Tripping through Italy

DON’T EVEN ASK— It is true, I have been out of town. And out of touch for awhile here. Had a computer “issue”. Then a digicamera “issue”. But here is the deal: I’m back and have I got stories to tell!.

Remember all the crazy stuff we did when we first got to Italy? Before unpacking? Early trip to Rome airport to meet a flight that came in seven hours late, boating and swimming in the lake, dinner out with friends on a lakeview hilltop almost as soon as we got off the plane and on and on? It settled down somewhat after that. The trip to Rome gained us a brother and a sister in law. We grabbed them, their bags, headed for Panicale and life continued to be very good.

Part of our company’s welcome was finding a bouquet of our neighbors’ roses on the dining room table. It is interesting to me how this works out. Our neighbor’s garden is right in our face, we don’t have to do a thing and our windows stay full of flowers. And don’t they reflect nicely on the glass table.? The funny thing is that looking out the windows on the other side of the house, it is five stories down to the tiny street below. And on this side of the house, we have roses – above us. That, right there, is when you know you are on a HILL.

SOMETHING IN THE AIR. SUNSETS BY MASOLINO? MUSIC? SWALLOWS? FIREWORKS? ALL OF THE ABOVE?

One of the first things we did when we got my brother released from the clutches of the bad Rome airport and safely in peaceful Panicale, was to stop into Masolino’s and ask Andrea if we could come for dinner in a couple hours. And maybe sit on the tiny geranium bedecked balcony. Please? It was pretty dreamy. On our way there later (it is two steps from our house) we went the other and opposite direction. Typical. But it is only an equal two steps out of our way and we had to sneak over that way because we were just drawn Pied Piper like by the music we could hear coming out of the church’s open doors. Earlier, sitting in the garden, they were warming up for this night of classic sacred music by banging out You Can’t Always Get What You Want on the massive church organ. So we had to at least take a peek. We tiptoed in, took a couple pictures, stood and listened to a song or two and then slipped out for dinner al fresco al balcone.

From our perch on Masolino’s balcony we could see another in a string of outrageous sunsets over Lago Trasimeno and Villa LeMura. And we could hear totally different kind of music coming from the Villa. Less church. More modern, jazz-ish music. Perfect dinner music to complement the balmy night breeze there on the balcony. Andrea says it is some rich foreigners’ wedding and that there are people from all over the English speaking world for the event, England, New Zealand, America, South Africa etc. The villa is maybe a half an hour walk away but the night is so still and bright and clear that the sound travels well and the music is gently all around us and occasionally you can hear hints of laughing happy voices mixed in with the music.

Our company almost asleep in their pasta bone tired from the long long and many hours late trip from Iowa. They thank us for picking them up at the airport and trundle off to bed. Except. They no more than got into their quiet room when BABABABOOM. Are we under attack? No, the fireworks have started. From the wedding at the villa below the town. Because they are starting low and we are sitting higher on the hill, the fireworks were straight in our faces and the Booming was echoing off the church and the colors of the explosions washing over the church as well. The wall of explosion went on uninterrupted for maybe half an hour. Except when they were punctuated by the town bells ringing eleven o’clock. Lovely. Wonderful. Magic. Unreal. In between salvos you could hear the wedding guests ohhhing and ahhhing. Wiley and I were leaning out our windows doing the same as the finale went on and wonderfully on. From his window above us came the laconic very Roger voice saying You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble just for us, you know. Ok, NOW, good night, weary travelers, good night.

LA GIOCONDA DA GIOIELLA

They are all good nights here in Umbria. This sunset by the lake was from the night before. At a friend’s house above Lago di Chiusi. And what you don’t see is lovely too. In all of these sunset pictures, taken at this time of year, you have to quickly sketch in the swallows doing their twilight acrobatics.

I could sit. And watch. Forever.

See you in Italy,

Stew

Spring is here? Spring is there! Spring is everywhere?

Spring in Italy. We’ve all been shut up in our homes all winter, like bears coming out of our Caves with Cable, sniffing the air, rubbing our eyes with the back of one paw, scratching some matted fur with the other, looking around and thinking This is ok. Did I miss any thing? Suddenly I am getting emails like Where ARE you? When are you coming? Did you know “your garden is green and flowerish” Perfect. Just how we like it.


UMBRIA—Ah, Spring. I like the word Spring. Such a nice, bouncy action verb. And who doesn’t like all memories we attach to the word? Bird sounds when you first step outside in the morning. Fruit trees in full flower, sheep in the meadows, yellow wildflowers rolling on and on over the Italian countryside. And grass. Green grass in that unnatural green color that we only see in the first lush early days of Spring. It really is here. Well, it is “here” if you are in Umbria, true. It is still snowing in Maine. But in Italy, at least, it seems safe to say Spring has arrived.

