Saturday, 10th April 2009

I spent my first night in Italy in Hotel Selva Candida, on the outskirts of Rome. I arrived late in the evening, and left next morning, but it served its purpose. It's quite pleasant, with a big garden. I left around ten and rejoined the ring road. After a short time, my GPS crashed. It's not actually a GPS unit, it's a pocket PC running Windows, so crashes are inevitable. Left in autocirculare without a means of navigation, and no convenient way to stop and look at the map, I recognised the SS3, the old Roman Via Flaminia that runs past Spoleto, so I took that exit. That was wrong. I should have taken the next one onto the A1, the main motorway toward Florence, but it was OK. I was going in the right general direction and there was little traffic on the old road.

I had plenty of time anyway. At a service station some time later, I reset the GPS and selected Spoleto again. The new route continued on the Flaminia and then joined the A1 for about the final 8km to the junction at Orte, which is where I'd have been going on the original plan. The A1 is a toll motorway, so I had to take a ticket for that short hop. Once on the motorway itself, traffic stopped, and we crawled forward slowly. A sign gave the radio frequency for announcements, so I tuned in. There was an accident a couple of kilometres ahead. What was galling was that I could see cars driving happily past on the Via Flaminia, going in the same direction.

Past the site of the accident, normal flow resumed, and I reached the exit, being charged 50c for my troubles. But after that, it's a straight road to Spoleto. I'd planned to stop there and find a supermarket, to stock up on some essentials before the Easter weekend. And once off the dual carriageway and at the edge of town, the GPS crashed. Now I didn't know where my supermarket was. I drove up and down to try and get my bearings, and made my one left-hand-right-hand driving mistake. Drivers blew their horns, but it wasn't too dangerous. Then I spied a supermarket.

After that, navigation was no problem. I found the Casale Carocci outside Preci, even arriving within five minutes of my estimate made a month previous! Yes, I'm that good. But the place was deserted. After giving the owner some Italian leeway time, I telephoned him, and he arrived in a few minutes. Sergio made me very welcome and showed me into the apartment, explaining how everything worked. He said he had to wait around for some other guests to arrive, "after lunch", but this is Italian after lunch, which is not an exact time, although it does generally refer to some time on the same day. He said that foreigners always arrive on time, and Italians don't, or sometimes don't turn up at all.

'Casale' means 'farmstead', more or less, and the farm is Sergio's ancestral home, dating back to the sixteenth century. The buildings consist of a pair of long, parallel blocks with a paved courtyard between. Because of the way they cut into the hillside, both buildings have one storey on the North side and two on the South. My apartment in the lower building was all on one level, with the entrance from the courtyard, but the two main windows were actually "first floor", one looking South and one East. One end of the upper building is an open, rustic loggia, supported by two tall columns. It contains a very antique-looking fireplace, and there are bits of equipment for barbequeing. Oh, and the third building of the set is a little hut sized one containing the washing machine and cleaning materials.

I made some coffee (one of the essentials), and later in the afternoon, drove back to the village to have a look. The new Italian guests were just arriving as I left. I parked the car at the flat valley bottom, and climbed all the way up to the top of Preci. It's steeper than it looks. And further. I will do it again, but I've also made a note of how to drive to the car park at the upper end of town, by the hotel. I came home and settled in for the evening. No plans to go far until after Easter. I cooked supermarket pasta (one of the essentials) and had some Italian wine (one of the essentials). One of the neighbours borrowed my corkscrew in pidgin. He hasn't returned it yet.

Sunday

Rising late with a slight hangover (one of the essentials), I made coffee and ate a croissant for breakfast. Easter Sunday, of course: Papa Benedotto was on television. It was warm and sunny, so I went outside with a magazine. Little lizards were sunning themselves. I like seeing lizards. If the climate is fit for them, then it will suit me too. The church bells were ringing in picturesque fashion, and no doubt more virtuous people than I were attending in their Easter Sunday best. Actually, my neighbours' cars were gone, so they probably went to church too. After lunch, I walked to town across the fields. Well, "across" is perhaps not the right term, since it suggests horizontiality. Down the very steep slope, to the few shops and two bars at the bottom of the valley. On this occasion, I didn't continue upwards into Preci proper. I'll work up to that. Re-climbing the slope to return to Casale Carocci was quite a workout for my limited fitness. I hope it did me good. Fifteen minutes down and twenty back up.

Home cooking this time also, and keeping it simple again. I only have mini cooker with two rings, but it's enough, even if I get a little more adventurous. I will eat out from time to time, but I'm looking at this Italian escapade as practice for living here, which means self-sufficiency in the kitchen on most days.

