Daydreams Of Civita

Civita di Bagnoregio is actually two villages connected by a long and steep pedestrian bridge battered by the wind.  On a sunny afternoon, after escaping Rome for the Umbrian countryside, Emily, Hannes and I traversed this bridge in search of history, bruschetta and breathtaking vistas.  Both medieval Civita and the bridge - the town's one and only link to the outside world - can be seen in this picture.  No cars drive here.  No roads lead in.  It's a pedestrian's paradise.  In fact, so few people actually live here that it's known commonly as "The Dead City." 

There's a story I love of a local Civita townswoman who used to walk her donkey across this bridge forty times a day to sell her fruit and vegetables in the Bagnoregio market.  Home now from my Italian journey with my Camino Love, I am wistful for a life I never lived.  Waking up every morning, tending my garden, bringing out milk for the local cats (which outnumber the human residents of Civita by about 10 to 1), making my husband breakfast bruschetta with sausage and tomatoes grilled over an open flame, sipping espresso in the sun as I gossiped with the lady next door, wrapping up a slice of ciambella for later, before loading up my donkey, walking under the 2,500 year old Estruscan stone arc and making the first of many of the day's treks across the great bridge. 

Now, I know this is a foreigner's romantic vision of truly hard, grueling work.  This in reality is a city slowly crumbling away to the valley floor below, and to walk forty times down the same path is tedious, I'm sure, not to mention dangerous in harsh winter storms.  Yet, to a screenwriter who sees a movie down every alleyway and wine cellar step, the Civita life seems intoxicating and rich.  It's a life I'll never lead but in my daydreams (I did a donkey ride once down the Grand Canyon, and hell will freeze over before I get on one of those cliff-hugging daredevils again), but I can at least sip an espresso in my sunny San Franciscan apartment, pour some milk into a saucer for my cat Jade, walk back and forth to the record player forty times to flip the vinyl, and text my roommate a bruschetta grocery list for tonight's dinner. 

Emily endures the long bruschetta wait. Looking the essence of Italian cool, I might add.

The view from my imaginary Civita home.

A door and window that lead to nowhere - the rest of the palace now a part of the valley floor.

City Mouse, Country Mouse

"Buon giorno!" I yelled up to your guest gypsy writer Emily and our Camino friend Juliano, after Hannes and I finessed his Campervan into our reserved parking space in front of our bohemian Trastevere apartment. Hannes, to my amazement, had remained calm driving into the one city Rick Steve's pleads you to "please not drive in" literally for fear of your life. As motorcyclist cut us off and lane demarcations disappeared entirely, I thought he would lose his cool, but he remained smiling and resolute to get us safely to our new urban dwelling where we immediately opened a bottle of Montalcino wine and ate almond macaroons to our hearts content.

What I will say of Rome is this: it is the best and worst of Italy. With every footstep there is an opportunity to marvel - at the history, the architecture, the quirks, the people, the food, the energy, the mysterious lanes dripping with wisteria, the art and craftsmanship that has played muse to many a writer like myself. But then, there's the dirt, the crowds... no, throngs of tourists, the impossibly long lines to see anything, the tired feet from traversing the ancient broken cobblestone, the noise, the swarming pigeons, the lack of public bathrooms. Having been a city mouse most of my life, I can find the beauty of both sides of the Trevi Fountain coin. You must accept one to fully appreciate and enjoy the other. As the wise Rick Steves (I swear I'm not working for him) says about Italy, you must chalk it all up to a "cultural experience." My San Franciscan roommate and I thrived in this environment, savoring a sunny rest on the Spanish steps, digging through racks of vintage Italian labels, deciphering the underground as if it were a life-sized game of Candyland (Sorry might be a more fitting game actually), and snacking our way through every Roman neighborhood... pistachio cannolli, cappuccinos with cream flourishes, egg-y Easter fruit cake, hazelnut gelato, crispy potato focaccia bread.

