Maria returned from visiting her family and picking up her daughter, Laura, from the airport. It’s good to have someone in the house again! Laura is in her mid-thirties, beautiful and slim, with long, dark, wavy hair and a lovely smile. We carefully maneuvered a twin bed from my second bedroom down the stairs to Maria’s apartment for Laura’s use. Maria brought me garden fresh lettuce, onions, and lemons from her brother’s garden for me. What a treat! She also brought a ball of mozzarella so fresh that milk oozes out when it’s cut. I’ve always liked fresh mozzarella, but this salty, creamy treat is something special. I will make a wonderful salad for dinner tomorrow.
It’s been a quiet week and I didn’t feel well a couple of days, so didn’t sleep well during the night. Sleeping late in the morning is just not possible as workmen at the Etruscan museum have begun to break up the brick floor with a jackhammer to make room for what looks like additional display space. The destroyed bricks are then noisily loaded onto a metal truck bed and shipped off to an unknown destination. I was told that the workmen on the museum project are employed by the same company as those who are working on the church across the street. I have heard Italian workers described as lackadaisical, but the workers for this particular company seem to work very hard, putting in full days and beginning work right on time each day. I was actually introduced to the owner on the construction company one day at the piazza and he indicated that his son is managing the project across the street.
I met a young woman from Miami at the café this morning. Her name is Carla and she is studying in Mannheim, Germany for a semester. We struck up a conversation and she shared that she lived her first 8 years in South Africa, then spent 5 in Canada, before moving to the United States. She was in town to meet a friend who is an archaeology student working at one of the sites (probably Etruscan, of which there are a plethora) in the area. We ate lunch at Fuflun’s and, once the rain stopped, walked around town so she could take pictures. Upon hearing American voices, a blonde woman popped her head over a terrace above us and asked where we were from. After exchanging information the petite blonde, Dee, invited us to her second floor apartment, which has a gorgeous rooftop terrace. She shared that the terrace is normally covered, but the cover was destroyed in a terrible windstorm in March, where winds reached 90 miles per hour! The terrace has a large table and 4 chairs for dining al fresco, and Dee must have a green thumb as the terrace is lushly decorated with a multitude of greenery and flowering plants. I am envious of Dee’s terrace! Dee is a wealth of information about Cortona and the area and hails from Houston, Texas. She is very outgoing and vivacious thus has met far more people in 3 months than I have and she regaled us with interesting stories and tidbits of information. Dee was lucky enough to have been invited to participate in the medieval parade which took place back on April 25. She has a beautiful dark blue velvet costume decorated with silver braid and a headpiece complete with veil. She held up her costume so Carla and I could take a picture. What an honor to have been asked to participate in a local event even if she was left to walk alone, feeling somewhat conspicuous! I left my personal information with Dee in hopes we can meet again and perhaps explore Tuscany a bit together.
Unfortunately, Dee has had some experiences with anti-American sentiment in Cortona and Carla commented on how she was quoted one price for an overnight at a local establishment, and a lower price upon showing her Canadian passport. I am experienced enough to know these things happen, particularly in small towns, but I don’t want to other’s experiences to color my own. Because Americans are generally not popular does not mean that people won’t like me. I know that I pay more for my caffe latte at my favorite bar than I would in many other places in town, however I also know that the ladies that work in the morning are kind to me and give me a warm welcome, an arm pat, or a shoulder squeeze on their way past. I don’t mind paying a bit more if my business is appreciated and I am treated kindly. I would feel the same way in I were in the States.
Its market day today and I am off to visit my new favorite porchetta man!
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Monday, May 26, 2008
Recognition and Regret
Well, it’s finally happened. The young, friendly, gelato guy with glowing turquoise eyes now recognizes me. Even as he greets me, his free hand is levitating toward the “piccolo cono”, small cone, and his scoop hand is twitching toward the Nutella gelato. Sometimes I try to confuse him by ordering stracciatella, but it really doesn’t matter as it, and the Nutella, are located in adjoining bins so his scoop can twitch either way at the last moment. It was a Nutella day today. Nutella gelato is better than sex. I think.
I made a rather vain attempt to be “noticed” yesterday. I have a beautiful, white, silk blouse decorated at the V-neck with beads and pearls. I usually wear a white, lacy camisole with the shirt as it tends to slide down in the front and if I bend over to pick something up, you can see all the way to Florida. Yesterday morning I got up the nerve to wear the thing by itself, no camisole. I am not sure if my “target audience” of single men my age noticed, but when a 70 year old man crossing the street couldn’t tear his eyes away from my cleavage, I knew I needed to put more clothes on. After all, I’d feel horribly responsible if the elderly fellow was so distracted by my shocking display that he was run over by the street sweeper making its morning rounds. Not something I want to explain to the Carabinieri. I did see a rather round and buxom woman jiggling and shaking across the piazza today wearing just a swimsuit top cut down to “there”, painted-on jeans, and stilettos. She certainly put my rather modest cleavage display to shame! Maybe I just need more confidence.
The porchetta man was set up in his customary place right outside the city walls this morning and the very moment I opened my mouth to order a sandwich, he switched from Italian into English. Apparently my Italian hasn’t improved one iota! He gave me a wonderful sandwich though, lovingly wrapped in a square of white paper and carefully placed in a bag. Apparently, he puts garlic cloves into the cavity of the pig before roasting and I was the lucky recipient of 3 whole, mellow, melt-in-your-mouth cloves on my sandwich. Yum…I love garlic! And nary a chicken feather in evidence! He is definitely my new porchetta man.
I’ve been thinking a lot about regret. I have always believed that I try to live my life without regret for what could have been, without longing for that which I never did, or things that I never had. Maybe I have only been partially successful. My former husband is a wonderful person, but I look back at the reasons we married….to have a home, family, security, companionship……and what we gave up to have what we had. Eventually the life we had wasn’t enough for either of us. So, my question: what is it we give up when we accept less than we really desire? What part of us withers and dies knowing it will never achieve fulfillment? Or, can be it be fulfilled even late in the game? So, my dear friends, learn from me. Don’t be the chicken I have been, so afraid of failure and rejection that you fail to chase what it is you really wish to have. By believing you can’t have a particular thing, you push the possibility of having it far away and then feel all the more regretful of the life you have versus the one you want. I am a living, breathing example of this phenomenon. If I could share any secret, it would be; do not be afraid to ask “what if?”, and then believe in the possibility that “what if”, will be. To accept anything less is to have but half a life.
I made a rather vain attempt to be “noticed” yesterday. I have a beautiful, white, silk blouse decorated at the V-neck with beads and pearls. I usually wear a white, lacy camisole with the shirt as it tends to slide down in the front and if I bend over to pick something up, you can see all the way to Florida. Yesterday morning I got up the nerve to wear the thing by itself, no camisole. I am not sure if my “target audience” of single men my age noticed, but when a 70 year old man crossing the street couldn’t tear his eyes away from my cleavage, I knew I needed to put more clothes on. After all, I’d feel horribly responsible if the elderly fellow was so distracted by my shocking display that he was run over by the street sweeper making its morning rounds. Not something I want to explain to the Carabinieri. I did see a rather round and buxom woman jiggling and shaking across the piazza today wearing just a swimsuit top cut down to “there”, painted-on jeans, and stilettos. She certainly put my rather modest cleavage display to shame! Maybe I just need more confidence.
The porchetta man was set up in his customary place right outside the city walls this morning and the very moment I opened my mouth to order a sandwich, he switched from Italian into English. Apparently my Italian hasn’t improved one iota! He gave me a wonderful sandwich though, lovingly wrapped in a square of white paper and carefully placed in a bag. Apparently, he puts garlic cloves into the cavity of the pig before roasting and I was the lucky recipient of 3 whole, mellow, melt-in-your-mouth cloves on my sandwich. Yum…I love garlic! And nary a chicken feather in evidence! He is definitely my new porchetta man.
I’ve been thinking a lot about regret. I have always believed that I try to live my life without regret for what could have been, without longing for that which I never did, or things that I never had. Maybe I have only been partially successful. My former husband is a wonderful person, but I look back at the reasons we married….to have a home, family, security, companionship……and what we gave up to have what we had. Eventually the life we had wasn’t enough for either of us. So, my question: what is it we give up when we accept less than we really desire? What part of us withers and dies knowing it will never achieve fulfillment? Or, can be it be fulfilled even late in the game? So, my dear friends, learn from me. Don’t be the chicken I have been, so afraid of failure and rejection that you fail to chase what it is you really wish to have. By believing you can’t have a particular thing, you push the possibility of having it far away and then feel all the more regretful of the life you have versus the one you want. I am a living, breathing example of this phenomenon. If I could share any secret, it would be; do not be afraid to ask “what if?”, and then believe in the possibility that “what if”, will be. To accept anything less is to have but half a life.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Giostra dell'Archidado
Last night was the first night of the Joust of the Archidado, a 10 day celebration including theatrical displays and crossbow shooting pitting one neighborhood against another. Unbeknownst to me there were opening festivities last night, beginning at about 9:45 PM, past my bedtime. Lots of drums and trumpeting, clapping and wild cheering. Had I not taken off my makeup and clothing I’d have hoofed it to the piazza to see what all the excitement was. The music seemed to emanate from behind the house this time, so it must have been centered at Piazza Signorelli, rather than Pizza della Repubblica. I am really am in a great location! All the hoopla went on until after 11:30 and then rowdy young men sang noisily until past 1:00…and I am pretty sure I heard the sound of a kazoo...or perhaps it was a duck call.
I am a bit tired today, but got up at 8:00 and dragged my sorry self to the café where I was too tired to even follow my normal protocol of reading a book as I linger over a caffé latte. I did exchange smiles with the waiter and also I saw Maria’s English friend there, the man who came to dinner on the infamous night of “The Two Dinners”. We chatted for a bit and he asked after Maria, who is currently visiting her family near Naples. He mentioned he’d back in several weeks and perhaps we could all meet for coffee one afternoon.
Its market day today and I stopped for a porchetta sandwich. It really turns me off that this particular vendor leaves the roasted, decapitated pig’s head on the top of the counter for inspection, but he had a fresh-looking porchetta. When I returned home and inspected the sandwich, I found a chicken feather stuck to the meat. Ick! A little more digging uncovered a mass of hairy filaments of undetermined origin. I debated whether to take a preventative antibiotic and eat the thing or whether to err on the safe side and pitch the sandwich, which is what I eventually did. Tomorrow I will seek out the other man who sets up outside the city walls as his porchetta looked nice and crispy brown, with no evidence of errant barnyard fowl.
I also needed to stop at the little grocery for toilet paper, which is inconveniently located on the top shelf across from the register. I am shy about 10 inches from reaching the rolls at the top and I am not inclined to ask the busy man at the register to get some toilet paper down for me, not that I even know the word for “toilet paper”. The tiny place is always jam-packed and the workers are always swamped. I was lucky today and found some of my second favorite brand, the Foxy Mega Roll 4-pack right on the floor where even I could reach them. What divine intervention!! I bought two because I just don’t know when I will be that fortunate again. I can get pretty excited about toilet paper.
This morning seemed an opportune moment to tackle my latest fitness goal so, ignoring the screaming muscles in my calves, I dragged myself up a hill on a road shadowing the ancient city walls. Once I’d turned the corner at the top of the hill though, I discovered I was actually only about halfway to the top. Unbeknownst to me I was walking the twelve Stations of the Cross which culminate at La Chiesa di Santa Margherita. The stations are mosaics lovingly created from tiny squares of multi- colored glass interspersed here and there with gold tiles which shone like stars in the brilliant sunlight. I had to stop and rest twice on some handy stone benches on the second section of the hill, but I achieved the summit! Unfortunately, La Chiesa was not open and I swallowed my disappointment as I had hoped to pray and meditate with La Santa after my monumental climb. My knees held up well on the steep descent, but one foot started acting up. If it isn’t one thing, it’s another!
I stopped for pasta with Bolognese sauce at the Bar 500 owned by a friendly Italian woman and her English husband. I sat at a table in an open doorway so I could watch people strolling along via Nazionale, chatting and shopping. People watching can be so interesting! One passing stroller contained little boy about 12 months old who was holding a metal kitchen whisk straight out in front of the stroller like a weapon…just in case he encountered anyone who needed a “beating”. After lunch I trotted back to the house, sharing a friendly wave with The Beautiful One from the gallery who was enjoying lunch at an outside table in Piazza Signorelli.
I am spending a phenomenal amount of money on books here. First of all, a paperback is roughly $17 and I am a voracious reader. Watching TV is just not a satisfying entertainment option and I spend relatively little eating out, so I will just consider it a living expense. On the way back from the bookstore, I heard the steady thump of drums in Piazza della Repubblica. When I arrived there were about 8 drummers and another 8 flag throwers in brightly colored tunics and tights, performing some maneuvers in the piazza. Fortunately, not much of a crowd had gathered so I had a great view and took a few pictures to share. As before, the flag throwers, each holding two flags, circled the piazza in some complicated formations, then they each peeled away from the formation and handed one flag to a man standing to the left. Each flag thrower then took a turn lofting their remaining flags high into the air, and this time several made it over the third story electrical wire! One unfortunate young woman dropped her flag, nearly taking out a boy dressed neatly in a uniform like a blue boy scout in the first row. Remind me never to sit in the front row…it can be hazardous!