Monday

Easter Monday is "Pasquetta", I think. The Paschal with a bit of a diminuitive. The two Italian families lodging for Easter left by mid-day, leaving the whole estate to me. I had decided to go for a short drive in the afternoon to explore the surroundings; first by checking out the motorised route to Preci village. No problem -- I parked by the hotel and took a quick walk (down!) into town. It was very quiet. Sergio had told me that many of the houses were second homes for Romans, presumably not occupied much. In contrast, there's a bit of life around the lower village -- I'm not sure if it's officially the Borgo -- with a couple of bars. I haven't had the nerve to go in yet.

I got back to the car and drove to the road on which I'd arrived on Saturday, and took the opposite direction. I hadn't looked at the maps, but I had a notion that it was the way to Visso. I was confused. For Visso, you go back to the main road and turn the other way. This was the way to Norcia, which was fine since I was going to go there soon anyway. Just about a twenty-minute drive, but through some spectacular mountain scenery, with villages clinging to the hillsides.

Then a long sweep down to Norcia, on a high-altitude plain. I parked by the town walls, and was about to enter from the nearest gate when I noticed activity further on. I investigated, and found that it was the gate for starting the "passagiata", the traditional parade in Italian towns, when the custom is to see and be seen. A lot of style on show.

Norcia is famous for its food produce: truffles, salami and wild boar meats. All the shops were open and offering various bits of animal, processed or raw. Most of them had boars' heads, or in a couple of cases, complete stuffed boar, outside. They're big buggers. Sergio says they aren't aggressive, but to watch out for families of them loitering and obstructing the country roads if you're driving. One of the popular items consists of "coglioni" or testicles of ass or mule. They aren't real testicles, just ass or mule salami in a globular shape. I didn't buy anything. Not really in the mood for shopping.

On the way home, I stopped to photograph a "mountain rainbow". I can't remember the proper name for them, and can't remember how they're produced (reflection off snow crystals?) but it was very vivid. In fact, as I drove up the road on the valley side, it almost seemed like a solid, three-dimensional arch below me.

With nobody around at Casale Carocci, and some evening sunshine, I sat out in the loggia (it has a big fireplace for barbeques) and had a glass of good Umbrian wine. Then, with the sun setting, and it becoming cool, to my apartment for dinner. (My borrowed corkscrew had been returned and was hanging from the shutter.)

Tuesday

I can't really have been paying attention when I drove up on Saturday. Probably too fixated on the roadsigns and so on. But the drive back down that road this morning was simply astonishing. You think you know mountains? You think you can imagine a road threading between huge peaks and clinging to valley sides? Not even close.

And I haven't even mentioned fish. You might not think there's much to do with fish in the mountains, except perhaps a bit of angling in some rushing stream, but surprisingly, fish seems to be big business. At Preci, and a couple of other places by the road along the valley bottom, flat areas have been taken over and large artificial ponds put in. "Fed from the pure waters of the mountain stream" is I'm sure how they'd promote it. As I drove past one of them, a big fish jumped right out of the water.

I went to Spoleto, partly because I needed some more supplies, and partly to re-acquaint myslf with the nearest big town. I didn't really enjoy it all that much. I got the car parked, and after a short false start (heading off in the wrong direction), I climbed into the old town. It's very hilly. And there's not much in it. After Norcia yesterday, with crowds of happy people and lots of shops, Spoleto seemed bereft. Obviously, there's the cathedral and many historic buildings, but nowhere where people were hanging out. The obvious place, Piazza Duomo, had only the odd tourist passing by. There was a Dutch family at the cafe where I got a coffee; they're quite odd. And when I sat down for a rest in the little park at Ponte Garibaldi, the woman who sat down opposite opened up a Russian newspaper. Or Cyrillic, at least. It was too far away for me to see if it looked like actual Russian or whether it was Bulgarian or something else. I could make out the title though. It seemed to be called "Orakyul", which I think is a reasonable enough name for a newspaper.

After treading up hill and down dale as much as I could justify, I went back to the car and took it the twenty metres to a supermarket car park. Obviously, I'd planned that out in advance. It turned out to be a quite small one, so I didn't get everything I'd hoped for, but the basics for a few more days. "Shop small and often" is what the Italians do anyway.

I decided to try the navigation home without artificial aids, and got some of it right. I actually missed the exit off the motorway out of Spoleto, and didn't notice until I was near the next exit, which happens to be the one I always used on my last Umbrian holiday. Funny enough, I'd decided before leaving that there was no point going back to look at my old apartment in Castel S. Giovanni, but obviously the autopilot took over.

Back along that amazing mountain road. There's one village, Triponzo, that is in the craziest possible place for a village: staddling the intersection of two rivers that are in steep valleys far below. I suppose that'll be where the "tre" comes in: two in, one out. The railings protecting traffic from the longest drop look rather ancient, but that must be a good thing, because if they weren't strong enough to last a long time some idiot would have driven through them during their history, and the repair would be obvious.

