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.