I am a bit tired today, but got up at 8:00 and dragged my sorry self to the café where I was too tired to even follow my normal protocol of reading a book as I linger over a caffé latte. I did exchange smiles with the waiter and also I saw Maria’s English friend there, the man who came to dinner on the infamous night of “The Two Dinners”. We chatted for a bit and he asked after Maria, who is currently visiting her family near Naples. He mentioned he’d back in several weeks and perhaps we could all meet for coffee one afternoon.
Its market day today and I stopped for a porchetta sandwich. It really turns me off that this particular vendor leaves the roasted, decapitated pig’s head on the top of the counter for inspection, but he had a fresh-looking porchetta. When I returned home and inspected the sandwich, I found a chicken feather stuck to the meat. Ick! A little more digging uncovered a mass of hairy filaments of undetermined origin. I debated whether to take a preventative antibiotic and eat the thing or whether to err on the safe side and pitch the sandwich, which is what I eventually did. Tomorrow I will seek out the other man who sets up outside the city walls as his porchetta looked nice and crispy brown, with no evidence of errant barnyard fowl.
I also needed to stop at the little grocery for toilet paper, which is inconveniently located on the top shelf across from the register. I am shy about 10 inches from reaching the rolls at the top and I am not inclined to ask the busy man at the register to get some toilet paper down for me, not that I even know the word for “toilet paper”. The tiny place is always jam-packed and the workers are always swamped. I was lucky today and found some of my second favorite brand, the Foxy Mega Roll 4-pack right on the floor where even I could reach them. What divine intervention!! I bought two because I just don’t know when I will be that fortunate again. I can get pretty excited about toilet paper.
This morning seemed an opportune moment to tackle my latest fitness goal so, ignoring the screaming muscles in my calves, I dragged myself up a hill on a road shadowing the ancient city walls. Once I’d turned the corner at the top of the hill though, I discovered I was actually only about halfway to the top. Unbeknownst to me I was walking the twelve Stations of the Cross which culminate at La Chiesa di Santa Margherita. The stations are mosaics lovingly created from tiny squares of multi- colored glass interspersed here and there with gold tiles which shone like stars in the brilliant sunlight. I had to stop and rest twice on some handy stone benches on the second section of the hill, but I achieved the summit! Unfortunately, La Chiesa was not open and I swallowed my disappointment as I had hoped to pray and meditate with La Santa after my monumental climb. My knees held up well on the steep descent, but one foot started acting up. If it isn’t one thing, it’s another!
I stopped for pasta with Bolognese sauce at the Bar 500 owned by a friendly Italian woman and her English husband. I sat at a table in an open doorway so I could watch people strolling along via Nazionale, chatting and shopping. People watching can be so interesting! One passing stroller contained little boy about 12 months old who was holding a metal kitchen whisk straight out in front of the stroller like a weapon…just in case he encountered anyone who needed a “beating”. After lunch I trotted back to the house, sharing a friendly wave with The Beautiful One from the gallery who was enjoying lunch at an outside table in Piazza Signorelli.
I am spending a phenomenal amount of money on books here. First of all, a paperback is roughly $17 and I am a voracious reader. Watching TV is just not a satisfying entertainment option and I spend relatively little eating out, so I will just consider it a living expense. On the way back from the bookstore, I heard the steady thump of drums in Piazza della Repubblica. When I arrived there were about 8 drummers and another 8 flag throwers in brightly colored tunics and tights, performing some maneuvers in the piazza. Fortunately, not much of a crowd had gathered so I had a great view and took a few pictures to share. As before, the flag throwers, each holding two flags, circled the piazza in some complicated formations, then they each peeled away from the formation and handed one flag to a man standing to the left. Each flag thrower then took a turn lofting their remaining flags high into the air, and this time several made it over the third story electrical wire! One unfortunate young woman dropped her flag, nearly taking out a boy dressed neatly in a uniform like a blue boy scout in the first row. Remind me never to sit in the front row…it can be hazardous!
Friday, May 23, 2008
Another Goal
Yesterday, after indulging in the need to cry a bit, I was exuberantly happy. I danced through town to the park where I did a happy twirl….only to hear a peculiar popping noise issuing from both knees. Ouch! My knees are better, but apparently that extends only to walking and climbing movements. Twisting and sideways motion brings on twinges of excruciating pain and the alarming sensation of crunching cartilage.
Sleep was difficult. My knees were bothering me and my hips had that bone-deep muscle ache one get from lying in bed too long. I contemplated my options. The beds in the second bedroom were no more comfortable then my own and the sofa was definitely out of the question. The sofa is really just an upholstered church pew designed to prevent relaxation and sleep. It’s also short…I cannot sit on one end and stretch my legs out without being jammed up against the opposite arm. Eventually, I broke down and inhaled a Tylenol with desperation. I brought only a few pain relievers so I take them only when absolutely necessary. I must have slept then as I awoke to thin, watery light slanting through the shutters and the dulcet tones of something metal being pounded against another metal object. Perhaps the mortar mixer across the street was stuck and needed a bit of “encouragement.” The sound was only slightly less annoying that the noise a nice young man made as he broke an honest-to-goodness boulder into bite-sized chunks with a huge metal hammer outside the Etruscan museum a couple days ago.
I encountered Lana of Casantonio at the café this morning and we cackled about the “hip wiggler”. She said that after I left the shop she told him that not all ladies appreciate that sort of behavior, but apparently he is always like that and is incredibly fun to work with. I certainly appreciate a sense of humor like his, perhaps because I have one much like it! I believe my ability to laugh is one of my best qualities. Life is funny and funny things happen to me. I think that’s one of the things I’ve been missing since I have been here…..the opportunity to laugh aloud and feel completely uninhibited.
I went on short walk today, once to the tennis club and back. I’ve been trying to do it twice a day, but my body said, “No” today. The skies opened up this afternoon so I hopped in bed with a book. Through my dormer window I can see the roof of the Etruscan museum. There are some short wooden beams, cubby holes, and uneven stones which make handy perches for the legion of pigeons in town. As I gazed out the window there was a tremendous thunderclap, much like a shotgun blast, which apparently startled a snoozing pigeon that promptly tumbled from his perch on the museum wall. Fortunately, he caught himself and winged away before he fell too terribly far. It felt so good to laugh out loud at that poor bird!
For those of you interested, the waiter mouthed, “Buon giorno” to me today…..still no voice though. Perhaps one day.
After coffee and the internet this morning, I stopped by the bakery for bread, the fruit and vegetable man for veggies, and the cramped little grocery for tissues and tuna. I craved some comfort food for dinner, my mother’s tuna pasta salad. Sometimes I miss my mom!
After dinner I tackled my latest fitness goal, THE HILL, and guess what? I made it! I took nice long, paced steps and made it all the way to the top without stopping. I am so very excited! There is no way I could have accomplished that when I first arrived 7 weeks ago. I know where there is another long hill, so that’s my next goal. The last time I tried that one I made it about 2/3 of the way up with 2 rest stops. That one should be a good measure of the progress I’ve made. Wish me luck!
I guess this is the time where I begin to set some goals for myself. It’s something I’ve always avoided doing. I guess I always felt the risk of failure was so great it was better to “have dreams” than to “set goals”. I think I am ready now to set goals. One goal is to organize my blog into a manuscript to submit to publishers. I want to write a book. With that goal in mind, any comments or constructive criticism you have to offer would be appreciated.
Sleep was difficult. My knees were bothering me and my hips had that bone-deep muscle ache one get from lying in bed too long. I contemplated my options. The beds in the second bedroom were no more comfortable then my own and the sofa was definitely out of the question. The sofa is really just an upholstered church pew designed to prevent relaxation and sleep. It’s also short…I cannot sit on one end and stretch my legs out without being jammed up against the opposite arm. Eventually, I broke down and inhaled a Tylenol with desperation. I brought only a few pain relievers so I take them only when absolutely necessary. I must have slept then as I awoke to thin, watery light slanting through the shutters and the dulcet tones of something metal being pounded against another metal object. Perhaps the mortar mixer across the street was stuck and needed a bit of “encouragement.” The sound was only slightly less annoying that the noise a nice young man made as he broke an honest-to-goodness boulder into bite-sized chunks with a huge metal hammer outside the Etruscan museum a couple days ago.
I encountered Lana of Casantonio at the café this morning and we cackled about the “hip wiggler”. She said that after I left the shop she told him that not all ladies appreciate that sort of behavior, but apparently he is always like that and is incredibly fun to work with. I certainly appreciate a sense of humor like his, perhaps because I have one much like it! I believe my ability to laugh is one of my best qualities. Life is funny and funny things happen to me. I think that’s one of the things I’ve been missing since I have been here…..the opportunity to laugh aloud and feel completely uninhibited.
I went on short walk today, once to the tennis club and back. I’ve been trying to do it twice a day, but my body said, “No” today. The skies opened up this afternoon so I hopped in bed with a book. Through my dormer window I can see the roof of the Etruscan museum. There are some short wooden beams, cubby holes, and uneven stones which make handy perches for the legion of pigeons in town. As I gazed out the window there was a tremendous thunderclap, much like a shotgun blast, which apparently startled a snoozing pigeon that promptly tumbled from his perch on the museum wall. Fortunately, he caught himself and winged away before he fell too terribly far. It felt so good to laugh out loud at that poor bird!
For those of you interested, the waiter mouthed, “Buon giorno” to me today…..still no voice though. Perhaps one day.
After coffee and the internet this morning, I stopped by the bakery for bread, the fruit and vegetable man for veggies, and the cramped little grocery for tissues and tuna. I craved some comfort food for dinner, my mother’s tuna pasta salad. Sometimes I miss my mom!
After dinner I tackled my latest fitness goal, THE HILL, and guess what? I made it! I took nice long, paced steps and made it all the way to the top without stopping. I am so very excited! There is no way I could have accomplished that when I first arrived 7 weeks ago. I know where there is another long hill, so that’s my next goal. The last time I tried that one I made it about 2/3 of the way up with 2 rest stops. That one should be a good measure of the progress I’ve made. Wish me luck!
I guess this is the time where I begin to set some goals for myself. It’s something I’ve always avoided doing. I guess I always felt the risk of failure was so great it was better to “have dreams” than to “set goals”. I think I am ready now to set goals. One goal is to organize my blog into a manuscript to submit to publishers. I want to write a book. With that goal in mind, any comments or constructive criticism you have to offer would be appreciated.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
La Pioggia-Rain
It’s raining yet again! I try to walk 6 days a week and I needed to get out for a good stroll today, but each time I would get dressed, brush my teeth (you never know who you’ll see), put on the arch support and the shoes, the coat, pack the backpack with essentials like Kleenex and a book, get the umbrella, and struggle down the stairs…the rain would begin. I made it as far as the park about 3 times, only to be turned back by cool winds and rain. I am fighting a bit of a cold, and Maria now has a fever, so I didn’t want to risk getting too chilled. The sun is shining brilliantly for the moment, but I can see black clouds frowning across the valley, so the sun is a temporary reprieve. It’s a bit like watching the epic struggle of good against evil played out against the patchwork green fields and muted blue mountains edging the Val di Chiana valley. Evil is winning this week!
I did a little more shopping yesterday. I really cannot help myself. I met an American woman in the shop where I’d bought some silver and amber earrings earlier during my visit. She sold me a beautiful beaded shirt. It doesn’t come anywhere near fitting now, but it’s my “goal shirt” and gives me something to work towards. I will have a big celebration on the day I can wear that shirt!
I also stopped by Casantonio to look for a vase. Maria has a friend who delivers beautiful flowers from his garden once a week or so. He left some beautiful pink roses on her porch this time. Some just buds, others fully opened, and some frowsy and overblown, with soft ruffled edges like a woman’s petticoat. Maria brought me one of the buds and I wanted a special place to put it. I really don’t need any more weight to carry in my suitcase, but I just love the “geometric” patterned ceramics at Casantonio and had admired the vases each time I visited the shop. When I arrived, Lana, the woman who sold me the olive oil bottles and other things I shipped to my mom, was there and also a man I’ve seen there before. He was there when mom and I looked at the shop in September, but she likely doesn’t remember. He is very handsome; silver haired, dark eyed, quite tall and slim. He and Lana both speak excellent English which is a help to me. I chose a vase and as the man wrapped it he commented on how I keep shifting weight from one foot to the other. Apparently I rock back and forth without being consciously aware of it. He said his mother told him it’s a good thing to do, but also you could bend your knees and move your hips a bit, and to demonstrate he did this rather suggestive little hip gyration which had Lana and I in hysterics. I wonder if I will get a hip wiggle with every purchase? If so, you can bet I’ll be shipping more ceramics home. The website is www.casantonio.com if any of you are interested. You have to dig around the site a bit to find items in the geometric pattern. Every piece is handmade and slightly different, and all are gorgeous! I will include a picture of my vase to give you an idea of what some of their things look like.