I arrived back at Casale Carocci, and caught the setting sun again in the covered loggia. As I sat there, mischief began to breed. When the last guests left, they deposited their apartment keys in the locked post box on the wall, as per instructions, but I could see through the perforations that nobody had been back to take the keys away. So here am I, all alone, with a possibility to poke about in another apartment. What would you do?

Well, first I tried to pick the lock. Just an ordinary metal post box, so not a high security lock. But the only tool I had was the tiny pen knife I carry, and I just couldn't manage it. I could hear the tumblers clicking, but couldn't get them to stick. A skilled lock-picker would have been in in seconds no doubt, but it was beyond me. (A good set of picks and I can be through a standard 5-lever Yale in an instant, honest.) So I decided to use my brains instead. I went to a dead twig on a bush and broke off a little hooked stalk. Poking it through the vents on the front, I very quickly hooked one of the keyrings. But the ring with its several keys was too big to pull through the hole. Just too big. I tried for quite a while.

So there was nothing for it but to take the apartment key off the ring, while inside the box, and then slip it out on its own. I'd call it keyhole surgery if I hadn't already failed on the keyhole. I had to keep the ring hooked so that I didn't lose it, and even threaded a bit of thread (pulled from my tea towel) through the key so that it couldn't drop back inside when released from the ring. Surprisingly, it all went well, and I got the bare key out.

They hadn't left the apartment very tidy, but they also hadn't left anything useful behind. Actually, some thrush cream and that was it. Not very useful. The one thing I did swap was the television remote control for the one from my apartment, because mine was a replacement model with just four simple buttons, and I wanted one I could fiddle with (like tuning channels differently, and so on).

Then I twisted the key back onto the key ring and dropped the lot back into the box. I know there's another set in there, but I've had my fun. Time for dinner.

After dinner, feeling a little mellow, and watching Squadra Anti-Mafia (there's a girl who cuts her own fringe but is still very sexy) I heard a sound like a large lorry passing close, and felt a bit of vibration. Now I think about it, it's not the first time. And since I'm half way up a mountain, passing traffic isn't very likely. So it must be earthquake. L'Aquila is 100km away.

Wednesday

On previous holidays, I'd always suffered from a compulsion to GO places and SEE stuff, rather than just enjoy where I was. I've got better over the years, but I'm still prone to do too much. But I know I have to consciously decide not to rush off, and to leave the car parked at least one day out of two.

This was a day when I wasn't going anywhere. It was blue-skies warm in the morning, and I spent it outside, just imbibing the ambience (and learning Italian verbs and composite pronouns). The village bells ring the full count of the hours every fifteen minutes on a low-pitch bell, with one, two or three high-pitched rings afterwards to denote the quarter. At midday, they all go mad. The landscape is unimaginably beautiful, and I just know that I belong there.

Up at Casale Carocci at seven hundred metres altitude, it's early Spring, with most of the trees bare though budding, but down below, at the level of Preci's borgo, there's a lot more green already. Although some swallows have arrived here today, and made their presence felt by strident shreiking. And by drinking in flight from the swimming pool: I heard the splash and wondered what it was. There was still snow on the highest mountain peak that I could see, Monte Lieto, I think from the map. It's 1944m high, or almost double the height of our tallest mountain at home. But Lieto is far from a giant in the Monti Sibillini, many peaks top 2000m, and Monte Vettore is 2467m.

Since it's so uninhabited at 700m, I've begun to wonder if there's any chance of seeing wolves. Perhaps if I left some food out for them at night, they might come?

In the afternoon, I walked down to the shops, by a different route this time, but no less steep. I'd had a notion I might buy some suntan cream and antacid tablets in the Farmacia, but it was closed. So was the grocery shop, and the other one which I haven't quite worked out what it is yet. It was just before five o'clock, which should have been in the middle of p.m. opening, but no. Maybe Wednesday is Preci early closing. The Castoro bar was open, so I nerved myself and went in and had a beer. Yes, they looked at me as though I had two heads, but they'll get used to me.

I walked back by the road, which is longer, but a little less steep. It took the same time. There's dung on the paths. A bit horse-like, but much too small. I'm wondering if it's wild boar. Definitely not wolf.

Thursday

This was a day to get out and about. I went first to Visso, the next nearest town of any size to Preci. It's the headquarters of the Sibillini National Park, and has a bit of life about it. But not enough of anything to keep me busy for too long, so I hit the road to Foligno. I'm not sure yet if going 'up' to Visso and then to Foligno is shorter than 'down' towards Spoleto first, but I'm sure I'll work that out.