And everything really seems for a moment, somewhat right with the world. Note: this rose colored view is greatly enhanced by skipping the morning newspapers and just going quietly out into the morning. But, things have changed. Italian friends are upbeat and happy. We’ve all been shut up in our homes all winter, like bears coming out of our Caves with Cable, sniffing the air, rubbing our eyes with the back of one paw, scratching some matted fur with the other, looking around and thinking This is ok. Did I miss any thing? Suddenly I am getting emails like Where ARE you? When are you coming? Did you know “your garden is green and flowerish” Perfect. Just how we like it. The electronic jungle drums beat out other happy messages. Yes, Anna is cleaning the house top to bottom. And, trust me Anna DOES do windows. And does them like I’ve never ever seen windows done. She turns glass into polished air. And, speaking of windows, good friend Bruno HAS hung the new chestnut shutters Vittorio made for the entry hall windows. I’m sure the town was tired of seeing us wandering about in our bathrobes behind rattan blinds.

Little by little, even if it is being done by remote control from far away, we’re gently waking the house on Via del Filatoio from its long winter’s nap. Breathing life into back into it so it will be ready for Wiley.

THE WILEY HAS LANDED

LONDON—Slightly sleepy, slightly jet lagged, but still excited to be back on that side of the pond, Wiley calls to check in, five time zones away from Maine. And only one away from Italy. Getting warmer. Closer.

She will just miss Italian Easter this year. Too bad. It can be such a fine time to be there. You miss a lot if you get rain, as that often cancels out Good Friday, Stations of the Cross, and plays heck with the Day after Easter Cheese Roll in Panicale. But shortly after Easter she’ll be along and be sending in reports on all the latest real estate, fun gossip and Big Girl Adventures in the old country.

These spring photos here were taken by Katia, at a brand new listing — Ciliegio, just outside Piegaro . Have you been to Piegaro? Its right there between Citta della Pieve and Tavernelle. Keep going past Tavernelle and you find yourself in chic, fun Perugia. Piegaro is just south of Lake Trasimeno and of our Panicale. Here, I will put in a map.

Anyway, I thought these snapshots evoked the season. Complimenti, Katia. They say Spring to me.

But then. What do I really know about Spring? See attached photo of snow covering our car taken on the self same day as Katia&rsquo’s Sheep in the Meadows shot. Allora, Spring will even get to Maine. Sometime. And we promise to be most appreciative when it happens!

But, in the meantime, look out Umbria, Wiley will be In The House in less than two weeks. Stew in 48 days. But like Christmas mornings we thought would never come, the time will actually pass and we will wash up once more on Lake Trasimeno’s shores. And it will be worth the wait. Va le la pena in fatti!

See you in Italy!

Stew

NEXT STOP, UMBRIA. GOING DUTCH?

To quote the Italian designer Valentino: “ . . . I must go. It is not convenient. Perhaps it is not right. But this garden must be seen. There are many things you have to do in life, but you cannot ignore the roses.

We typically go to Umbria via London or Munich or Paris. But London is having a jet fuel issue and threatening to raise Cain with flights originating in the US. Airline pouting and politics. So, maybe this time, we are thinking, we will go via Amsterdam. Kind Dutch people have emailed us here at SeeYouInItaly extolling the charms of their town outside Amsterdam named Vreeland. Never been there. Never got the Tshirt. But the perfect meld of Dutch and Italian is happening now in honor of the 400th anniversary of Rembrandt’s birth and one of the highlights of the celebration is a massive Rembrandt—Carravaggio show at the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam. That has to Gogh on our list. And then, la nostra cara Panicale. To see how my Umbrian roses do grow. This photo was taken last April by our good friends the Lambarts, from Steamboat Springs, Colorado. Nico and I have been tending these roses for several years but I have only seen them in bloom, in photos. Hope to correct that this year!

To quote the Italian designer Valentino: “ . . . I must go. It is not convenient. Perhaps it is not right. But this garden must be seen. There are many things you have to do in life, but you cannot ignore the roses. When they demand to be seen, one simply has no choice but to go to them.” Words to live by, whenever possible.