My husband, however, is more of a country mouse. Big cities interest him, but perhaps for not more than a day. He had trouble adjusting to it all, and try as I might, I couldn't convince him that the Borghese Gardens were as inspiring as the great outdoors. Our night of live swanky Italian music, as Emily described in her post, perked him up, which led me to ask Hannes why of all that we'd seen in the ancient city of Rome did that lift his spirit, to which he answered thoughtfully, "I like cities at night. It's more... magical." In some ways I agree. Like the noir films my mom eats up, under the cloak of night the scars of a city hide from view. Much of the tourists go to bed, the dirt blends in with the darkness, the moonlight draws out the angles of the Pantheon's granite Corinthian columns, the faint drone of an accordion woos, rather than irks you. There's a romance in the air, a sense of mystery and tenderness. My husband, folks, is a romantic. A man with a lyrical soul and wistful spirit. A lover of nature and make-up free beauty and kissing on a bridge under the big pizza pie of a Roman moon. His heart perhaps is too pure for the exciting fusion of creativity, craziness and crassness that is Rome. And this is one of the many things I love about him... and us.

I too felt the pangs of temporarily leaving behind our Campervan gypsy life. As I laid in bed listening to Romans howl at the moon, I thought of the owls singing us to sleep in our Umbrian campground. Was I becoming a country mouse myself? I think part of me always has been. The part that walked across England in gaiters, the part that trekked into the solitary heart of Maui's Haleakala volcano, the part that swatted mosquitoes for a penny a piece as my parents and I canoed through Canada, the part that loved sitting on her Nashville porch watching fireflies light up the tall evening grass, the part that met Hannes in hiking boots in the Spanish Meseta, the part that dreamed out loud over espresso of owning a small seaside B&B with Emily and Hannes far from the rush of traffic and city life.

So while my husband and I might be mice might from different lands, there's no one I'd rather hold hands with, whether under the shade of the mighty Colosseum or that of a lone oak on the Tuscan countryside.


---------
 Some Roman delights...

Hannes captures the essence of the city.

My favorite Italian masterpiece.

Film book finds at a cozy Trastevere bookshop.

Juliano, Emily and Hannes - the essence of Italian cool.

The Pantheon by daylight. Hannes is right; could use a wash.

Candied fruits at the market. Tip: Avoid the mandarins. Enjoy the kiwi.

Espresso stop with a side of daydreaming.

What a mall ceiling should look like.

Wisteria lane.

Cosmo's moon/My husband's Rome.

City mouse and country mouse together at last.

RxSw-Part Four - By Guest Blogger E.O.

Heading North

It all went down in a McDonald's parking lot somewhere a bit past Flagstaff, AZ. I was at a cross-roads; literally with one freeway sign pointing south towards Los Angeles and another pointing north towards Albequerque and my eventual final destination of East Zion. I had left the Extended Stay America in Phoenix in good spirits wearing a t-shirt and sandals thinking that the days predicted snowstorm would be highly unlikely. I mean, I wouldn't have minded a few flakes here and there. A nice dusting of clean white snow can be charming to see on the tops of tress and mountains as you pass them by in your fancy road-trip car with the heated seat on full blast. What I really hadn't expected was the actual snowstorm that came upon me. The kind of storm that has everyone driving 15 miles per hour on the freeway with almost zero visibility ahead of you. The kind of storm that had Tess' poor car swerving on the black ice. The kind of snowstorm that this California girl was not prepared for nor accustomed to.
I had actually pulled into this parking lot to use their bathroom and also try to recalculate my route into the GPS. Unfortunately, it wasn't recognizing my final destination and I had a feeling my cell phone would not be able to get service where I was headed. Also, anyone that knows me knows that I am the worst at directions and the best at getting lost. I began to have visions of myself stranded and freezing in some remote area of Utah. I began to think of the book, "Into the Wild" wondering what, if anything I needed to prove at this point. I began to think about how I was tired of staying in hotels (I never thought this day would come!) and how what I mostly wanted was a bit of sun, a comfortable bed and some familiarity.