There are a number of American artists here. I frequently see a couple, man and woman, always together. One evening they sat on Le Scale where I was sitting and a young college-aged woman struck up a conversation with the man, who was sitting nearer to her. They were discussing art and what artworks the young woman should be sure to visit while in Italy. Well, after about 5 minutes the girlfriend had apparently had enough of that, stood up abruptly, and marched down the stairs. Her partner immediately jumped up to trail sheepishly after her. I never see one of them without the other. She keeps him on a very short leash, and what’s more surprising is that he allows it. It reminds me a bit of how things were when I was married. I tended to insist on being in control and was childish when I didn’t get my way. I was extremely immature and controlling, and truth be told, rather selfish. I realize now that there is no room in relationships for that sort of behavior from either partner and I hope I have grown enough that I will not make the same mistake in a new relationship that I did in my marriage. I seem to have more difficulty in curbing my controlling tendency in my relationship with my children. Yes, as a parent I should have decision making ability, but complete control, no. Something for me to be more mindful of and work to improve.
I did a little more shopping yesterday. I really cannot help myself. I met an American woman in the shop where I’d bought some silver and amber earrings earlier during my visit. She sold me a beautiful beaded shirt. It doesn’t come anywhere near fitting now, but it’s my “goal shirt” and gives me something to work towards. I will have a big celebration on the day I can wear that shirt!
I also stopped by Casantonio to look for a vase. Maria has a friend who delivers beautiful flowers from his garden once a week or so. He left some beautiful pink roses on her porch this time. Some just buds, others fully opened, and some frowsy and overblown, with soft ruffled edges like a woman’s petticoat. Maria brought me one of the buds and I wanted a special place to put it. I really don’t need any more weight to carry in my suitcase, but I just love the “geometric” patterned ceramics at Casantonio and had admired the vases each time I visited the shop. When I arrived, Lana, the woman who sold me the olive oil bottles and other things I shipped to my mom, was there and also a man I’ve seen there before. He was there when mom and I looked at the shop in September, but she likely doesn’t remember. He is very handsome; silver haired, dark eyed, quite tall and slim. He and Lana both speak excellent English which is a help to me. I chose a vase and as the man wrapped it he commented on how I keep shifting weight from one foot to the other. Apparently I rock back and forth without being consciously aware of it. He said his mother told him it’s a good thing to do, but also you could bend your knees and move your hips a bit, and to demonstrate he did this rather suggestive little hip gyration which had Lana and I in hysterics. I wonder if I will get a hip wiggle with every purchase? If so, you can bet I’ll be shipping more ceramics home. The website is www.casantonio.com if any of you are interested. You have to dig around the site a bit to find items in the geometric pattern. Every piece is handmade and slightly different, and all are gorgeous! I will include a picture of my vase to give you an idea of what some of their things look like.
There are a number of American artists here. I frequently see a couple, man and woman, always together. One evening they sat on Le Scale where I was sitting and a young college-aged woman struck up a conversation with the man, who was sitting nearer to her. They were discussing art and what artworks the young woman should be sure to visit while in Italy. Well, after about 5 minutes the girlfriend had apparently had enough of that, stood up abruptly, and marched down the stairs. Her partner immediately jumped up to trail sheepishly after her. I never see one of them without the other. She keeps him on a very short leash, and what’s more surprising is that he allows it. It reminds me a bit of how things were when I was married. I tended to insist on being in control and was childish when I didn’t get my way. I was extremely immature and controlling, and truth be told, rather selfish. I realize now that there is no room in relationships for that sort of behavior from either partner and I hope I have grown enough that I will not make the same mistake in a new relationship that I did in my marriage. I seem to have more difficulty in curbing my controlling tendency in my relationship with my children. Yes, as a parent I should have decision making ability, but complete control, no. Something for me to be more mindful of and work to improve.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Sunday
It was rainy off and on this weekend. Some good drenching rains which caused me to make use of my newly purchased umbrella. I walked to my favorite place twice today as my fitness level really is to the point where I need to crank it up a notch. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to sit and do any reading as the rain snuck up and caught me unaware.
Cortona was hopping last night…car horns and loud voices in the streets until 3:00 AM which was not much appreciated by me! I am sure it doesn’t help that the stone buildings are so close together and I am up so high…it seems like small sounds are magnified. As the weather has warmed the crowds in Cortona grow. There are tour groups, several daily, and lots of out-of-towners on the weekends. I am usually glad for Monday to arrive so things quiet down a bit and I feel more at home.
I see a fair number of young fathers alone with their small children here. That always warms my heart…too see a daddy with his small ones. One little guy, maybe 16 months old, with chubby cheeks and silky curls, was playing by the fountain in the park yesterday, as his dad snapped pictures. At the base of the fountain there is a small concrete step about 5 inches higher than the surrounding gravel, and when the little guy wanted to get up that step he’d put both hands down on it, then sort of scootch his knees up, then finally, poke his bottom in the air and stand up. A lot of work to get up one step, and getting back down wasn’t any easier!
I shall have you know that I resisted the urge to eat a porchetta sandwich the past two weekends! I will admit that porchetta makes me a bit nervous. I find myself wondering how long it takes for them to sell a whole, cooked pig on small sandwiches. 3 days, 7 days, 3 weeks? The shorter that porchetta is, the more I worry about things like salmonella. So, folks, I always find myself browsing the three vendors at the Saturday market in search of the man with the longest porchetta. In rereading that statement, I think we shall move on to a new topic.
My blood sugar reached an all time low tonight…64! Now that I’ve stopped taking the stronger medication, I do find myself needing to check my sugar more often to make sure my remaining medication is managing my diabetes effectively, and it seems to be doing fine. I think I am ready to set a new fitness goal, however I dread making the commitment. There is a terrible hill in town which leads off Piazza della Repubblica all the way down to a car park. My mom might remember it as we rolled down it to the bus on our visit in September with the tour. It was a long, steep hill. I remember thinking, at the time, that I could never possibly make it up that hill and if I did it would be major accomplishment and a sign of much improved physical fitness. Well, I think that will be my next goal, but I am dreading it.
Maria has been feeling under the weather so I made some of my wonderful chicken soup for her and took her my homeopathic remedies for dealing with colds and the flu. She reports feeling a bit better, but she sounds terrible. I’ve been sneezing a bit myself so I think allergies are a factor. I am excited to say that I have not yet been sick since I’ve been here. Getting more sleep, having little stress, and maintaining good control of the diabetes has made a big difference. Or maybe it’s the fact that I don’t come into close contact with many people. Either way, I like feeling healthy and strong. It feels wonderful not to huff and puff after navigating just 10 stairs. I am making progress!
Cortona was hopping last night…car horns and loud voices in the streets until 3:00 AM which was not much appreciated by me! I am sure it doesn’t help that the stone buildings are so close together and I am up so high…it seems like small sounds are magnified. As the weather has warmed the crowds in Cortona grow. There are tour groups, several daily, and lots of out-of-towners on the weekends. I am usually glad for Monday to arrive so things quiet down a bit and I feel more at home.
I see a fair number of young fathers alone with their small children here. That always warms my heart…too see a daddy with his small ones. One little guy, maybe 16 months old, with chubby cheeks and silky curls, was playing by the fountain in the park yesterday, as his dad snapped pictures. At the base of the fountain there is a small concrete step about 5 inches higher than the surrounding gravel, and when the little guy wanted to get up that step he’d put both hands down on it, then sort of scootch his knees up, then finally, poke his bottom in the air and stand up. A lot of work to get up one step, and getting back down wasn’t any easier!
I shall have you know that I resisted the urge to eat a porchetta sandwich the past two weekends! I will admit that porchetta makes me a bit nervous. I find myself wondering how long it takes for them to sell a whole, cooked pig on small sandwiches. 3 days, 7 days, 3 weeks? The shorter that porchetta is, the more I worry about things like salmonella. So, folks, I always find myself browsing the three vendors at the Saturday market in search of the man with the longest porchetta. In rereading that statement, I think we shall move on to a new topic.
My blood sugar reached an all time low tonight…64! Now that I’ve stopped taking the stronger medication, I do find myself needing to check my sugar more often to make sure my remaining medication is managing my diabetes effectively, and it seems to be doing fine. I think I am ready to set a new fitness goal, however I dread making the commitment. There is a terrible hill in town which leads off Piazza della Repubblica all the way down to a car park. My mom might remember it as we rolled down it to the bus on our visit in September with the tour. It was a long, steep hill. I remember thinking, at the time, that I could never possibly make it up that hill and if I did it would be major accomplishment and a sign of much improved physical fitness. Well, I think that will be my next goal, but I am dreading it.
Maria has been feeling under the weather so I made some of my wonderful chicken soup for her and took her my homeopathic remedies for dealing with colds and the flu. She reports feeling a bit better, but she sounds terrible. I’ve been sneezing a bit myself so I think allergies are a factor. I am excited to say that I have not yet been sick since I’ve been here. Getting more sleep, having little stress, and maintaining good control of the diabetes has made a big difference. Or maybe it’s the fact that I don’t come into close contact with many people. Either way, I like feeling healthy and strong. It feels wonderful not to huff and puff after navigating just 10 stairs. I am making progress!
Gentle Days
My days have settled back into their gentle cadence, comforting in their familiarity; coffee in the morning, the internet point, groceries and errands, and finally a long walk in the park with a book. I had lunch out today; a salad and tagliatelle with ragu’, yum! I can never get my ragu' sauce to turn out so rich and flavorful. Mine tends to be rather watery, so I shall have to keep experimenting to discover the secret.
Maria and I went for a drink at my favorite little café’ last night. She is rather discouraged about not being able to sell her house. It’s a beautiful house, but it’s a lot of work to keep up with and a huge expense, and she’s had some unfortunate tenants as of late, which hasn’t helped. I thought I might cheer her up a bit by giving her some company. My café has outside tables on Piazza della Repubblica, overlooking Le Scale and is a great location to be in the center of it all.
A theater group was performing a silent act on Le Scale, the steps to the Palazzo Pubblico, and we were in a prime location to watch. There were maybe 8 women and 4 men dressed head to toe in white…what looked like bridal type costumes, white painted faces, and the men in suits. They were posing on Le Scale when we arrived, then glided past us up via Nazionale. Several sat at our table and posed in their eerie silence. The one I enjoyed was a short, rotund woman wielding a large white fishing net. I told Maria I thought she was trying to catch a husband with that net. Perhaps I can borrow it? All she caught was her own left foot, which tangled in the net and ruined the whole effect.
One of my friends has offered to send me a few pieces of clothing so I have something to shoot for in terms of weight loss. I can’t tell you how much it’s appreciated. There are several items I plan to leave right here in Italy. I have one t-shirt that’s stretched out to the point you can see down the armholes. I think it needs to be placed in a dryer to retain its size and shape, but there are no dryers in Italy, so I’ll relinquish that one to the dustbin along with that hideous turquoise jacket I can’t bring myself to wear. A couple pair of pants are staying as well. I do not plan to gain weight so I shan’t need them anymore. Besides I bought another pair of Italian shoes that I have to make room for.
At the grocery stores here you must wear a plastic glove when choosing your fruits and vegetables and placing them in a plastic bag. Then they are weighed and you stick the resulting sticker onto the bag, just like at home. The problem is that I tend to forget to take the plastic glove off before I take the sticker and I usually wind up with my hand taped to the bag of tomatoes. I did this 4 or 5 times before it occurred to me to remove the glove BEFORE I take the sticker. I am not the quickest of learners.
Now that my days have resumed their quiet and uneventful pattern, I have been visiting some of the dark places in my soul. Places I really don’t want to visit, but must so that I can forgive myself and move on. I’ve done and said many a thing I am not proud of and I grieve for relationships I have damaged by my unkindness. Does everyone have dark places within themselves, or are some people only goodness and light? I still have work to do to be the person I know I can be, and that’s why I am here. May La Santa give me the strength to continue on in my journey!
Maria and I went for a drink at my favorite little café’ last night. She is rather discouraged about not being able to sell her house. It’s a beautiful house, but it’s a lot of work to keep up with and a huge expense, and she’s had some unfortunate tenants as of late, which hasn’t helped. I thought I might cheer her up a bit by giving her some company. My café has outside tables on Piazza della Repubblica, overlooking Le Scale and is a great location to be in the center of it all.
A theater group was performing a silent act on Le Scale, the steps to the Palazzo Pubblico, and we were in a prime location to watch. There were maybe 8 women and 4 men dressed head to toe in white…what looked like bridal type costumes, white painted faces, and the men in suits. They were posing on Le Scale when we arrived, then glided past us up via Nazionale. Several sat at our table and posed in their eerie silence. The one I enjoyed was a short, rotund woman wielding a large white fishing net. I told Maria I thought she was trying to catch a husband with that net. Perhaps I can borrow it? All she caught was her own left foot, which tangled in the net and ruined the whole effect.
