Last Friday was the first official day of our fall break. We have until next Sunday to do with ourselves exactly as we please. So far, we’ve been doing basically that.
Friday, our friend Gráinne arrived from the States; she’s working on some thesis research, and is staying with us until Wednesday morning. Friday evening we decided to eat at the Champagneria, a local place I had heard about countless times as being one of the best in Orvieto, but I had never found. That evening, Jeremy, Gráinne, Bonnie and I found it—luckily Bonnie had been, I would never have discovered it, tucked away in the Piazza Marconi, which is mostly a parking lot—and we ordered a bottle of white wine. My understanding had been that you order drinks and they bring out food, cooked fresh with ingredients from the owner/chef’s garden. No menus to speak of, just some excellent wine and food. No menus can also mean a surprise bill, but it was worth it.

Sunday was a day of proportionally epic eating. Enrico, Gráinne’s and my “Italian babbo” (Italian Dad) invited the three of us for lunch. At noon, his son picked us up in front of the Duomo, and we arrived ten minutes later at their home in the localita of Buon Respiro, outside of Orvieto. Interior renovations are the current project for the first floor of the main house—Enrico explained that the floor bricks were newly installed, but had been made in the ways that they had made bricks and tiles in the middle ages. His wife had been cooking lunch in the guest house. We sat at the table and the first round of food came out. Pizza of two types: stuffed with chicory and sausage, or anchovies and cooked vegetables. Next was a baked pasta with tomato sauce and cheese. Just as we were beginning to look at each other and groan about how full we were, she said, “It’s okay if you don’t eat all of it, there’s still chicken coming.” I still ate all of it. Next was a pan-cooked chicken dish, the meat of which was covered with tomatoes and peppers and flavored with herbs and spices just so. It reminded me in a way of Nana’s and Tita’s arroz con pollo. I couldn’t place why, as Cuban and Italian cuisines are so different. Maybe it was just the style of cooking the chicken and how it soaked up its juices and the sauce, the herbs that made me think of home. We were encouraged to eat the chicken with our hands, “otherwise you won’t get the good parts.” At that point, we thought we couldn’t eat any more, and out came a light salad, fruit, and a perfect torta di mele (apple cake). Of course, all of this is accompanied by white wine, the last bit with spumante. I thought someone was going to have to roll us home. It’s funny to me that this is a traditional Italian lunch, in the sense of the amount. Our Italian family friends complain about how much weight they or relatives have gained going to the US; Americans have the same experience coming to Italy! It’s a different diet, is all.

That night, we ate leftover pizza and cake while listening to the most recent episode of Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me! Thank goodness for iTunes and podcast directories for another taste of home.

This afternoon around 3:30pm was a beautiful rainstorm. The clouds had begun gathering hours before, but patches of blue and light had also been in the sky. But by 3:30, the sky was overcast and the rain began like in movies. You know in movies when the rain just starts pouring and it seems so unrealistic? It was almost like that—a few big drops, and then-BAM-a down pour that eventually became a sideways pour. It only lasted maybe half an hour, but it was enough to fog the windows.

Around 6ish, I decided to take a walk. I wanted to explore a bit of Orvieto; although I have been here many times, and it’s been three months that I’ve been back, there is still a lot of the city I haven’t discovered. Just the other day, I found the path that leads from one of the playgrounds alone the side of the rupa that goes all the way to Piazza Cahen. So, I went out with my camera, a scarf, and a jacket. The temperature had dropped to about 45, or at least it felt like it had. I contemplated going back home for my gloves, but decided not to. I wandered past San Giovenale to the edge of the cliff where there is a view that looks out onto Gabelletta and Tamburino, where we had spent two months of the summer. The sun wasn’t quite setting. Sunsets here are nothing like those of my home, but the view of the valley is still impressive. Green is a color I’m still not used to; a deep sort of green, at least, not like the leathery greens of cacti. From there, I saw a sign mentioning a giardino, a garden. I wandered through a gate and down some uneven steps to a part of the cliff that was overgrown with uncut grass. Two or three benches had been placed under some trees, although I wondered if anyone ever used them.

