A Six Minute Romance

Like Tuesday, Wednesday was a clear and refreshingly brisk, no, downright cold, day so I decided to board the train to Orvieto. Orvieto is about 1 hour away on the Firenze-Roma train line, meaning I would have to make no transfer. I caught the 10:31 train in Camucia which actually pulled into the station ten minutes late putting me just slightly behind schedule. Because shops and attractions close from 1:00 until 4:00, particularly in the off season, sightseeing trips require careful planning.

My friends, Perry and Michael, told me to be sure to see the duomo and to get a tour of the caves of Orvieto, if possible. Pulling into Orvieto I was amazed by the fortress-like appearance of the town perched high atop a rock of volcanic origins like an eagle resting majestically on its nest. To access the steep rock, one purchases a ticket then walks across the street to the funicular (funicolare in Italian), where the ticket is inserted in a machine which validates it, then allows one person at a time to move through the turnstile. I was lucky enough to walk in and find the cable car waiting for me. In due time the car began the steep ascent and, near the middle, I noticed that the track branched before coming back together. I was curious about this branch, but quickly learned that there is a second cable car at the top of the hill and the two are carefully orchestrated to meet, and pass, each other at this branching of the track.

I gained access to the hill at one end and promptly began walking up a slight grade into the town proper. It is an attractive town of stone streets and narrow medieval alleyways, like most of the Tuscan hill towns. I knew the duomo was scheduled to close at 12:45 so I took my time looking in shops as I walked up, thinking that I would eat lunch while the duomo and shops were closed and tour the church interior when it reopened at 2:30.

As I walked into the Piazza del Duomo, I was amazed by the sheer size of this monstrous church and the bright colors of both the frescoes and the marble decorating the exterior. In addition to the shimmering paintings, the facade was covered with extravagantly carved figures and laced with windows, each as intricate and delicate as snowflakes. I snapped away, taking picture after picture of the magnificent structure, although I was disappointed to be unable to get a photo of the entire front of the church. The piazza was too small for me to get the entire structure in my viewfinder. I noticed groups of people being shepherded out so assumed, correctly, that the church was closing, so I turned and walked up a narrow street to explore the town.

Eventually I found myself at a small trattoria called La Grotta, where I stopped for my new favorite lunch; tagliatelle al ragu’, followed by tiramisu and a caffe latte’. This time the tagliatelle was made and sliced by hand, each lovingly prepared strand taking on a ruffled appearance as though cut by the shaking hand of an ancient nonna (grandma) clad in ubiquitous black. The tiramisu was heavenly and the coffee favored by this restaurant was particularly good.

I enjoyed a leisurely lunch and a friendly conversation with an American couple sitting next to me under a fresco which looked to be a woman whose head was being trampled by a bunch of human feet, a curiously unpleasant image which the restaurant chose to decorate its business cards. A most peculiar choice, I thought. I rounded the corner and walked back to the duomo and killed a bit of time shopping in a shop specializing in regional products and art featuring the town Orvieto. I saw some spectacular postcards showing an aerial view of Orvieto, its rooftops dominated by the monstrously huge and brilliantly colored cathedral. I would love to fly over Orvieto in a helicopter to get that incredible view.

I trailed into the cathedral upon its reopening and walked slowly around the interior, admiring the stained glass, frescoes, and unusual windows made of individual panes of translucent alabaster, unlike anything I have ever seen. As in most churches, a sign was posted prohibiting photography. I usually ignore this directive; however the guards must have seen intent in my eyes because they were all over me like a bad polyester leisure suit. Eventually I saw several other people pull out their cameras and begin unconcernedly snapping away, so I did likewise, discreetly, and the guards said nary a word. Of course, the church interior was dark and the pictures did not turn out as well as I had hoped. That’s what I get for ignoring the rules! As I eased my way toward the door I was struck by an overwhelming urge to sneeze which I tried to stifle by closing my mouth. This unfortunate move simply caused me to emit a tremendous quacking sound which bounced and echoed embarrassingly around the spartanly furnished interior like a fart let loose in a library. Boy, were the acoustics ever good.

I caught the 4:31 train home, having missed the cave tour due to the late arrival in the morning. As the train pulled into the Terontola station, the one prior to Camucia, I was leaning on a small counter looking out the window and thinking about what I was going to make for dinner, when I made eye contact with a dark-haired man on the platform. I was surprised to see that man pop into my car and ask if he could sit across from me in a nearly empty train car. I said, “Prego”, whereupon he sat and asked me where I was from. He asked my name and then introduced himself as Giuseppe. I took his outstretched hand and was surprised when he leaned over, kissed my right cheek, then tried to kiss me on the lips! I turned my head and he got my left cheek instead. He looked puzzled and inquired, “You are married?” to which I replied, “No, non sono sposata.” He asked me what my plans were for the next day and then asked me to his house for coffee. I sensed it wasn’t coffee he was interested in so I declined and he offered to come to my house, again “for coffee”. As I declined I explained that I didn’t know him. Had he invited me to a bar for coffee I just might have accepted. He continued to ask me questions about myself for the remainder of the trip, gazing at me intently as he did so.
I know you are dying to know what he looked like. Surprisingly he was young, maybe 35, and nice looking, with a young, boyish face. He looked like a nice guy, the kind I would normally be attracted to, but I was a bit alarmed by his forwardness.

He went on to tell me about groups of people who meet at his house to discuss Mormon religious beliefs and theology and, suddenly, a light bulb blinked on in my brain. I think this man wanted to slip me one of two things:

1. The proverbial "sausage"; or perhaps,
2. The Book of Mormon

Perhaps here in Italy, the land of love, they practice religious conversion by way of seduction. Or maybe he was actually interested in me. I will never know as the train pulled into my station after a mere six minutes and my last view was of him, turned sideways and leaning forward intently, as though he were about to leap out of his seat and across the aisle.

So, why didn’t I just go with it and let him kiss me? I think mainly because I was caught completely off guard by his move and was a bit nervous as we were nearly alone in a darkened train car. I still don’t know what his actual intention was. So, folks, I missed my opportunity and will just have to settle for a six minute romance. Six minutes is better than nothing, isn’t it?