One of my friends has offered to send me a few pieces of clothing so I have something to shoot for in terms of weight loss. I can’t tell you how much it’s appreciated. There are several items I plan to leave right here in Italy. I have one t-shirt that’s stretched out to the point you can see down the armholes. I think it needs to be placed in a dryer to retain its size and shape, but there are no dryers in Italy, so I’ll relinquish that one to the dustbin along with that hideous turquoise jacket I can’t bring myself to wear. A couple pair of pants are staying as well. I do not plan to gain weight so I shan’t need them anymore. Besides I bought another pair of Italian shoes that I have to make room for.
At the grocery stores here you must wear a plastic glove when choosing your fruits and vegetables and placing them in a plastic bag. Then they are weighed and you stick the resulting sticker onto the bag, just like at home. The problem is that I tend to forget to take the plastic glove off before I take the sticker and I usually wind up with my hand taped to the bag of tomatoes. I did this 4 or 5 times before it occurred to me to remove the glove BEFORE I take the sticker. I am not the quickest of learners.
Now that my days have resumed their quiet and uneventful pattern, I have been visiting some of the dark places in my soul. Places I really don’t want to visit, but must so that I can forgive myself and move on. I’ve done and said many a thing I am not proud of and I grieve for relationships I have damaged by my unkindness. Does everyone have dark places within themselves, or are some people only goodness and light? I still have work to do to be the person I know I can be, and that’s why I am here. May La Santa give me the strength to continue on in my journey!
Friday, May 16, 2008
Rita
On Sunday I drove back to San Gimignano to look for more of those special odor repelling shoes as they had them in two shops, at better prices than here in Cortona, and guess who I found? Bella Rita! She treated me to a wonderful gelato at a gelateria which was voted the best in the world. Yum! Rita is the tiniest little person you’ve ever seen and she chatters away a mile a minute. She pointed out the best hotel and restaurant in San Gimignano and told me of some other places to visit in the area. I had my picture taken with her which I will post. Of course, I look like a hulking Teuton next to her! I didn’t find any shoes, but I enjoyed talking with Rita.
I’ve noticed a group of about 5 or 6 bachelor’s, aged 40-70, who hang out around my café drinking coffee all morning, and various spirits the rest of the day. I would guess the younger men in this group are more than bachelors, they’re “mammoni”, mama’s boys, who still live at home with their parents. This is a common phenomenon in Italy, one of the few countries with a decreasing population. With the high cost of living, outrageous housing costs, and unstable job market, many marriage-aged men continue living at home with their parents rather than getting married or striking out on their own. Besides, who cooks better than mom?? Most families that I see have only one child, maybe two. Few have more than two and many have no children at all. A far cry from the United States!
At any rate, while sitting on Le Scale at Piazza della Repubblica one day, I observed this group of regulars partaking of a libation at an outdoor table at the café when a nun stopped and had a good, long conversation with them. I imagine she was warning them of the evils of smoke, drink, and the failure to reproduce. I wish I could have eavesdropped on that conversation!
A recent trip to the pasta aisle (and it’s a big one) at the grocery store, Coop, revealed that spaghetti comes in about 6 different sizes; the smallest of which is the approximate diameter of dental floss, while the largest could be used to rope steer at the Bell County rodeo. More choices for me to make!
I achieved a goal today. I walked out to Bramasole and took a few more pictures. After the tennis club, the 1 km route is uphill, but it’s a pretty gentle hill as Tuscan hills go. I shall have to set a new goal!
Now that I’ve been here 6 weeks people are slowly beginning to become accustomed to seeing me. The young man who works at the café in the afternoons will now smile at me…..sometimes. The young women at the jewelry store and Casantonio greet me, as does the lady from the internet point and the man from the book shop. I’ve been a good customer to all of them! If the nice lady at the walk-in pizza place and the young man at the gelato place begin to recognize me on the street I’ll know I’ve visited them one time too often! I occasionally run across the lady who lives on the fifth floor across via Roma, and she, too, greets me. I am surprised she doesn’t head the other direction after the unfortunate and embarrassing bathroom observation incident!
It’s a tossup how I am awakened these days. It could be by the whir of the crane lifting mortar to the roofers across the street, or it could be by the sound of a pile of rocks being loaded, by means of a conveyor belt, onto a metal flatbed truck at the back of the Etruscan museum directly behind the house. If the sound of the volleyball-sized rocks falling onto the metal platform doesn’t make quite enough noise, a nice young man rearranges them with a shovel for maximum effect. At any rate, there’s little sleep after 7:30 AM!
I’ve noticed a group of about 5 or 6 bachelor’s, aged 40-70, who hang out around my café drinking coffee all morning, and various spirits the rest of the day. I would guess the younger men in this group are more than bachelors, they’re “mammoni”, mama’s boys, who still live at home with their parents. This is a common phenomenon in Italy, one of the few countries with a decreasing population. With the high cost of living, outrageous housing costs, and unstable job market, many marriage-aged men continue living at home with their parents rather than getting married or striking out on their own. Besides, who cooks better than mom?? Most families that I see have only one child, maybe two. Few have more than two and many have no children at all. A far cry from the United States!
At any rate, while sitting on Le Scale at Piazza della Repubblica one day, I observed this group of regulars partaking of a libation at an outdoor table at the café when a nun stopped and had a good, long conversation with them. I imagine she was warning them of the evils of smoke, drink, and the failure to reproduce. I wish I could have eavesdropped on that conversation!
A recent trip to the pasta aisle (and it’s a big one) at the grocery store, Coop, revealed that spaghetti comes in about 6 different sizes; the smallest of which is the approximate diameter of dental floss, while the largest could be used to rope steer at the Bell County rodeo. More choices for me to make!
I achieved a goal today. I walked out to Bramasole and took a few more pictures. After the tennis club, the 1 km route is uphill, but it’s a pretty gentle hill as Tuscan hills go. I shall have to set a new goal!
Now that I’ve been here 6 weeks people are slowly beginning to become accustomed to seeing me. The young man who works at the café in the afternoons will now smile at me…..sometimes. The young women at the jewelry store and Casantonio greet me, as does the lady from the internet point and the man from the book shop. I’ve been a good customer to all of them! If the nice lady at the walk-in pizza place and the young man at the gelato place begin to recognize me on the street I’ll know I’ve visited them one time too often! I occasionally run across the lady who lives on the fifth floor across via Roma, and she, too, greets me. I am surprised she doesn’t head the other direction after the unfortunate and embarrassing bathroom observation incident!
It’s a tossup how I am awakened these days. It could be by the whir of the crane lifting mortar to the roofers across the street, or it could be by the sound of a pile of rocks being loaded, by means of a conveyor belt, onto a metal flatbed truck at the back of the Etruscan museum directly behind the house. If the sound of the volleyball-sized rocks falling onto the metal platform doesn’t make quite enough noise, a nice young man rearranges them with a shovel for maximum effect. At any rate, there’s little sleep after 7:30 AM!
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Siena
Siena is a beautiful city and for centuries dominated this region of Italy, engaging in ferocious battles with the city of Florence. Siena was my introduction to Italy as it is where my mother and I stayed for 10 days on our tour this past September. Our hotel, the Hotel Garden, had a beautiful terrace with a panoramic view of Siena’s skyline. We developed a habit of visiting the bar terrace to have a drink, white wine for her and caffe’ latte for me, every afternoon while soaking up the atmosphere and enjoying that fabulous view. It was time for me to return to where it all began.
I took a different road out of Cortona today, and found myself behind a Geriatric driving an Ape (ah-pay), that miniscule three-wheeled vehicle with a flat bed for carrying loads in the back. The Old Coot was tearing up the pavement at a blistering 7.85 kilometers per hour and I was unable to pass due to traffic coming from the other direction. I noticed with some alarm that his rear wheels were positioned at a severe angle which could explain his driving with such caution. Perhaps his axle was broken and tied together with a long strand of spaghetti.
An Italian would not have been deterred from passing due to oncoming traffic, in fact they would see that as a challenge to be accepted and won. It matters not that there is a stopped car in front of me and he can go nowhere, an Italian feels a moral obligation to pass my vehicle. A nattily dressed fellow in his BMW passed me today, and then stayed in the left-hand lane. I held my breath and prayed he would move back into his lane before he reached the blind curve a short distance ahead. My nerves can only take so much!
After a few wrong turns once I reached Siena, I was able to locate and park at the Fortezza di Medicea, the Medici Fortress, where the popular Wednesday market is held. The market is where I bought a fantastic purse with adjustable handles that I have just about worn out. I walked into town and stopped at a bookstore to purchase a couple of bestsellers as I am in need of fresh reading material. I also purchased some wonderful tri-fold cards. The top page has a decorative window frame with the window being a cut out opening, through which a scene printed on the middle page of the card can be viewed. They were $9 each, but I could not resist three of them, one of them the Palazzo Pubblico and Le Scale, the steps, in my very own Cortona! Another is the Duomo in Siena and the third is a generic Italian scene.
The highlight of the day was my return to the Duomo which is breathtakingly beautiful and ornately decorated in celebration of the God’s glory. The floor is made up of colored mosaics and the walls and pillars are made up of alternating strips of black and white marble. When I am inside the Duomo I never notice the fact that is looks rather like a zebra’s stripes, but pictures really make the eye focus on this fact. I took some wonderful pictures of the inside of the dome and of the two round stained glass windows, one on either end of the cathedral. The only thing I dislike is that the church has veritable hordes of visitors, including large groups getting guided tours, which made it difficult for me to feel a connection to the Divine, so I will save my praying for La Santa in Cortona.
I ate a lunch of penne pasta with sausage, tomatoes, mushrooms, and cream at an outdoor café at Il Campo, the enormous piazza where the famous Palio horse race dating back to the Middle Ages is run twice a year in July and August. The walls of the buildings surrounding the piazza are padded and a dirt track is laid around the perimeter on which bareback riders and their steeds race at breakneck speed. The city is divided into 17 neighborhoods called contrade and 10 of these neighborhoods are able to compete in each race. The horses are selected by a drawing and the horse who crosses the finish line first wins, whether or not his rider is still attached! There is absolute madness from the residents of Siena for the Palio and bets, bribes, and foul play are common place. Once the horses have been drawn, each contrade posts ‘round the clock guards to protect the valuable steed, and each animal is taken inside their contrada’s church for a blessing before each race.
It was a long day with much walking and I was looking forward to reaching home for a nap. As soon as I began the ascent up Cortona’s great hill, the Old Codger in the Ape appeared in front of me sputtering along at a snail’s pace. A three-toed sloth has nothing on this guy! He’s violated the Law of Motion by being able to go that slowly and still maintain forward movement. I fought the urge to get out and push him up the hill. He must spend the weekend driving up and down Cortona’s hill holding up traffic. Perhaps he’s being employed by Cortona’s new “You Can’t Leave Cortona until You’ve Left All Your Money” economic stimulus plan to make it impossible for people to actually depart the city until their wallets are completely flat. If so, he’s doing a very good job!
I took a different road out of Cortona today, and found myself behind a Geriatric driving an Ape (ah-pay), that miniscule three-wheeled vehicle with a flat bed for carrying loads in the back. The Old Coot was tearing up the pavement at a blistering 7.85 kilometers per hour and I was unable to pass due to traffic coming from the other direction. I noticed with some alarm that his rear wheels were positioned at a severe angle which could explain his driving with such caution. Perhaps his axle was broken and tied together with a long strand of spaghetti.
An Italian would not have been deterred from passing due to oncoming traffic, in fact they would see that as a challenge to be accepted and won. It matters not that there is a stopped car in front of me and he can go nowhere, an Italian feels a moral obligation to pass my vehicle. A nattily dressed fellow in his BMW passed me today, and then stayed in the left-hand lane. I held my breath and prayed he would move back into his lane before he reached the blind curve a short distance ahead. My nerves can only take so much!
After a few wrong turns once I reached Siena, I was able to locate and park at the Fortezza di Medicea, the Medici Fortress, where the popular Wednesday market is held. The market is where I bought a fantastic purse with adjustable handles that I have just about worn out. I walked into town and stopped at a bookstore to purchase a couple of bestsellers as I am in need of fresh reading material. I also purchased some wonderful tri-fold cards. The top page has a decorative window frame with the window being a cut out opening, through which a scene printed on the middle page of the card can be viewed. They were $9 each, but I could not resist three of them, one of them the Palazzo Pubblico and Le Scale, the steps, in my very own Cortona! Another is the Duomo in Siena and the third is a generic Italian scene.
The highlight of the day was my return to the Duomo which is breathtakingly beautiful and ornately decorated in celebration of the God’s glory. The floor is made up of colored mosaics and the walls and pillars are made up of alternating strips of black and white marble. When I am inside the Duomo I never notice the fact that is looks rather like a zebra’s stripes, but pictures really make the eye focus on this fact. I took some wonderful pictures of the inside of the dome and of the two round stained glass windows, one on either end of the cathedral. The only thing I dislike is that the church has veritable hordes of visitors, including large groups getting guided tours, which made it difficult for me to feel a connection to the Divine, so I will save my praying for La Santa in Cortona.