Nearby were two hollows that could be called caves. One was larger, and someone had spray painted something on a ledge inside: bright red, it looked like a warning. A sheet was hanging so as to block the back of the cave. If someone was living there or just setting it up as a hideout, I wasn’t sure. The image was eerie, though, especially since I couldn’t read the graffiti.

From there I wandered back towards the main road, Corso Cavour. A detour or two later, I found graffiti that said, “Hitler puzzava” (Hitler stunk) with a Communist hammer and sickle, which I found to be a slight understatement. I also took a photo of the shutters in one of the side streets. The shutters here are almost all green—in Siena, shutter colors are regulated by the comune. I’ve never asked if it’s the same here.

By the time I reached Corso Cavour, many people were out taking a stroll. Not as many as whne the weather is warmer, but shops were open and people were out. One brave soul I passed was eating a gelato. Pasqualetti will do that to you. I did some of my own shopping and decided that the chill warranted a hot chocolate. The first bar I stopped at didn’t have any! So, I went to Montanucci.

I have been anti-Montanucci since 2007 when they deliberately overcharged a friend for a bottle of wine, thinking that she was too blond to notice. Also, they charge ridiculous prices for their internet, when other places it’s free with any purchase. I know, I know, they’re a business, they have a right to charge for their services, but I guess the fact that guidebooks list it as a good place for internet really bothers me. Rick Steve’s I can understand, since most of his readers are middle-aged or retired, but Lonely Planet? Come on! There are at least two other cafes that offer internet with drinks and food that isn’t bad, either. Ok, rant is over. In any case, I went to Montanucci, and asked the barista for hot chocolate. With whipped cream. And although it was four euro, it was delicious. The whipped cream was some of the best I’ve ever had. I sat at a table, spooning out slurps of hot chocolate, reading D.H. Lawrence’s Etruscan Places, an account of his travels through Etruria, full of voice but arguably a lot of condescension towards the Italian locals who guided him in a lot of locales.

9ish meant dinner at home with Jeremy. Pasta with fresh gnocchi (we didn’t make it, but there are some great fresh pasta shops in town) and pesto, spinach salad and lemon vodka tonics. Overall, a lovely afternoon.

Fall has begun. In the mornings as I walk to work, I turn a corner that leads me up Via Malabranca, overlooking the other half of the medieval quarter and all I see is the tiled rooftops cloaked in this fog. It is such a foreign image to me. Mornings in Tucson are crisp, usually, with a different light than here. But in Orvieto, when there is sun, there is now a hint of chill; when there is rain, the cobblestones are slippery and dark. I will try to take a picture sometime soon in an attempt to capture this fog phenomenon. The Duomo rising out of the mist is both eerie and beautiful at the same time. I hope the fall for you all, wherever you may be, is a peaceful one.

This past weekend we took a trip with the school to Campania, which is home to many lovely things: Neapolitan driving, mozzarella di bufala, Mt. Vesuvius, and some of the most incredible examples of archaeological remains. Our first stop was in Napoli, where the National Archaeological Museum is. Thanks to the Farnese family and their benefactors/colleagues/inordinate amount of wealth, the museum holds artifacts like the frescoes from the Temple of Isis at Pompeii, and the bronze statues from the Villa of Papyri at Herculaneum, not to mention the Gabinetto Segreto (Secret Cabinet, where they stored all the “obscene” materials from Pompeii), mosaics and more. One of the copies of the Doryphoros stands in a corridor. The Farnese Hercules tiredly nods his head in one of the great rooms. The mosaic version of Alexander the Great, beautiful hair in all its glory, graces a wall. We could have spent all day in that museum; we did not.

