lots of sip, sip, no mask and very few travelers and/or employees seemed to know about the Pandemic. We, of course, kept our noses and mouths covered because we will, at this writing, still be required to Covid test before returning, as ridiculous as all this sounds. 

I have so many sensual reminders of Italy. Sights. Smells. And, sounds. Perhaps the one about which I dream most is that unique noise that is created by the quick marriage of a china saucer as it is placed on a marble countertop awaiting the arrival of its beautiful mate, the beloved and adored cappuccino. Cappuccino should always and only be offered in such a vessel. A paper cup filled with what passes for "cappuch" is not the damned same and you will never catch one in my hands. Nor will you ever find myself or my husband arriving at the airport and not having a cup before we do anything else. Car rentals can wait. The rest of the entire world can wait, but we have our priorities and we hold them sacred. Arrival in Italy means living Italian from the moment we get here. And we're here now so as I sit outdoors now, listening to church bells ringing in the distance (never very far in any distance for this sound), I am going to finish my second glorious cappuch and breathe. Just breathe.

Just breathe.

ilcanticodisanfrancesco.it

Hurry Up!

 

hur·​ry-up | \ ˈhər-ē-ˌəp  , ˈhə-rē- \

Definition of hurry-up

: speeded up : completed in a hurry

My father, Charlie,  used to drive us all crazy when he was waiting for something or someone outside of his home. Never was his impatience manifested as well as when he visited anything that had to do with healthcare.  His demands were such that he expected instant attention and rapid movement throughout whatever system he was using and sitting with him during the process was torture, something that tarnished my appreciation of the fact that I was soon going to become an orphan and one day I would truly miss his presence. The words "Hurry up and wait" come to mind whenever I think back on the trips we made together during my mother's final years or those made after, during his. Countless murmerings under his breath, loud enough for my ears, made it clear that he was unhappy with having to wait for treatment, decisions, diagnoses or for that matter, anything that he found inconvenient. He had zero patience. Zero.

One day, a few years ago, I actually let these words fall from my innocent lips in the presence of some friends with whom I spend a lot of time..."I'm a patient person". The next few minutes were filled with giggles and rapid eye movements. "YOU?" Well, I had to explain, I can be. I'm fairly patient with people who others find totally annoying. Friend to the friendless. Womb to the tomb kind of person. I sputtered and realized how fortunate I am to have friends who, A, are honest and B, totally get me and still come around. Often.

Okay, so here it is. Full disclosure.  I rarely drink tea because it takes a few minutes to brew.  I don't take vitamins or for that matter, I rarely finish a course of prescription medications. Actually, I rarely even take prescription medications because I lack the patience to be a patient.  New car? Does it have wheels and a steering wheel? I'll take it. New appliances, I'm a salesperson's dream.....Come in white? No bells and whistles (I'm not reading the Guide to Your New Washing Machine. Waiting on the phone to make an appointment at a doctor's office? Hey, I text my hairdresser and my facialist, and they are the only two people in my world who can get me to hunker down and enjoy an hour here and there during which I totally surrender control and never complain. 

What seems like a year ago, we started working with a design group on planning an extension to our home. Living in a codo, there really isn't such an option as "an addition" but we were determined to gain more living space as a result of being so confined during the Pandemic. We made it through those days and both of us probably climbed the ladder in the patience department but we realized that we might not do as well when the next big one hits so, the plans were drawn, contractor selected, interiors chosen and then came hurry up and wait. Guess who showed up for the party? Months came and months went. Plans changed. Designers cursed us under their breaths. Friends and family asked us. We asked and we waited until finally, demolition began, less than one week before our twice-postponed trip to Italy is to happen. We leave on Monday and Charlie, our patient and trusted contractor will be filling our empty parking spaces. Charlie. Not for nothing. Charlie. 

Really?

Hurry up, we're waiting!!!!!

Ancora, Andiamo

 Third time's a charm!  The months are waning down to days and we're finally gathering our rosebuds in preparation for our departure and return to Italy one week from Monday.

I can hardly believe my fingers as they type this. We, like so many others before us, were thwarted in our plans not once, but twice. The Pandemic robbed us of two visits and now, we're owed back, big time.

Our current plans will find us in Assisi for only a few days but we're looking forward to them as a baby does to a lollipop. We're waiting to embrace friends, to do the most mundane of things like grocery shopping, that make us happy. We can't wait to hear our suitcases roll along cobblestones, to once again hear the clinking of glass bottles as they are picked up by the refuse department and dumped into tiny trucks at ungodly hours of the mornings. To reside in peace and all that is well.

Our Italian journey will have new adventures as we take off for parts yet unknown to us. A first trip to Puglia, stopping off in Abruzzo for an authentic meal before finding our way to Martina Franca where we will hopefully rest and savor all that the province has to offer. 

Along the way, we will be planning our next visit, a longer stay that will include a big birthday party.

But for now, I look forward to having inspiration and incentive again. On one of my trips, as she dropped me off at the airport bus, my dear friend Lois handed me a beautiful little journal book. A hug and a few last words....."write it all down".  

This time, once again, a blank journal and a promise. I will. Again.

Pace e bene

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