I ate a lunch of penne pasta with sausage, tomatoes, mushrooms, and cream at an outdoor café at Il Campo, the enormous piazza where the famous Palio horse race dating back to the Middle Ages is run twice a year in July and August. The walls of the buildings surrounding the piazza are padded and a dirt track is laid around the perimeter on which bareback riders and their steeds race at breakneck speed. The city is divided into 17 neighborhoods called contrade and 10 of these neighborhoods are able to compete in each race. The horses are selected by a drawing and the horse who crosses the finish line first wins, whether or not his rider is still attached! There is absolute madness from the residents of Siena for the Palio and bets, bribes, and foul play are common place. Once the horses have been drawn, each contrade posts ‘round the clock guards to protect the valuable steed, and each animal is taken inside their contrada’s church for a blessing before each race.
It was a long day with much walking and I was looking forward to reaching home for a nap. As soon as I began the ascent up Cortona’s great hill, the Old Codger in the Ape appeared in front of me sputtering along at a snail’s pace. A three-toed sloth has nothing on this guy! He’s violated the Law of Motion by being able to go that slowly and still maintain forward movement. I fought the urge to get out and push him up the hill. He must spend the weekend driving up and down Cortona’s hill holding up traffic. Perhaps he’s being employed by Cortona’s new “You Can’t Leave Cortona until You’ve Left All Your Money” economic stimulus plan to make it impossible for people to actually depart the city until their wallets are completely flat. If so, he’s doing a very good job!
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Finding Bramasole
I found Bramasole! One of my kind readers (thank you, Laura) sent me directions for locating Bramasole and as soon as I picked up the rental car I headed off in search of this illusive treasure and was thrilled to find it on the first try. It overlooks the same valley as my favorite place where I sit to read. I had walked up that road a couple of times but not quite far enough, as the house is up about 1 km further.
The house is absolutely gorgeous! It’s painted a warm pinky terracotta color and is set a ways above the road in a shady grove of leafy trees. That surprised me a bit as I visualized a sunny location overlooking olive groves, but it’s actually very shady and extremely peaceful. Because it sits so much above the road I could only get a glimpse of the property which is beautifully landscaped with brightly colored flowering plants in large terracotta planters and lush greenery everywhere. There is even a little shrine in the wall directly below the house, as in the movie. My next goal is to actually walk to the property. I’ll work on that next week after I’ve returned the car.
I saw a cute little boy today. He was about 2 and had twirled the hair at the top of his head into a little top knot, like a handle, which he was holding as he tottered off down the street sucking contentedly on his pacifier. When he let go of his hair it stayed all twirled up so I could tell that he is in the habit of making himself a little handle. Too cute for words!
I stopped by the coffee shop for an espresso, since Italians don’t drink anything with milk after the morning hours. Holy moly! It was strong enough to grow hair on my chest…probably won’t help the hair on my head though. I also nipped by Casantonio to check on the ceramics I purchased and had shipped 4 weeks ago. The man was nice enough to track the package and it’s due to be delivered today. Hopefully all has arrived safely. It will be just like Christmas for my mother as she gets to open all the treasures, one of which is hers.
Trash has become a bit of an issue. I am not exactly sure what’s recyclable and rather than have Maria go through my trash piece by piece I’ve taken to sneaking down via Roma to the dumpster located outside the city walls, hood up to conceal my identity, in the wee hours while its dark. Not that a hood up would conceal my identity as I’ve been wearing the same distinctive sweatshirt for the past 37 days, day in and day out. I brought a lightweight, maroon, hooded and zippered sweatshirt with a fun design on the front from Dillard’s at 75% off just before I left Texas. I thought I’d wear it around the house if I was cold, but I didn’t expect it to be as cold in Italy as it’s been and I’ve taken to living in the darned thing. No one else has one remotely like it so I am easily identifiable. I do have a spring jacket as well, but its bright turquoise and, while it fits in while I am in the States, here it’s like a neon sign and I just can’t bring myself to wear it.
Its porchetta day tomorrow and then I am off to Siena for the day. I shall take lots of pictures to share with you all!
The house is absolutely gorgeous! It’s painted a warm pinky terracotta color and is set a ways above the road in a shady grove of leafy trees. That surprised me a bit as I visualized a sunny location overlooking olive groves, but it’s actually very shady and extremely peaceful. Because it sits so much above the road I could only get a glimpse of the property which is beautifully landscaped with brightly colored flowering plants in large terracotta planters and lush greenery everywhere. There is even a little shrine in the wall directly below the house, as in the movie. My next goal is to actually walk to the property. I’ll work on that next week after I’ve returned the car.
I saw a cute little boy today. He was about 2 and had twirled the hair at the top of his head into a little top knot, like a handle, which he was holding as he tottered off down the street sucking contentedly on his pacifier. When he let go of his hair it stayed all twirled up so I could tell that he is in the habit of making himself a little handle. Too cute for words!
I stopped by the coffee shop for an espresso, since Italians don’t drink anything with milk after the morning hours. Holy moly! It was strong enough to grow hair on my chest…probably won’t help the hair on my head though. I also nipped by Casantonio to check on the ceramics I purchased and had shipped 4 weeks ago. The man was nice enough to track the package and it’s due to be delivered today. Hopefully all has arrived safely. It will be just like Christmas for my mother as she gets to open all the treasures, one of which is hers.
Trash has become a bit of an issue. I am not exactly sure what’s recyclable and rather than have Maria go through my trash piece by piece I’ve taken to sneaking down via Roma to the dumpster located outside the city walls, hood up to conceal my identity, in the wee hours while its dark. Not that a hood up would conceal my identity as I’ve been wearing the same distinctive sweatshirt for the past 37 days, day in and day out. I brought a lightweight, maroon, hooded and zippered sweatshirt with a fun design on the front from Dillard’s at 75% off just before I left Texas. I thought I’d wear it around the house if I was cold, but I didn’t expect it to be as cold in Italy as it’s been and I’ve taken to living in the darned thing. No one else has one remotely like it so I am easily identifiable. I do have a spring jacket as well, but its bright turquoise and, while it fits in while I am in the States, here it’s like a neon sign and I just can’t bring myself to wear it.
Its porchetta day tomorrow and then I am off to Siena for the day. I shall take lots of pictures to share with you all!
Assisi
I drove into the neighboring region of Umbria today to visit the city of Assisi. It was a gorgeous drive, with a number of tunnels along the way. There’s been enough rain to cause the plants and fields to be lush and green. The flowers are just incredible right now and their brilliant colors soften the stone buildings. Apparently there are regulations about the colors buildings can be painted as most buildings are either natural stone, or soft shades of buff, beige, light yellow and terracotta. Everything is soft as though gently burnished by the soft fingers of a warm sun. No bright reds, greens, blues, and purples as in Ireland!
Assisi is an ancient hill town. I parked in a garage about halfway up the hill and walked the rest of the way. The town is very historic, yet well maintained and spotlessly clean. I ducked through gates, climbed stairs, dodged down alleys, and finally emerged at a large piazza where rows of bleachers had been set up. Red flags decorated each building and as I ventured further into town I saw posters advertising some sort of medieval pageant. What’s more, as the day progressed I noticed more and more people of all ages arriving in medieval costumes, many rough wool or linen and some lush velvets and rich brocades as well. Many men were dressed in tights and tunics and a number were carrying large drums.
When I emerged at a smaller piazza near a church, a number of young women had spread materials out and were preparing decorative wreathes and arches. The forms were made of chicken wire and the women were weaving flexible branches of greenery and colorful ribbons into the frame to finish the decoration. Animal skins, leather, and drums were also laid out across the piazza. This must be festival headquarters!
Numerous small shops in town carried a variety of religious statuettes, pictures, paintings. medals, and jewelry. I took shelter in a doorway as a truck of merry makers drove by honking, pounding the roof of the truck cab, and teasing a group of girls, who didn’t appear to mind a bit. It was really wonderful to see the young people in the community taking part so actively in this festival. I would hate to think that they all made for the large cities to attend universities or to search for work once they graduated high school. This obviously remains a vital and active community which celebrates its heritage with joy. How wonderful!
I had an utterly forgettable lunch at a bar, and was on my way to the enormous San Francesco church when I suffered an unfortunate intestinal episode, no doubt the result of eating two dinners the night before, which forced me to find the only bathroom I’d seen, back in the parking garage! I did not feel up to hiking back up the hill, so had to forgo a visit to this beautiful church. Maybe next time.
Assisi is an ancient hill town. I parked in a garage about halfway up the hill and walked the rest of the way. The town is very historic, yet well maintained and spotlessly clean. I ducked through gates, climbed stairs, dodged down alleys, and finally emerged at a large piazza where rows of bleachers had been set up. Red flags decorated each building and as I ventured further into town I saw posters advertising some sort of medieval pageant. What’s more, as the day progressed I noticed more and more people of all ages arriving in medieval costumes, many rough wool or linen and some lush velvets and rich brocades as well. Many men were dressed in tights and tunics and a number were carrying large drums.
When I emerged at a smaller piazza near a church, a number of young women had spread materials out and were preparing decorative wreathes and arches. The forms were made of chicken wire and the women were weaving flexible branches of greenery and colorful ribbons into the frame to finish the decoration. Animal skins, leather, and drums were also laid out across the piazza. This must be festival headquarters!
Numerous small shops in town carried a variety of religious statuettes, pictures, paintings. medals, and jewelry. I took shelter in a doorway as a truck of merry makers drove by honking, pounding the roof of the truck cab, and teasing a group of girls, who didn’t appear to mind a bit. It was really wonderful to see the young people in the community taking part so actively in this festival. I would hate to think that they all made for the large cities to attend universities or to search for work once they graduated high school. This obviously remains a vital and active community which celebrates its heritage with joy. How wonderful!
I had an utterly forgettable lunch at a bar, and was on my way to the enormous San Francesco church when I suffered an unfortunate intestinal episode, no doubt the result of eating two dinners the night before, which forced me to find the only bathroom I’d seen, back in the parking garage! I did not feel up to hiking back up the hill, so had to forgo a visit to this beautiful church. Maybe next time.
Dinner....and Dinner
Taking advantage of the luxury of having my own vehicle if only for a week, I drove back to Arezzo today to visit the clothing store which was closed on Monday. I stopped first to get gas. Filling the car with gasoline is another new thing. I’ve been told you pay first, or insert money into some kind of machine. Because I never like to try anything new, I tend to drive into a station which does not say “Self-service” and if I sit in the car for a minute or two looking particularly helpless a nice man will usually come over and put gas into the car for me. Playing helpless is a new experience for me! The station attendants tend to be good looking which is an added bonus from my perspective.
I negotiated the busy streets inside the walled portion of the Arezzo which consist of many narrow one-way streets with a large number of Vespas whizzing around, cutting me off right and left, and found parking in a subterranean garage. It was a quick hike to the clothing store which did turn out to be for larger women; however things worked just a little differently. The woman wanted to know my size and color preferences and what I was looking for. She then would bring things to show me, none of which I liked. Like many stores specializing in larger sizes it had a good selection of things that seemed a bit aged for my taste. The fitting room was actually a corner of the shop with a tall curtain, although I noticed one woman trying on shirts right in middle of the shop for the whole world to see. I did try on a pair of jeans which fit well and had the added bonus of a couple of extra buttons to make the pants smaller by 2 inches in the event I lose more weight. Perhaps these buttons were actually intended to be an expansion panel which could be enlarged after a luscious meal of Italian food. I was considering the jeans when I looked at the price tag, 128 Euro, $205! After pounding my chest a couple of times to restart my heart, I asked about other jeans and the next pair she brought were $240. I decided to quit while I was ahead. I really cannot imagine spending that kind of money on a pair of jeans I may outgrow. I think I will wait and if I do need a smaller size before I leave for Germany, I can always return.
On the drive back to Cortona I decided it would be a good night to go out to dinner. I stopped home to change into a silk shirt and to try to poof up my boyish and uncooperative hair style and met Maria in the hall. She wanted to let me know that a dinner she’d invited me to would be at 8:00. She had previously told me it would be on Friday evening so I planned my week around it. I confirmed dinner at 8:00 and nipped ‘round to a local establishment and ordered a primo, first, of tagliatelle with fresh truffles, and a secondo, second, of scaloppini with mushrooms. In due time the waitress appeared with a heaping bowl of lovely golden pasta topped with bits of gray truffle. I am sure the truffle could not have been fresh as it really had no flavor and the texture was dry with a gritty crunch, however the pasta had a good flavor and I had no problem cleaning my plate. I was truly hungry! The next course shortly followed and was tender scaloppini and a brown sauce nearly hidden by a mound of flavorful mushrooms. Normally, in Italy, the meat course is quite small, but this was truly generous. I ate little more than half before giving up and stopping before my seams burst.