Next stop was Pompeii. Approximately 2000 residents lost their lives as a result of the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius on August 24th, 79 A.D. Many of the people found had tried to escape with their life savings or precious belongings. Some hoped the walls would save them from the ash; unfortunately, walls can’t stop the mephitic fumes. Fun stuff. The cool thing about Pompeii, other than the obvious, was that this time the weather was beautiful and cool; as the afternoon waned on, the shadows passed along the old buildings and the tourists cleared out. It seemed that we were some of the last to leave. We saw the one of the lupanares (brothels), where there were paintings outside the bedroom walls for clientèle to choose their preferences; the Villa of Mysteries, most famous for its frescoes depicting a woman being initiated into the mystery cult of Dionysus; the Eumachia building, which was paid for by a woman; the Temple of Isis, which had been rebuilt after the earthquake of 62 AD with the generosity of a six-year-old boy who must have had a very wealthy and pushy father; the Odeon, where poetry readings and concerts could take place; the amphitheater, where in 59 AD, citizens of Pompeii and a neighboring town rioted so riotously that the government required its closure for 10 years (not that they lasted), and much more.

Another highlight of the trip was Paestum, where ruins of Greek temples still stand. The Greeks had been one of the cultures that colonized southern Italy, and they left behind some important examples of Greek architecture. We were followed by a hungry doggie, who helped Alba give her explanations to the temple structures. The museum houses one of my favorite ever pieces of art—the Tomb of the Diver paintings. It was a less common practice for people to paint the insides of their sarcophagi; the Etruscans painted the insides of their tombs, but this was a sarcophagus. One of the paintings is a man, presumably the deceased, diving into the water; the background is sparse, but the symbolic transition between life and death is powerful nonetheless.
That day I had one of the tastiest lunches to date; spaghetti alla vongole (clams) with a mixed plate of bufala cheeses. Yum!

We got a chance to see where the future of museums may be going (we’ll see…)–the MAV. I don’t remember what it stands for; somehow, Virtual fits in there. Inside are interactive features, where students can “uncover” frescoes with the brush of a hand across a screen and “experience” what it must have been like for the archaeologists to find them. Maybe if the rooms were heated to 95 degrees with 30 percent humidity and they had pickaxes and shovels it would be more realistic, but who’s keeping track? It was a cool idea. They also were able to recreate ancient sites like Pompeii and certain buildings, villas, etc. digitally, so visitors can go on virtual tours of these sites. There were virtual components galore, and it was a fun experience, albeit partially misleading. (For example, most depictions of the forum of Pompeii showed it as being completely white in its heyday! FALSE. Statues and columns were painted; the Roman world was a colorful one, in many ways.) A funny thing was the guest book; flipping through it were the generic “this was great!” comments, but some were totally irrelevant. One was “When will Berlusconi die?” Good question.

The next day was the last of the trip: the Reggia di Caserta. Considered the Italian Versailles, the Reggia has a huge expanse of gardens on the grounds, including an English garden with a cryptoporticus of Venus and little temples recreated, that sort of thing. The reggia itself is enormous; the historic apartments had towering ceilings, all painted or gold leafed. It was easy to imagine them having balls and dancing on the beautifully polished floors. We had a chance to meet up with a friend from the dig who lives in Caserta, and we wandered around the gardens together. Lunch consisted of a giant ball of bufala mozzarella, baguette and Toblerone. I highly recommend it.

Another school week is beginning; the weather is rainy off and on, but I’m enjoying this fall transition.

This Saturday, Jeremy and I ventured to the market to buy a few things for the apartment, and then in the afternoon, took a 15-minute train ride to Fabro, a neighboring town. At the station, we were met by some good family friends of mine who are generous and wonderful people. They have two children who are in their teens, who I hadn’t seen in more than a year and had just spent a month in the States at summer camp. I had warned Jeremy before about how amazing their family’s country home was, but I think he didn’t believe it until he saw it.

Just five minutes from the train station by car led us to a place that seemed far away from any city: three houses, an exercise room with a sauna, bocce court, small soccer field, laundry room, garage, hen house, pool. All of this is not to mention the dozens of fig trees surrounding the houses, the fruit from which we plucked and ate fresh from the tree.