Heading home

It's now about 6:30 in the morning (I'm still on Euro-time) and I'm writing this from bed at my Mom's house in Manteca, CA so I guess you know what decision I made. I drove 13 hours straight from that McDonald's to be here. Although I can't even begin to say how sad I am to have missed out on seeing the natural beauty of Utah's National Parks; I will say that I don't regret the decision I made. I feel that what I hoped to occur on this trip happened in Italy as was noted in my last blog. My faith in humanity was revitalized and amazing memories were gained. I've also traveled by myself on multiple occasions and what I've realized from these experiences is that it doesn't matter where you are but who you're with that makes your time in life memorable. I'm lying here with my favorite dog, Napper by my side. I'm planning to take my Mom out for a birthday breakfast as soon as she wakes up as I was in Italy when it occurred. Then, I'm headed back to San Francisco to see my favorite house-mate Tess and all my friends. No, I can't say I regret my decision at all to come out of the cold. Plus, I still have a whole week of vacation. So, if any of you readers out there have any ideas for me in terms of day-trips or local adventures please let me know!

Wine Induced Wanderings

As a native Californian who has defended her state's red and white against staunch French connoisseurs who claim their wine is the best on the planet, I am known to languish in a nice glass of the intoxicating brew now and again. I am not, however, an expert to any degree. I drink syrah out of a mason jar. And I'm not even sure I just spelled 'syrah' right, for that matter. I've wine tasted and popped in on lessons at local wine bars. I've even had friends and family who work on vineyards. But for some reason the information on varietals and undertones and casks flows in one ear and out the other as smoothly as pinot noir through an aerator.

Traveling through the hilltop wine towns of Tuscany and Umbria, however, I've gained a whole new appreciate for this lightheaded nectar of the gods. For one, Italian vineyards are amazingly photogenic. I mean, come on. Secondly, local Italian wine paired with local Italian cuisine really do make for an exceptional culinary experience. You come out of a trattoria after eating a bowl of pasta that melted in your mouth and sipping some Montalcino Brunello and, suddenly, the churches look more elaborate, the shop owners' faces a little friendlier, the cobblestone smoother, and the countryside like some vision of green and gold utopia you had only yet imagined in dreams.

So although I'm as close to a Sommelier as Jon Stewart is to being a Republican, I can assure you this - pick a house red in the aromatic and richly soiled hill towns of Tuscany and Umbria and you'll never ever go wrong.

----------

More pics from wine country...





It tastes just as good at camp.


Shopping for souvenirs in Montepulciano.


Grapes mixing company with olives.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

The Pilgrimage

Sorry friends (you especially my fellow gypsy writer, Emily), but I've been without wifi or free time for a while. Time to catch you up on this amazing Honey-loon, beginning with a saintly experience...

-----------

Having been Camino pilgrims, Hannes and I know what the adventure means - the patience, the stamina, the sacrifice, the marvelous fun of the unknown, the trials and joys of the spirit... the foot pain. As we settled into Assisi on Good Friday, we began to see the number of Easter pilgrims grow in boots and blisters; all of them with smiles on their faces despite their dirty clothes and the impending downpour. We looked at their sunburned noses and trekking poles and thought of them not as strangers but as 'our people'.

If you ever venture to Assisi yourself, you'll realize instantly the power of the place to lighten the heart's load. Sitting on its hilltop throne splashed in sunshine, pigeons swooping through its maze of church towers, tidy colorful shops full of St. Francis trinkets, the taste of the region's truffles swimming in olive oil, and the deep earthy smell of the oldest of stone permeating the streets, you instantly want to pull a Frances Mayes and buy a villa adesso, adesso, adesso!

But it's the story and legacy of St. Francis and St. Claire - friends of animals and outcasts - that truly give the town its life. Having gone to both St. Francis Elementary and High School, I've always had a soft spot for the 5'4" little saint. Hannes and I may not have been able to finish the psychedelic film version of his life, "Brother Sun, Sister Moon" a few nights later, but as animal lovers, we cant help but like the guy who preached to birds and whose statues include border collies at his feet. I for one sing to my cat on a regular basis. I get it. And who can't respect a guy who tossed aside the finest clothes in the land to stand naked in a square open to ridicule with a heart wide open for change? No Haight-Ashbury hippy has ever done it better or with so much meaning.