I groaned home at about 8:15 and the moment I entered the front hall Maria popped out her door to tell me they were waiting for me. Holy mackerel, they’d changed the day of the dinner and it was tonight, not tomorrow! I was now facing my second dinner in a row. I was too embarrassed to tell Maria I’d just been to dinner because I did not hear her tell me the night had changed, so I ignored the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach (or was that the truffles?)and came in to meet the other guest, a handsome Englishman who learned Italian from Maria. He was very proficient in Italian, to my eyes at least, and we all chatted away pleasantly, me contributing what I could to a conversation which was above my head. I understand probably 50% of what I was hearing, but my expressive language skills are not just as good, so I my utterances are a combination of Italian and English, with an occasional German word slipped in by mistake. Fortunately, my dining companions were tolerant.
I did my best to ask for small portions and to eat what I could, wishing desperately I had bought that pair of waist expansion jeans, while ignoring the menacing rumbling noise coming from my digestive region. I was happy to have gotten through the lasagna portion, and be moving onto the green salad, when I saw Maria slip in a large bowl of meatballs. The tender and garlicky meatballs were served in a rich red sauce and were the best meatballs I have ever had, but I could do no better that half the portion. Maria commented on how I didn’t eat much and I apologized and told her I hadn’t understood the change in days and had eaten in Arezzo. I just could not tell her I’d eaten just 15 minutes ago. It was a bit difficult for me to concentrate on the conversation as I was busy listening for ripping seams.
After dinner, we adjourned to the living room for a bit more wine and conversation which was interrupted by a ruckus coming from the downstairs apartment. The tenant had apparently had overindulged and was carrying on something ferocious. Poor Maria finally had to go down and calm things down. Needless to say that put a damper on the evening and I soon excused myself to go upstairs, take an antacid, and lay under a sun lamp in hopes the UV rays would aid in digestion like they do for crocodiles. Or maybe I can hibernate for an entire week!
I negotiated the busy streets inside the walled portion of the Arezzo which consist of many narrow one-way streets with a large number of Vespas whizzing around, cutting me off right and left, and found parking in a subterranean garage. It was a quick hike to the clothing store which did turn out to be for larger women; however things worked just a little differently. The woman wanted to know my size and color preferences and what I was looking for. She then would bring things to show me, none of which I liked. Like many stores specializing in larger sizes it had a good selection of things that seemed a bit aged for my taste. The fitting room was actually a corner of the shop with a tall curtain, although I noticed one woman trying on shirts right in middle of the shop for the whole world to see. I did try on a pair of jeans which fit well and had the added bonus of a couple of extra buttons to make the pants smaller by 2 inches in the event I lose more weight. Perhaps these buttons were actually intended to be an expansion panel which could be enlarged after a luscious meal of Italian food. I was considering the jeans when I looked at the price tag, 128 Euro, $205! After pounding my chest a couple of times to restart my heart, I asked about other jeans and the next pair she brought were $240. I decided to quit while I was ahead. I really cannot imagine spending that kind of money on a pair of jeans I may outgrow. I think I will wait and if I do need a smaller size before I leave for Germany, I can always return.
On the drive back to Cortona I decided it would be a good night to go out to dinner. I stopped home to change into a silk shirt and to try to poof up my boyish and uncooperative hair style and met Maria in the hall. She wanted to let me know that a dinner she’d invited me to would be at 8:00. She had previously told me it would be on Friday evening so I planned my week around it. I confirmed dinner at 8:00 and nipped ‘round to a local establishment and ordered a primo, first, of tagliatelle with fresh truffles, and a secondo, second, of scaloppini with mushrooms. In due time the waitress appeared with a heaping bowl of lovely golden pasta topped with bits of gray truffle. I am sure the truffle could not have been fresh as it really had no flavor and the texture was dry with a gritty crunch, however the pasta had a good flavor and I had no problem cleaning my plate. I was truly hungry! The next course shortly followed and was tender scaloppini and a brown sauce nearly hidden by a mound of flavorful mushrooms. Normally, in Italy, the meat course is quite small, but this was truly generous. I ate little more than half before giving up and stopping before my seams burst.
I groaned home at about 8:15 and the moment I entered the front hall Maria popped out her door to tell me they were waiting for me. Holy mackerel, they’d changed the day of the dinner and it was tonight, not tomorrow! I was now facing my second dinner in a row. I was too embarrassed to tell Maria I’d just been to dinner because I did not hear her tell me the night had changed, so I ignored the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach (or was that the truffles?)and came in to meet the other guest, a handsome Englishman who learned Italian from Maria. He was very proficient in Italian, to my eyes at least, and we all chatted away pleasantly, me contributing what I could to a conversation which was above my head. I understand probably 50% of what I was hearing, but my expressive language skills are not just as good, so I my utterances are a combination of Italian and English, with an occasional German word slipped in by mistake. Fortunately, my dining companions were tolerant.
I did my best to ask for small portions and to eat what I could, wishing desperately I had bought that pair of waist expansion jeans, while ignoring the menacing rumbling noise coming from my digestive region. I was happy to have gotten through the lasagna portion, and be moving onto the green salad, when I saw Maria slip in a large bowl of meatballs. The tender and garlicky meatballs were served in a rich red sauce and were the best meatballs I have ever had, but I could do no better that half the portion. Maria commented on how I didn’t eat much and I apologized and told her I hadn’t understood the change in days and had eaten in Arezzo. I just could not tell her I’d eaten just 15 minutes ago. It was a bit difficult for me to concentrate on the conversation as I was busy listening for ripping seams.
After dinner, we adjourned to the living room for a bit more wine and conversation which was interrupted by a ruckus coming from the downstairs apartment. The tenant had apparently had overindulged and was carrying on something ferocious. Poor Maria finally had to go down and calm things down. Needless to say that put a damper on the evening and I soon excused myself to go upstairs, take an antacid, and lay under a sun lamp in hopes the UV rays would aid in digestion like they do for crocodiles. Or maybe I can hibernate for an entire week!
Monday, May 12, 2008
Beautiful Italian Shoes
It’s a well-known fact that my brother and I suffer from terrible foot odor, a genetic anomaly which I passed down to one of my children (name withheld to protect the guilty). In fact, a former co-worker went so far as to buy me a can of foot powder for Christmas one year. Fortunately, I have a well-developed sense of humor and I thought it was a hoot…it was also largely ineffective.
I brought 3 pairs of shoes with me on this trip, one of which already needed to be replaced, but were so comfortable I just had to bring them. All the walking I have done since arriving 5 weeks ago has worn that pair out, so I had to sacrifice them to the dumpster. This left me in need of a pair of shoes. Italy has some interesting shoes, many of which are modified tennis shoes, but with different designs and colors so they don’t actually scream, “AMERICAN ATHLETIC SHOES” like my name brand cross-trainers from home. I trotted down to the shoe store here in Cortona to peer at the choices and saw several pairs I liked in flashy silver and gold metallic colors. Maybe I can dance like little Claudia in a pair of those! I priced them, 59-129 euro ($94-$206, things are expensive here!), and thought I’d look at some shops in Arezzo before making a commitment.
After heading to San Gimignano and not finding Rita, I wandered the town fighting the crowds of tourists much like a salmon swimming upstream. I sat at an outdoor café and indulged in an eiskafe’; espresso, coffee-flavored ice cream, and whipped cream decorated with a wooden pick with a spill of metallic multi-colored streamers attached to the top rather like a miniature fireworks display which I kept because it makes me smile.
I poked in and out of shops and found some more beautiful Italian cards to bring home. I have 5 boxes now…Italy is known for beautiful papers and stationary and I simply cannot resist them. I also ran across a couple of shoes stores and decided to be brave and try some on. I liked two pairs, but decided to think about it as they were quite expensive. When I returned to the shop the girl who’d helped me was gone for the day and the other staff could not locate this one particular pair of shoes. They were the same style as a pair in the window, but rather than the plain canvas fabric, they had an embroidered shimmery fabric insert. I was persistent and asked the nice young woman to look through ALL the boxes in my size, and sure enough, she found them!
When I returned home I found a manual in the shoebox telling me, in 5 languages, all about my new shoes. If I’d known I was going to get reading material in addition to shoes, I’d not have bothered to buy that last annoying paperback book. The booklet informed me that I had just purchased revolutionary shoes that breathe, a fact illustrated by a picture of a shoe with steam issuing forth from the sole. Apparently, feet are one of the areas of the body with the highest concentration of “sudoriferous glands” at 366 per cm2 which assist the body in thermoregulation. Alarmingly, the bikini area of the female figure pictured has a similar concentration of sweat glands, but we’ll pursue that topic another day. The next page explained that our feet produce 100 liters of sweat per year and the rubber soles on shoes cause condensation much like a plastic bag tied ‘round the foot. This information was accompanied by a picture of a foot in a plastic bag. Now, this reminds me of my childhood in the harsh Wisconsin winters. When my brother and I went out to play snow often filled our boots causing wet feet so my mother took to putting plastic Wonder Bread bags, decorated with brightly colored circles, around our feet over our socks before putting on the snow boots. The combination of a hot and toxically smelly foot inside a Wonder Bread bag inside a pair of vinyl boots for an extended period of time probably explains why the brightly colored circles on those bags mysteriously turned brown, and vaporized right off the bag.
These Italian miracle shoes are designed with a special microporous membrane which expels perspiration without letting water enter. I can almost visualize the bad odor being pumped out of each shoe with every step causing nearby plants and flowers to wither and die as I walk past. It’s rather like farting in that respect. I must be cautious not to walk near any cash crops in those shoes or the noxious fumes could result in a loss of revenue for the farmer. For instance, if I were to take a tour of some of the vineyards near Montalcino, the only place in the world where Brunello wine is be made, my flatulent footwear could cause the loss of much of the Sangiovese Grosso clone grape harvest ruining the economy of a small town, and changing direction of Italian agriculture. Mio Dio! My feet could change history!
I brought 3 pairs of shoes with me on this trip, one of which already needed to be replaced, but were so comfortable I just had to bring them. All the walking I have done since arriving 5 weeks ago has worn that pair out, so I had to sacrifice them to the dumpster. This left me in need of a pair of shoes. Italy has some interesting shoes, many of which are modified tennis shoes, but with different designs and colors so they don’t actually scream, “AMERICAN ATHLETIC SHOES” like my name brand cross-trainers from home. I trotted down to the shoe store here in Cortona to peer at the choices and saw several pairs I liked in flashy silver and gold metallic colors. Maybe I can dance like little Claudia in a pair of those! I priced them, 59-129 euro ($94-$206, things are expensive here!), and thought I’d look at some shops in Arezzo before making a commitment.
After heading to San Gimignano and not finding Rita, I wandered the town fighting the crowds of tourists much like a salmon swimming upstream. I sat at an outdoor café and indulged in an eiskafe’; espresso, coffee-flavored ice cream, and whipped cream decorated with a wooden pick with a spill of metallic multi-colored streamers attached to the top rather like a miniature fireworks display which I kept because it makes me smile.
I poked in and out of shops and found some more beautiful Italian cards to bring home. I have 5 boxes now…Italy is known for beautiful papers and stationary and I simply cannot resist them. I also ran across a couple of shoes stores and decided to be brave and try some on. I liked two pairs, but decided to think about it as they were quite expensive. When I returned to the shop the girl who’d helped me was gone for the day and the other staff could not locate this one particular pair of shoes. They were the same style as a pair in the window, but rather than the plain canvas fabric, they had an embroidered shimmery fabric insert. I was persistent and asked the nice young woman to look through ALL the boxes in my size, and sure enough, she found them!
When I returned home I found a manual in the shoebox telling me, in 5 languages, all about my new shoes. If I’d known I was going to get reading material in addition to shoes, I’d not have bothered to buy that last annoying paperback book. The booklet informed me that I had just purchased revolutionary shoes that breathe, a fact illustrated by a picture of a shoe with steam issuing forth from the sole. Apparently, feet are one of the areas of the body with the highest concentration of “sudoriferous glands” at 366 per cm2 which assist the body in thermoregulation. Alarmingly, the bikini area of the female figure pictured has a similar concentration of sweat glands, but we’ll pursue that topic another day. The next page explained that our feet produce 100 liters of sweat per year and the rubber soles on shoes cause condensation much like a plastic bag tied ‘round the foot. This information was accompanied by a picture of a foot in a plastic bag. Now, this reminds me of my childhood in the harsh Wisconsin winters. When my brother and I went out to play snow often filled our boots causing wet feet so my mother took to putting plastic Wonder Bread bags, decorated with brightly colored circles, around our feet over our socks before putting on the snow boots. The combination of a hot and toxically smelly foot inside a Wonder Bread bag inside a pair of vinyl boots for an extended period of time probably explains why the brightly colored circles on those bags mysteriously turned brown, and vaporized right off the bag.
These Italian miracle shoes are designed with a special microporous membrane which expels perspiration without letting water enter. I can almost visualize the bad odor being pumped out of each shoe with every step causing nearby plants and flowers to wither and die as I walk past. It’s rather like farting in that respect. I must be cautious not to walk near any cash crops in those shoes or the noxious fumes could result in a loss of revenue for the farmer. For instance, if I were to take a tour of some of the vineyards near Montalcino, the only place in the world where Brunello wine is be made, my flatulent footwear could cause the loss of much of the Sangiovese Grosso clone grape harvest ruining the economy of a small town, and changing direction of Italian agriculture. Mio Dio! My feet could change history!