Foligno is pretty big, but has a very compact historic centre within the old city walls. I think I like it more then Spoleto, but that may be because it's all on the flat, rather than having steep climbs everywhere. I happened on a free car park just outside the centre, and followed my nose to the main architectural sights. I even came across a tourist office and got a map.

By that time, it was feeling like time for lunch, but unfortunately it wasn't a good time for Italian lunch. I've realised that I'm not operating on the same clock as the inhabitants. I'm up and on the road by eleven (yes, that early) and arriving somewhere by midday. Then I don't really feel hungry until two, and then all the trattorias and pizzerias are closed until evening. Really, I should either do the whole morning thing, or leave it all until later (the more probable solution). In the end, I went into a supermarket and bought a slice of foccacia with rosemary and a can of fizzy stuff. I consumed them on the cathedral steps.

At this point, about three o'clock, I couldn't work out what else to occupy my time with in Foligno. If I wanted to wait for dinner, which I did consider, I' d have to fill in time until eight, and I couldn't really envisage that. The car park was near, and on the way there, I saw roadsigns to Bevagna and Montefalco. Now, I've been to both before, and they're attractive, historic towns. I made a spot decision to go to Bevagna.

In Bevagna I followed the signs for parking, honest I did. But somehow I ended up driving down the narrow and historic corso through the centre of the old town. Fortunately there was little other traffic. Just inhabitants peacefully chatting and sitting at cafe tables. And jumping out of the way as I passed. Only joking. I came out at the other end of town and found a nice car park outside the walls. (I'm logging all these convenient car parks for when I go back.)

Bevagna is pretty and nice, and with a selection of attractive-looking restaurants, although not open at that time. I should go back though. After exploring the whole place, I came to the place where the river Clitunno is captured into an ancient pool. I had sore feet by that time, and pondered whether it was clean enough to dip feet in. Then an old lady appeared, and proceeded to do her laundry, as in olden times, so I went ahead and dangled my feets in the icy waters.

Unable to top that experience, I went back to the car and departed for home. About 75km, arriving back in Preci some time after six. The shops were open, so I went to the pharmacy and bought indigestion remedy and sun cream in broken Italian. I'm really getting the hang of this. Back at the casale, it was still just me and the (theoretical) wolves. I made dinner. Tomorrow, I'm eating out. Just on the edge of the lower town is the restaurant-pizzeria Il Castoro, as recommended by Sergio, and even mentioned in my guide to Umbria. I'm going to walk down, (unless it's really bad weather) even though it will mean coming back in the dark.

Friday

Too much travel on Thursday, so a day of compulsory rest. The sunshine was intermittent, and there was a cold wind blowing, leading to limited time outdoors as well. Although the thermometer on the wall, out of the breeze, was showing 21. Actually, it's a max-min one, and since whenever it was last reset, (last holiday season, I expect) the maxiumum was 35 and the minimum 5.

I joked about the theoretical wolves, but in reality, my main companions are the lizards. Quite a lot of them around, taking advantage of the heat when it came. I know I said "companions", but don't worry, I'm not going crazy up here and speaking to them or giving them names. Except one fat green one with more than half his tail missing. I call him "Big Stubby". He says that's OK with him.

Not much to report then, with not much doing in the day time. I set off for the restaurant, (walking, remember), just after eight, hoping that I'd be early enough to get a table on a Friday night and late enough not to seem like a ridiculous foreigner.

My timing was perfect. Well, it would have been perfect any time in the next couple of hours, since the place was only moderately busy when I left at a little after ten. Good food: I'll be back. And nice to be among people. I realised that I had spent the day up in my eirie, alone apart from the lizards, and I actually enjoyed human company, even if I couldn't understand much of what was going on. In the restaurant, there were three guys by the door, speaking a language I couldn't identify, until one, in the excitement of telling his story, raised his voice and said "...and oi told thet fet cant...", so I realised that they were Australian.

Diagonally in my line of sight was an Italian girl with a very expressive face, and it came to me that expressive isn't "fashionable" or "appropiate" for the beautiful. The beautiful, male and female, keep static expressions, and the girl's opposite, (there were two boys and two girls) being beautiful, was quite impassive. Still, I know which one I fancied, even though it might have been significant that she reminded me of someone I'd left at home with an expressive face.

The walk home, under a starry sky, went well enough, although it's something I probably won't do that often. No street lights for the first half by the road, and then even darker winding lanes. But mainly it's a BIG effort, compared with five minutes (or less) in the car.

As I came to the casale's car park area, there was one extra vehicle, a small 4x4, and then I saw lights on in the end apartment, furthest from mine. So I have neighbours! We'll see tomorrow.

Next Week