Okay, so Hannes and I shelled out extra Euros that night to wait out the thunder storm from the comforts of a cozy B&B... and we nearly fell asleep during an all-Italian spoken mass at the Basilica... and did, in fact, order two piatti each of truffled fare for lunch; all of which do not exactly make for a saint-like experience. But in an attempt to follow the way of our buddy Francis, we awoke at 4:45am the next morning, strapped on our old friends the hiking boots, and navigated in the dark of forest to take in the Saint's mountain hermitage at sunrise. Not to prove anything to ourselves (I'm okay with my non-saint status). But simply to stand in his tiny, solitary meditation cave as the sun crept over the mountain and olive fields below and see the world as he did; as a place of great beauty and tranquility, where everyone is welcome to take part, take peace and enjoy - from the leper to the alley cat and from the pilgrim to a pair of sleepy gypsy newlyweds.

Some Assisi memories...


A little church we found away from the chaos of the Basilica.










Something wicked this way comes...


Franciscan crosses as far as the eye can see.


Our little B&B where espresso and slices of sticky, pink, homemade fruit cake were unlimited.


The locals.


Our dawn pilgrimage to Eremo Delle Carceri.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

RxSw-Part Three - By Guest Blogger E.O.

 "Buon giorno!" I yelled out the window of our Roman apartment in the Trastavere down to Tess who was helping Hannes navigate his parking spot. "Buon giorno!" Tess finally yelled back after she had realized it was me doing the yelling.  I ran down the stairs to greet both of them with big hugs. We were all so excited this moment was finally occurring!
It had been a long day...I had awoken at 3:30am in the Travel Lodge in Phoenix to catch my flight to Rome. There had also been a 5 hour layover in New York. Juliano, who is a friend Tess and Hannes knew from the Camino had met up with me prior to their arrival and even with an espresso, I was fading fast and felt so bad for not being the best company. Luckily, once they had settled in a bit we all realized we were famished and very much looking forward to our first Roman meal; which of course did not disappoint. After that, we settled in for a quick nap and a shower. Past that point, the energy of this beautiful city easily kept me awake.
On our second night there, we met up with a local friend of a friend. He treated us to espresso, then took us out to a cozy wine bar. After that, we popped into an awe inspiring church for a second and then he invited us to small club where his friend's band was playing classic Italian songs from the 50's. It was somewhere between the church and the club that I came to the realization that my faith in humanity was beginning to grow stronger with every step.

I'm presently writing this from the most beautiful B&B tucked within the rolling hills of the Umbrian country-side. The view from my window is that of vineyards and cypress trees and it is absolute and obvious perfection. To find beauty in a place that is man-made on the other hand can be a bit more daunting. The streets of Rome are narrow and roughly cobble-stoned, the ochre colored city lights cling onto the buildings on which their attached as if to only confirm that neither is interested in moving out of the century from when they were originally built. The marble fountains of water you'll find coming from a building on random street corner, the frescoes on the ceiling of a building that is not on any tourist map, the way bicyclists ring the bell on their Peugeot's before passing you by...all these examples happen to be things that I found to be just as incredible as the natural vista from my window. The fact that they still exist brought me to a place mentally that felt a lot like being in love. It's interesting to think of how love and faith are so connected.
Which brings me to my final thought on my time in Rome. Out of all the man-made sights I was able to appreciate; I will have to say that the most awe-inspiring scene was the way Tess and Hannes looked and acted around each other. Just like a city, they could be a bit gross at times (with all the making-out they did) but what was most noticeable was the love they both have in each other and how with that, perhaps faith in everything you see all around you becomes a bit easier to find.

Thanks to both of them for allowing me to crash their honey-loon for a few days and I wish nothing but the best for you both on your amazing new life together!

A Room With A View

When you're in a Campervan tootling around the Umbrian Italian countryside, something begins to transform in you... mainly, your faith in hotels. Why would you want to deal with snotty receptionists, views of dirty back alleys, overpriced rooms and cramped showers, when you can pull up in your little van to Lago Trasimeno and for just 25 Euros, get all this...?



A VIP parking lot...


An expansive balcony...


A room with a view...


A delux entertainment center...


Fresh local flowers in your room...