Friday, May 9, 2008
Looking for Bella Rita
I drove to San Gimignano for the second time in hopes I would find Rita at work at the gallery. Unfortunately, she was not there and the woman who working was unable to understand or answer my questions about when Rita would be back. I guess some encounters are just meant to be one time interactions. I was pretty let down as I am finding that I have a need to connect to people again and I really liked Rita.
Over the past 2½ weeks I’ve noticed that I seem to be returning to a childlike state. Like a primitive larvae, I am raw, unprotected, and vulnerable. It’s a scary feeling as I have always been independent and self-sufficient, with my barrier of fat to protect me. I find that being overweight is a wonderful, if semi-effective filter. Many people don’t care to look beyond the exterior to get to know me and that way I don’t have to ever have to confront the possibility that they will hurt or disappoint me. Now, as I am slowly losing weight and am in a situation where I am identified by the ways I am different: appearance, body type, dress, behavior, language, culture; it’s as though I am peeling away layers of the old me. I am unsure of myself in ways I never have been before. Is this my annual seasonal depression? Are these feelings the result of my body’s natural rhythm or the hormonal changes I am undergoing as my body gives up its ability to do what is unique to women, sustain another life? Or could this be a rebirth into a new life, like a caterpillar spinning a cocoon to protect itself as it changes into a creature of light? Will I emerge from this state of suspended animation or simply cease to be?
I fight tears many times these days. Perhaps I should give in and just have a good cry to release all that needs to be released. Somehow I seem unwilling to give in and let go. I am constantly reminded that one of these days some tiny thing will send me over the edge. I need to hike up to visit La Santa and beg her protection while I am in this neonatal stage, tender, curled around myself to conceal my vital organs.
I am very appreciative of the emails and words of encouragement I receive from friends and family back home as I undergo what I hope is a transformation.
Over the past 2½ weeks I’ve noticed that I seem to be returning to a childlike state. Like a primitive larvae, I am raw, unprotected, and vulnerable. It’s a scary feeling as I have always been independent and self-sufficient, with my barrier of fat to protect me. I find that being overweight is a wonderful, if semi-effective filter. Many people don’t care to look beyond the exterior to get to know me and that way I don’t have to ever have to confront the possibility that they will hurt or disappoint me. Now, as I am slowly losing weight and am in a situation where I am identified by the ways I am different: appearance, body type, dress, behavior, language, culture; it’s as though I am peeling away layers of the old me. I am unsure of myself in ways I never have been before. Is this my annual seasonal depression? Are these feelings the result of my body’s natural rhythm or the hormonal changes I am undergoing as my body gives up its ability to do what is unique to women, sustain another life? Or could this be a rebirth into a new life, like a caterpillar spinning a cocoon to protect itself as it changes into a creature of light? Will I emerge from this state of suspended animation or simply cease to be?
I fight tears many times these days. Perhaps I should give in and just have a good cry to release all that needs to be released. Somehow I seem unwilling to give in and let go. I am constantly reminded that one of these days some tiny thing will send me over the edge. I need to hike up to visit La Santa and beg her protection while I am in this neonatal stage, tender, curled around myself to conceal my vital organs.
I am very appreciative of the emails and words of encouragement I receive from friends and family back home as I undergo what I hope is a transformation.
The Haircut
I slept like a log last night after yesterday’s frustrations. When I awoke I walked down to David e Francesco’s hair salon to make an appointment for a cut and color as my gray hairs are beginning to show. The man at the desk told me they could take me right away and led me off to a chair. The nice, black, protective robe he gave me did not close across my front by about 8 inches; however a woman who walked in after me could wrap hers around 1½ times like one of those wraps skirts popular in the 70’s. Not an auspicious beginning.
A nice looking man poked around my head and asked me what color I wanted, and then a young woman came to assist him. Apparently the application of highlights is a team effort. The man carefully applied the highlights while the assistant handed him the foils. I thought the man was a stylish dresser with some sort of large metal chain detail on his belt until I noticed that it was actually a kind of small utility belt. On his left hip was a holster with that handles of about 15 pairs of shears sticking out.
After my highlights were in, the assistant was responsible for applying the rest of my haircolor, roots first, then the ends. While I waited for the color to develop I could observe other women benefitting from the same team approach to hair color I’d received. A hairdryer was installed above my head on a long retractable arm rather like a cherry picker and another station had a similar contraption but with 6 lamps in a spherical arrangement on it. I imagine the lamps help hair color develop when turned on, but I admit to a sneaking suspicion that, late at night, it’s used for Frankensteinesque surgical procedures and I was glad I’d come during the day! Perhaps the lamp is used to cultivate hair growth which might explain the luxuriant crop of neck hair on the bespectacled man I saw leaving the shop one evening a couple weeks ago! After 30 minutes I was taken back to the sinks where I received the more wonderful, gentle hair wash and head massage. Bliss!
Finally a third person, a young woman, then began my haircut. My only stipulation to her was that my hair not be too short. Well, she cut…and cut…and cut. Toward the end I noticed I was holding my breath and my leg was tingling where my clamped hand had cut off the circulation. After the shearing, er….haircut, I stumbled to the counter, apparently in a state of shock as I could not answer the owner, David (or was it Francesco?), when he asked if I liked my hair. Now, I am not a poker player at the best of times and my distress must have been apparent on my face. The best I could choke out in Italian is, “Maybe now I am a boy.” The poor man was so upset that he ran around the counter and explained that the stylist had employed the latest natural hair cutting techniques currently all the rage in Italy and he showed me the haircut from all angles with a mirror. Because he was so concerned, and the dear stylist so obviously upset, I resisted the urge to inform him that farmers in Scotland have been employing these shearing techniques on sheep for eons. He pointed out I looked younger and felt sure in a week I’d like my hair. Another man kindly came up behind me and ran his fingers through the back of my hair which is always enough to make me weak in the knees. Actually, David (Francesco?) with his earnest blue-gray eyes, dark hair, and little strip of chin hair talking to me from a distance of about 12 inches was enough to make me weak in the knees; however the fact that I now resembled a small boy on his first day of school rendered me unable to flirt. Ok, I actually don’t know how to flirt, but if I did know how I’d have been tempted.
I stumbled home and fought the urge to pour a stiff one while I tried to “fix” my hair, to no avail. My hair really does go into a state of shock when it’s first cut and there’s no doing anything with it for 7-10 days. My new boyish looks also make those spam emails I frequently receive advertising that I can “grow my penis 1-3 inches” take on a sinister new meaning. Additionally, a fashion dilemma has now reared it's ugly head. Shall I wear false eyelashes and big earrings and try to look female, or I should wear a black t-shirt and quit shaving my beard to have that much desired transvestite look so popular in certain circles? Choices, choices! How will I ever decide? I wonder how much they charge for a session with that hair growing machine….
A nice looking man poked around my head and asked me what color I wanted, and then a young woman came to assist him. Apparently the application of highlights is a team effort. The man carefully applied the highlights while the assistant handed him the foils. I thought the man was a stylish dresser with some sort of large metal chain detail on his belt until I noticed that it was actually a kind of small utility belt. On his left hip was a holster with that handles of about 15 pairs of shears sticking out.
After my highlights were in, the assistant was responsible for applying the rest of my haircolor, roots first, then the ends. While I waited for the color to develop I could observe other women benefitting from the same team approach to hair color I’d received. A hairdryer was installed above my head on a long retractable arm rather like a cherry picker and another station had a similar contraption but with 6 lamps in a spherical arrangement on it. I imagine the lamps help hair color develop when turned on, but I admit to a sneaking suspicion that, late at night, it’s used for Frankensteinesque surgical procedures and I was glad I’d come during the day! Perhaps the lamp is used to cultivate hair growth which might explain the luxuriant crop of neck hair on the bespectacled man I saw leaving the shop one evening a couple weeks ago! After 30 minutes I was taken back to the sinks where I received the more wonderful, gentle hair wash and head massage. Bliss!
Finally a third person, a young woman, then began my haircut. My only stipulation to her was that my hair not be too short. Well, she cut…and cut…and cut. Toward the end I noticed I was holding my breath and my leg was tingling where my clamped hand had cut off the circulation. After the shearing, er….haircut, I stumbled to the counter, apparently in a state of shock as I could not answer the owner, David (or was it Francesco?), when he asked if I liked my hair. Now, I am not a poker player at the best of times and my distress must have been apparent on my face. The best I could choke out in Italian is, “Maybe now I am a boy.” The poor man was so upset that he ran around the counter and explained that the stylist had employed the latest natural hair cutting techniques currently all the rage in Italy and he showed me the haircut from all angles with a mirror. Because he was so concerned, and the dear stylist so obviously upset, I resisted the urge to inform him that farmers in Scotland have been employing these shearing techniques on sheep for eons. He pointed out I looked younger and felt sure in a week I’d like my hair. Another man kindly came up behind me and ran his fingers through the back of my hair which is always enough to make me weak in the knees. Actually, David (Francesco?) with his earnest blue-gray eyes, dark hair, and little strip of chin hair talking to me from a distance of about 12 inches was enough to make me weak in the knees; however the fact that I now resembled a small boy on his first day of school rendered me unable to flirt. Ok, I actually don’t know how to flirt, but if I did know how I’d have been tempted.
I stumbled home and fought the urge to pour a stiff one while I tried to “fix” my hair, to no avail. My hair really does go into a state of shock when it’s first cut and there’s no doing anything with it for 7-10 days. My new boyish looks also make those spam emails I frequently receive advertising that I can “grow my penis 1-3 inches” take on a sinister new meaning. Additionally, a fashion dilemma has now reared it's ugly head. Shall I wear false eyelashes and big earrings and try to look female, or I should wear a black t-shirt and quit shaving my beard to have that much desired transvestite look so popular in certain circles? Choices, choices! How will I ever decide? I wonder how much they charge for a session with that hair growing machine….
Cinque Terre....or Not
I arose at 6:00 yesterday morning, eager to be on my way to Cinque Terre on the west coast of Italy, near the Italian Riviera. It was a gorgeous day, sunny and warm and I was in good spirits. On my way out the stone gate to the city, a woman entering in her station wagon, cut the corner too close and ran over my wheeled backpack containing my computer. What’s worse, she didn’t even stop to see if was my bag she’d hit or my foot. Such flagrant disregard for my person! I should have looked more closely to see if it was actually one of those hideous marionettes driving.
The trip northwest through Florence, Lucca, and on to La Spezia was uneventful, if a bit long at 4 hours. I traveled through at least 10 tunnels, including one hair-raising one which exited on a sharply curving, narrow bridge crossing a deep gorge just outside Lucca. Yikes! It was enough to give me a heart failure. Worse yet, in one of the tunnels, a motorcycle was driving down the center line, passing cars right and left. Made me wish I’d taken a Valium for my nerves before I left home!
In La Spezia I got my first glimpse of the blue, blue water of the Ligurian Sea. The harbor was full of ships and I saw the rigging of what looked to be a masted schooner, but I could not see the body of the ship itself due to some sort of retaining wall.
C inque Terre or “five lands” is not far from La Spezia, and I stopped at the conveniently located tourist information center upon entering the park, only to find it closed. My blood sugar was dropping so I headed to the attached restaurant, closed again; and then tried the local specialties shop, also closed. I was beginning to detect an unfortunate trend.
The area is absolutely breathtaking, steep mountains dropping precipitously into the turquoise waters. Houses cling to the steep mountainsides by some mysterious fashion, and the land is cultivated by a series of steep terraces planted with grapes vines and olive trees. The narrow road was just barely notched into the hillside with few guardrails to protect the unwary traveler. The frequent cyclers and hikers just added additional hazards to make the route much like a dangerous and life-threatening obstacle course.
Eventually I turned off the main road onto a local village road and the real fun began. The road was one lane wide, and extremely twisty, with switchbacks and blind curves and only a few narrow areas to pull off to the side in the event one car needed to pass another. After 15 nerve-wracking minutes I passed a parking area on the right, but elected to continue in toward the town. One thing I have learned is never to park in the first car park I come to as it is often located a mile out of town. As I made my careful approach into the village saw a sign showing a roundabout, so thought I’d turn around there and go back to the parking lot. Great idea, but just then a hat wearing lady gave me the evil eye and lowered a cross bar across the road barring my access and making me feel unwelcome. Now what was I to do? I was on a one lane road with a metal railing on the right to keep me out of the bay, and a steep hill on the left. Fortunately, there was a small, upward sloping drive way to the left, so I negotiated a complex series of maneuvers and managed to turn the car around under the disapproving stare of the Gate Keeper and a number of tourists who’d stopped to enjoy the show. I fancy they were laying down bets as to whether I could successfully turn around or would nick the metal railing. Ha, I showed them! At any rate, my nerves were now frayed and I didn’t feel welcome in the town, so I headed back out.