Not to mention the grove of olive trees, from which they press and sell their own olive oil (which is truly delicious)! The home began as a simple second home for the grandfather twenty five years ago, and since then he bought surrounding land and converted what had been stables and other farm buildings into beautiful houses. He took up an interest in agriculture, and now they collect eggs from the hens in the hen house, raise rabbits (to eat), and have their own olive oil.

We tried to take a dip in the pool, despite the cloudy weather. The water was quite cold, so we didn’t swim for long. After a while, we went to the cinema in nearby Chiusi. Jeremy, another friend and I saw Ritratto d’amore (The Proposal) with Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds. It was a cute, predictable romantic comedy, but I always have a great time going to the movies in Italy. It’s always a mental challenge to see how much I can understand, and both Jeremy and I found that we understood most of the movie. We returned and ate dinner (almost at 11!), which was a yummy lasagne with mozzarella balls and fruit on the side. Everyone was pretty tired, so we all went to bed.

The next morning, we slept in and rose to fresh coffee and cornetti (croissants) and fruit for breakfast. It was a lazy day: we went to mass, which was basically unintelligible for me, especially because it was echo-y in the church. I understood part of the sermon when I tried to focus, but after awhile I zoned out, I have to admit. Some of us walked back up to the house, while the others drove and by the time we got back (25 minute walk almost all uphill) we were ready for some pool time. Luckily, the weather was warm and sunny, so we had fun in the pool and I even did some poolside yoga with their daughter.

Then, lunch. Oh, Italy. We ate freshly toasted bruschette; pici—a type of long pasta similar to umbrichelli, like a very fat spaghetti—with homemade tomato sauce; steak and sausage, also fresh off the grill; salad; fresh melon. It was funny to me when they told us how much weight their kids and niece and other friends had gained after staying in the States, because whenever Americans come to Italy, they gain weight, too! It really must be in the difference of eating habits, because while Americans have huge portions, we’re also not used to eating so much pasta or doing 3 courses for lunch.

The rest of the afternoon was lazy. We read (still working on The Daily Life of the Etruscans and Jeremy is finishing Word Freak, which I also read and is an interesting account of a guy who took time off his job as a Wall Street Journal sports reporter to become a competitive Scrabble player), we played with an odd contraption they had bought that is similar to tetherball—it’s a metal pole weighed down so it doesn’t go flying away, and you use a racket to hit a tennis ball attached to a long string. Eventually, it was time to go. Now, we’re home, so to speak. The weather turned cloudy around 3 or so, and the weather report claims it will rain this week. We’ll see.

This is the second time I’ve been out of the country for an anniversary of September 11th. Yesterday evening the Italian news stations began memorial coverage, and Jeremy and I got to talking about our thoughts.

Inevitably, the footage instills a sense of grief and horror at the events that transpired, even years later. I am grateful that I did not lose any loved ones on 9/11. Luckily, none of my family members who live(d) in New York worked in the Twin Towers. Jeremy wondered about the reactions of those who were not directly affected by the attack (he had a relative who was one of the “if this hadn’t happened in this way he would have died” stories, where this man got out only a short time before the building collapsed).

I guess the attack still stirs me for the reasons why the terrorists chose to target the Twin Towers at all; they were a symbol. The Pentagon was a symbol. And every time I think about that day, I think about the day itself rather than the aftermath. Yes, I am disgusted by how some people lashed out at middle Eastern Americans (or people they assumed were middle Eastern). Yes, the war that follows today was, in my opinion, misguided. However, on that day, we saw America as it can be: neighbors comforting neighbors, strangers uniting with strangers to grieve for our losses. We saw courage, too: the courage of the people aboard those planes, especially those who knew what would happen and, in their last moments, saved the lives of many others.

The Italian news anchor noted that we have a new generation of Americans that will never have lived without this as part of our history.