An authentic home-cooked pasta dinner...


Picture perfect sunsets...


And a 24-hour fitness center.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Orvieto, Italy

Tuscan Green Acres

Podere Il Casale. Remember that name, amici, should you ever desire some peace and solitude away from the tourist centric hill towns of Tuscany. First, however, come to me for detailed instructions on how to get there, as we found it simply on instinct and the help of a very tan Senora who pulled up to us in her tiny red Peugoet and in a cloud of dust nodded her head 'si' when we asked for directions. I'm not sure exactly what she said, but her hands told us to take a left after we went down the next hill.

Podere Il Casale is an organic agriturismo farm run by a Swiss family for the last twenty-five years. Having once thought I would pick strawberries for a summer outside Sacramento - a dream, inspired by my first reading of "On The Road" at age ten, that has been left hanging in the valley breeze - the chance to stay on a working Tuscan farm was a dangling carrot. Granted I wouldn't be getting my hands dirty, unless you count our clothes washing expedition that day to Montepulciano, but I could soak in the spirit of the place nonetheless.

On this farm in particular you will find the following: a teenage peacock gang and their quarter of a century old patriach (bring earplugs for their bone chilling screams into the misty night air), fresh ricotta and pecorino cheese from their own sheep and goats, prosciutto of many varieties from their free range pigs (who have a million dollar hillside view), hee-hawing donkeys, crystalline artisan flower honey, friendly barn cats and giant dogs who show you their belly before they even get your name, an international crew of volunteers both young and old, places to park your Campervan as well as B&B rooms overlooking the olive tree carpeted countryside, and most deliciously, Sandra's homemade (and home harvested) dinner of penne pasta, spelt grain salad and bread, Casale wine and cheese with a rich, deep purple fig jam.

While all acres in Tuscany are green, Podere Il Casale's was perhaps the greenest.



The road less traveled... because there aren't sufficient signs.


Our first greeter at the farm.





The view a few steps from our van.


We get harassed by the peacock gang. Notice twenty-five year old Big Pappa on the right showing the younger boys with smaller plumage how to really get the ladies' attention.





My dessert.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Assisi, Italy

RxSw-Part Two - By Guest Blogger E.O.

Does anyone remember Summer vacation? You know, when you had so much time off you ended up forgetting what day it was. Your hours were filled with swimming, riding bikes with friends and merely relaxing with not much else to do but enjoy watching the sun go down on another perfect, slow-paced kind of lazy day. I had thought these times were well behind me; and indeed I think they are. But, what I now realize is that the tides have turned. No longer do my peers get to enjoy much leisure time, but their parents and grand-parents are living it up!  Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you Del Webb.
The last few days have been spent in Festival, Arizona which is on the outskirts of Phoenix and is largely made up of "active-adult" communities. This is also where E.F.'s Mom and grandparents live so we were able to enjoy the life of retiree's if only for a few days and let me tell you; it is fabulous. The feeling of perpetual summer abounds here with warm weather year-round, plenty of activities like photography classes or water aerobics and did I mention the massive salt-water pool that is about the size of a soccer field? This is also a community that prefers travel by golf cart instead of car. In fact, most of the houses have little golf cart garages which I found to be adorable.
I had decided to sleep in one morning and meet-up with Alex and E.F. on the putting green. As I walked over to meet them, I stopped into the snack bar where I purchased a coffee for $1.00. They were playing oldies at the perfect ambient volume. I found Alex chipping away and we both mentioned that we could easily get used to this. It was then that I realized that my brother and I had become adults. We were the ones working through the Summer months and our parents were now the ones on vacation; drinking at noon and taking up the ukulele. Who knows what retirement might look like when it is finally our time to do so but I can say based on this experience I think I'll be ready. I'll leave you with a few photos as well as a bit of dialogue between me and a random older gentlemen that occurred just this morning as I was walking to the pool:
Golf cart man: "Good morning! You're looking a little pale there."
Me: "Good morning! Yeah, I know."
Golf cart man: "Don't worry, it'll come."

I hope so golf cart man, I hope so.

Rollin' Deep with E.F.

Spring Training

Cactus in bloom