Back in La Spezia, I stopped by McDonald’s for a terrible Big Mac and a tour of the toilet paperless bathroom. I exited the autostrada in Carrara to look for a hotel thinking I could stay the night and explore the area another day when I wasn’t so tired. Think again! I drove around Carrara for an hour and never saw one hotel, guesthouse, B&B or anything of the sort. Carrara is a good-sized town so how could it contain no hotels? Granted, after an hour of driving up and down one-way streets trying to avoid Vespas and cars that stop in the middle of the street for no apparent reason, I didn’t want to stay in Carrara either. Incidentally this is the town where the world famous white marble is mined, and large blocks were visible here and there all over town, looking like a series of misplaced icebergs.
Next stop was Montecatini Terme, a city famous for its natural springs, and which contained a multitude of hotels for those there to partake of the curative waters, however I either could not find parking to inquire about a room or I located nearby parking only to be told the hotel was full. It had become one of those hamster-in-a-wheel-never-getting-anywhere kinds of days. Finally, 11 hours after setting off, I returned home. Next time I will make a hotel reservation and save myself the headache!
The trip northwest through Florence, Lucca, and on to La Spezia was uneventful, if a bit long at 4 hours. I traveled through at least 10 tunnels, including one hair-raising one which exited on a sharply curving, narrow bridge crossing a deep gorge just outside Lucca. Yikes! It was enough to give me a heart failure. Worse yet, in one of the tunnels, a motorcycle was driving down the center line, passing cars right and left. Made me wish I’d taken a Valium for my nerves before I left home!
In La Spezia I got my first glimpse of the blue, blue water of the Ligurian Sea. The harbor was full of ships and I saw the rigging of what looked to be a masted schooner, but I could not see the body of the ship itself due to some sort of retaining wall.
C inque Terre or “five lands” is not far from La Spezia, and I stopped at the conveniently located tourist information center upon entering the park, only to find it closed. My blood sugar was dropping so I headed to the attached restaurant, closed again; and then tried the local specialties shop, also closed. I was beginning to detect an unfortunate trend.
The area is absolutely breathtaking, steep mountains dropping precipitously into the turquoise waters. Houses cling to the steep mountainsides by some mysterious fashion, and the land is cultivated by a series of steep terraces planted with grapes vines and olive trees. The narrow road was just barely notched into the hillside with few guardrails to protect the unwary traveler. The frequent cyclers and hikers just added additional hazards to make the route much like a dangerous and life-threatening obstacle course.
Eventually I turned off the main road onto a local village road and the real fun began. The road was one lane wide, and extremely twisty, with switchbacks and blind curves and only a few narrow areas to pull off to the side in the event one car needed to pass another. After 15 nerve-wracking minutes I passed a parking area on the right, but elected to continue in toward the town. One thing I have learned is never to park in the first car park I come to as it is often located a mile out of town. As I made my careful approach into the village saw a sign showing a roundabout, so thought I’d turn around there and go back to the parking lot. Great idea, but just then a hat wearing lady gave me the evil eye and lowered a cross bar across the road barring my access and making me feel unwelcome. Now what was I to do? I was on a one lane road with a metal railing on the right to keep me out of the bay, and a steep hill on the left. Fortunately, there was a small, upward sloping drive way to the left, so I negotiated a complex series of maneuvers and managed to turn the car around under the disapproving stare of the Gate Keeper and a number of tourists who’d stopped to enjoy the show. I fancy they were laying down bets as to whether I could successfully turn around or would nick the metal railing. Ha, I showed them! At any rate, my nerves were now frayed and I didn’t feel welcome in the town, so I headed back out.
Back in La Spezia, I stopped by McDonald’s for a terrible Big Mac and a tour of the toilet paperless bathroom. I exited the autostrada in Carrara to look for a hotel thinking I could stay the night and explore the area another day when I wasn’t so tired. Think again! I drove around Carrara for an hour and never saw one hotel, guesthouse, B&B or anything of the sort. Carrara is a good-sized town so how could it contain no hotels? Granted, after an hour of driving up and down one-way streets trying to avoid Vespas and cars that stop in the middle of the street for no apparent reason, I didn’t want to stay in Carrara either. Incidentally this is the town where the world famous white marble is mined, and large blocks were visible here and there all over town, looking like a series of misplaced icebergs.
Next stop was Montecatini Terme, a city famous for its natural springs, and which contained a multitude of hotels for those there to partake of the curative waters, however I either could not find parking to inquire about a room or I located nearby parking only to be told the hotel was full. It had become one of those hamster-in-a-wheel-never-getting-anywhere kinds of days. Finally, 11 hours after setting off, I returned home. Next time I will make a hotel reservation and save myself the headache!
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Back to Arezzo
I was off to Arezzo sul’autobus, on the bus, at 8:45 this morning. I was planning to do some shopping and have lunch in Arezzo for the 5 hours I had to wait to pick up the car at 3:00. The drive was gorgeous! In the 3 ½ weeks since I last had a vehicle the flowers have blossomed. The roadsides are carpeted with scarlet poppies, soft violet wild irises, and a variety of other yellow and white flowers. Just beautiful! In additional, the grapes vines, previously twisted, dead looking bits of wood, have now leafed out and begun their tenacious sprawl. The rain we’ve had has turned the countryside a violent green.
Upon arriving at my destination the drizzle began and I spent the rest of the day, hood up, dripping wet and cold. What’s more, almost none of the shops were open, nor the café’ where I wanted to have lunch. I did find an unimpressive, heavy metal music playing café redeemed by a wonderful coffee called a Cappuccino Argentino. The barista put some chocolate on top of the cappuccino and then made a fancy pattern, sort of a snowflake, by drawing a toothpick through the foamed milk and chocolate. It was heavenly!
I did hike the hill and visited the cathedral with its beautiful stained glass windows. A pope is interred in a glass coffin, so I took a picture of him, amazed by the fact that his skin appeared to be shimmering gold. I wonder if they actually painted him with gold leaf. Next time I locate the internet I will do some research on the subject. Off to one side was a small chapel that was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Candle lit, with a beautiful glowing altar and many flowers. I took a picture, but could not walk in as I felt I would disrupt the energy flow in this amazing place and interrupt those who were praying. It was so incredibly beautiful that I stood outside for many moments staring in wonder and could hardly tear myself away.
Eventually I found the car rental office and asked if I could pick up the drop off the car early, which they agreed to. I was going to head off the San Gimignano to see if I could find Bella Rita, but with the weather so terrible and the fact that I would arrive during the siesta hours and have to wait to see if her shop was even open today, I decided to wait until Saturday. Incidentally, I did try to email Rita at the address she provided, but the email was returned as undeliverable.
While wandering up via Nazionale yesterday, I came across my artist friend, Conrad, having coffee. He invited me to join him and I passed a pleasant couple of hours chatting with him, drinking coffee and eating lunch. He asked me to look him up if ever I am in Glasgow and he gave me his contact information. I think I’ll send him a card when I return home...everyone enjoys a bit of mail!
I am mapping out my trip for I plan to leave for Cinque Terre early tomorrow. This map of Italy I have a real monster. It’s 3 feet by 4 feet and has Italy on BOTH SIDES. My car is not large enough for me to unfold the map while inside. I guess I shall have to dismount the car and spread the map out on the pavement for a really good look. Have you ever noticed that men have a special map gene which allows them to negotiate the complicated fan folding of a map successfully, which women just crumple the thing into a ball, or better yet, tear out the little part they need to use on a particular day? I, personally, like to mark the map all up with felt-tip markers and highlighters. It adds an element of extra confusion the next time I want to go somewhere other than where I mapped my route last time.
Upon arriving at my destination the drizzle began and I spent the rest of the day, hood up, dripping wet and cold. What’s more, almost none of the shops were open, nor the café’ where I wanted to have lunch. I did find an unimpressive, heavy metal music playing café redeemed by a wonderful coffee called a Cappuccino Argentino. The barista put some chocolate on top of the cappuccino and then made a fancy pattern, sort of a snowflake, by drawing a toothpick through the foamed milk and chocolate. It was heavenly!
I did hike the hill and visited the cathedral with its beautiful stained glass windows. A pope is interred in a glass coffin, so I took a picture of him, amazed by the fact that his skin appeared to be shimmering gold. I wonder if they actually painted him with gold leaf. Next time I locate the internet I will do some research on the subject. Off to one side was a small chapel that was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Candle lit, with a beautiful glowing altar and many flowers. I took a picture, but could not walk in as I felt I would disrupt the energy flow in this amazing place and interrupt those who were praying. It was so incredibly beautiful that I stood outside for many moments staring in wonder and could hardly tear myself away.
Eventually I found the car rental office and asked if I could pick up the drop off the car early, which they agreed to. I was going to head off the San Gimignano to see if I could find Bella Rita, but with the weather so terrible and the fact that I would arrive during the siesta hours and have to wait to see if her shop was even open today, I decided to wait until Saturday. Incidentally, I did try to email Rita at the address she provided, but the email was returned as undeliverable.
While wandering up via Nazionale yesterday, I came across my artist friend, Conrad, having coffee. He invited me to join him and I passed a pleasant couple of hours chatting with him, drinking coffee and eating lunch. He asked me to look him up if ever I am in Glasgow and he gave me his contact information. I think I’ll send him a card when I return home...everyone enjoys a bit of mail!
I am mapping out my trip for I plan to leave for Cinque Terre early tomorrow. This map of Italy I have a real monster. It’s 3 feet by 4 feet and has Italy on BOTH SIDES. My car is not large enough for me to unfold the map while inside. I guess I shall have to dismount the car and spread the map out on the pavement for a really good look. Have you ever noticed that men have a special map gene which allows them to negotiate the complicated fan folding of a map successfully, which women just crumple the thing into a ball, or better yet, tear out the little part they need to use on a particular day? I, personally, like to mark the map all up with felt-tip markers and highlighters. It adds an element of extra confusion the next time I want to go somewhere other than where I mapped my route last time.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
A Search for Bramasole
It’s been a quiet week for me. I find I am getting a bit housebound so I’ve reserved a car rental for next week and I must go to Arezzo to pick up the car on Monday. I’ve decided to head north to Cinque Terre and, perhaps, to see the Matterhorn from the Italian side. While in Arezzo I will visit a clothing store which I believe is for larger women, but I will studiously avoid the 4 nuns in their bookshop!
Today I visited the Etruscan museum, which was very nice and quite interesting. There were a few examples of their gold jewelry, including some with the decoration attributed to the Etruscans known as granulation. There was a beautiful diadem made of gold in a leaf pattern, so finely made it looked as though it would disintegrate should one pick it up. I wonder what beautiful woman (or man?)wore such a delicate golden headpiece. There were even such Egyptian mummies on display and a pair of globes, one of the world and one representing constellations and astrological signs which must have been 4 feet in diameter. Really incredible! There was a balcony on the outside of the museum which overlooks my apartment and the works-in-progress on the cathedral across the street. I took a picture of both to share with you.
I have been looking for Bramasole, the home of Frances Mayes, with no luck so far. There is a vague reference to it on a sign near Piazza Garibaldi, so I wandered off in that general direction. I caught a glimpse of what could have been it on a terrace above my head as I walked down a rocky path somewhere near Cortona, but I could not get a good look at it and there wasn’t a helpful “Bramasole” sign in a stone wall like in the movie!
I have amended my travel plans a bit. I will only go to Cinque Terre, not to the Matterhorn, and return on Friday as Maria has invited me to the house for pizza with another guest, a man she used to teach Italian to. I appreciate her offer to include me so I will plan my travel around that evening. She would have loved to come to Cinque Terre with me, my simply cannot afford to do so. Her daughter, Laura, is coming to visit the end of May and Maria is very excited about the visit. I am looking forward to meeting Laura as well, as she is the one with whom I made the rental arrangements.
Today I visited the Etruscan museum, which was very nice and quite interesting. There were a few examples of their gold jewelry, including some with the decoration attributed to the Etruscans known as granulation. There was a beautiful diadem made of gold in a leaf pattern, so finely made it looked as though it would disintegrate should one pick it up. I wonder what beautiful woman (or man?)wore such a delicate golden headpiece. There were even such Egyptian mummies on display and a pair of globes, one of the world and one representing constellations and astrological signs which must have been 4 feet in diameter. Really incredible! There was a balcony on the outside of the museum which overlooks my apartment and the works-in-progress on the cathedral across the street. I took a picture of both to share with you.
I have been looking for Bramasole, the home of Frances Mayes, with no luck so far. There is a vague reference to it on a sign near Piazza Garibaldi, so I wandered off in that general direction. I caught a glimpse of what could have been it on a terrace above my head as I walked down a rocky path somewhere near Cortona, but I could not get a good look at it and there wasn’t a helpful “Bramasole” sign in a stone wall like in the movie!
I have amended my travel plans a bit. I will only go to Cinque Terre, not to the Matterhorn, and return on Friday as Maria has invited me to the house for pizza with another guest, a man she used to teach Italian to. I appreciate her offer to include me so I will plan my travel around that evening. She would have loved to come to Cinque Terre with me, my simply cannot afford to do so. Her daughter, Laura, is coming to visit the end of May and Maria is very excited about the visit. I am looking forward to meeting Laura as well, as she is the one with whom I made the rental arrangements.
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