. . . THE NEXT DAY

Aldo is in his cups. In quiet moments he is washing up a lifetime of Sunday coffee cups, when one jumps straight up out of his hands and does a suicide swan dive onto the hard, cruel floor below. Not again. What can we say? It has been a funny, full moon kind of day. Well, funny unless you happen to be one of Aldo’s coffee cups or Prosecco glasses, of course. And I guess you would have to say, it been a smashing day for them, too.

PANICALE, UMBRIA— Today’s fun was hanging with a group of Australians in the piazza. Saw Emma and Luca going by after church let out and finally got to meet ”la contessa” Luca’s cool, Mamma from Sarzanna. Our table is positively full of Sunday morning Prosecco drinkers, . . . and . . . here comes reinforcements! Oops. One hits the ground. Aldo? Dropping a glass? Later, instead of letting him clear off the tables we decided to be really helpful and brought our glasses in with us and Wiley tumbles one. Here comes the broom again. Aldo laughs and sweeps us all toward the door — Everyone go home to lunch! Please. Which we all, obediently, do.

Now, lunch over, I’m in the garden, but I’m going to put down my pencil and just doze in this patch of sunshine. Just. Sit. Very. Still. Like my new role model. That lizard on the plum tree’s branch a few feet away. He thinks I can’t see him. And I barely can. But it is just the two of us. Absorbing the absolute last bit of today’s solar energy.

Ten minutes later:

Pssst. Wiley. Wiley? Want to go for a late afternoon walk after your nap? Wiley? Guess that would be a no.

LA LUNA ERA PIENA. AND IT WAS A FULL MOON TOO.

More Cuckoo. Less Swallow. Actually, no swallows at all. They are so omnipresent in Summer. Hard to think of them as seasonal, fair-weather tourists, like us. Their visual acrobatics are nicely replaced by the gentle coo-coo’ing of the cuckoos that you hear but never see. Oh. There is Wiley. Did I wake you up?

Early evening, the weather still grand, we took a lap around town, took a couple sunset photos of the town. Happens every time. We walk, we get thirsty. We end up at Aldo’s where he pours us some drinks as we lean on the polished metal bar. Fresh squeezed combo of orange and grapefruit juice only, I promise! Finally, the crowd has died down and it is just us. And Aldo is in his cups. In quiet moments he is washing up a lifetime of Sunday coffee cups, when one jumps straight up out of his hands and does a suicide swan dive onto the hard, cruel floor below. Not again. What can we say? It has been a funny, full moon kind of day. Well, funny unless you happen to be one of Aldo’s coffee cups or Prosecco glasses, of course. And I guess you would have to say, it been a smashing day for them, too.

GRAZIE. GRAZIE INFINITE.

Caro Signore, che abita in cielo: Avete fatto bene, bene, bene. Che giorno oggi. Grazie infinite.

Stew

Oh. Please don’t let the sun go down on this one. Twilight. Cuckoos cuckooing in the last bit of pale afternoon light. I am nostalgic for this day already. And not complaining, or ungrateful, in any way, about the nights here in autumn, either. Sleeping under covers, in these silent Umbrian nights, with the windows wide open is a kind of heaven itself.


Caro Signore, che abita in cielo: Avete fatto bene, bene, bene. Che giorno oggi. Grazie infinite.

Stew

Oh. Please don’t let the sun go down on this one. Twilight. Cuckoos cuckooing in the last bit of pale afternoon light. I am nostalgic for this day already. And not complaining, or ungrateful, in any way, about the nights here in autumn, either. Sleeping under covers, in these silent Umbrian nights, with the windows wide open is a kind of heaven itself. Perfect temps have followed us every day. Blue, blue skies. Coffee at Aldo’s with Italian friends competing to buy us coffees. And then, after coffee, an early trip to Cortona.

We started out with a gauzy haze hanging low between the hills all the way there. We saw an artist’s dream house and had an engaging talk with her and ooohed and aaahed over her home and her picture postcards views. Took a twisty viccolo the few steps up to Bar Sport where our friends Nando and Pia made us smiley face cappucchinos. And then met new friends at Bar 500. They have a strictly old Fiat 500 theme and, well, you have to respect that.

BACK TO THE GARDEN
And then back home as the sun starts to reach its delicate, almost wintery rays into our garden. It comes later every day and for less time. And that is my garden time. So much fun. Especially because Wiley is recovered from her accident. We are even more thankful for her now. Every day. To spend this time with her healthy and happy is a miracle.

Thank you for all the happy moments in this garden. And in this life. In these days, when so many have so little, I feel guilty to have so much. I know that a certain amount of life does depend on luck. And that the rain falls on the just and the unjust and even marketing people. But, please, always count me appreciative. Amen.