March 25, 2010
Holidays can be relaxing, stimulating, exciting, romantic………and the very best have all those combined along with a frequent sense of ‘Oh my God, pinch me.” There have been so many ‘pinch me’ moments on this trip so far.
Right now I am sitting bathed in sunshine in a glass conservatorium that overlooks the Umbrian countryside. This luxurious suntrap is attached to the 11th century Abbey we’re staying in. In the distance I can see more old castles proudly creating man-made pinnacles amongst the surrounding hills. The only sounds are birds twittering and a distant tractor in the olive groves. Oh – and Brett slurping wine, crunching almonds & turning the pages of his book.
This writing is very slow because I keep getting distracted by the view. Every now and then I find myself hypnotized by the slow falling of the autumn leaves, or I catch sight of a fat green lizard slithering along the ancient wall of the abbey. Ahhhhhh……. Funny what you notice when you have time. Ever thought about how many ways you can sigh? There’s a whole language in a deep breath. There are heart-felt, world weary sighs when life is tough, there are the impatient ‘when is this going to end?’ variety, and then there are deep, contented exhalations that wordlessly express profound happiness. I’ve had a great many of the latter kind this afternoon.
In stark contrast the morning had a lot of white-knuckle, breath-holding moments. That’s probably why it’s so sweet to lay back and listen to the music of the countryside and wallow in the sunshine now. I was feeling pretty smug at 8am this morning because I had 2 tickets to Perugia in my hand and I’d managed to purchase them without using any English. The fact that it’d taken several days to memorise the sentence ‘ two one way, first class tickets to Perugia please’ was beside the point. The official at the ticket office must have understood because she spewed a stream of Italian back at me and handed over the tickets. Of course I had no idea what she was saying, but after 3 days in Rome I’d mastered the bluff. It involves lots of head nodding and avoidance of any facial expression that shows the complete incomprehension I’m really experiencing. Works every time. Unless of course they’re sharing important information which you don’t want to miss, as clearly, you DID miss this time.………
So our tickets said platform two. It was a hike as we began at platform 20 and made our way against the streaming crowd to the right spot. My elbows hurt from lugging a heavy suitcase from our Hotel to the station and I’d broken out in an uncomfortable sweat from the effort. We had 10 minutes to wait before departure. Oddly there was no train at terminal 2, and the relevant board was blank. We waited, stripping off a few layers of clothing and imagining how good it would be to sit down. Glancing idly about I noticed that the other platform boards announced the next train and time of departure. There was also a sign to ‘1e and 2 est’ which started a little niggle in my brain. Hadn’t the efficient clerk said something that sounded suspiciously like 2 e? 5 minutes till departure and still platform 2 remained suspiciously empty.
Brett was also starting to think we were in the wrong spot. “Maybe we should check out 2est hon?” he asked. Off we trotted, pulling our heavy loads behind us. 4 minutes to departure. There were a few indicators that we were on the right track – words like ‘regionale’ seemed frequent, but there were so many other unintelligible signs that it was hard to tell. We noticed people starting to run in the direction we were headed. 3 minutes to departure. The next train to Perugia would be in 2hrs time. If we missed this train we’d have a 2hr wait for the next one and would have to fork out another 34 euros, so we started running too (when in Rome). It’s hard to run when you are lugging nearly 30 kilos of suitcase behind you, have an overfull handbag flapping about under one arm and a jacket and scarf under the other. I had a moneybelt strapped across my abdomen and it felt hot and wet against my skin. Despite the fact he had 2 bags Brett was disappearing ahead of me. Sweat was running unflatteringly down my forehead & causing an uncomfortable itch under my arms. I had the strangest sensation that I was in some kind of perverse stampede.
Desparately trying to keep Brett in sight, I was panting, perspiring, and (being me) quietly swearing under my breath when I became aware that the swarm of people rushing alongside me all shared a uniform colour. 30 or so Nuns in black and white habits ran beside me or overtook me for the same train. The theme song for ‘The flying nun’ started playing in my head and I had to choke back hysterical laughter. 2 minutes to departure and platform 2e was not in sight. On my right a black and white blur overtook me. ‘Easy for you Sister Bertina’, I thought. You’re unencumbered. Competitive Tracey picked up the pace.
1 minute to departure and finally we spotted a train. Was salvation in sight? Stumbling and gasping I finally caught up with Brett and said ‘Is this the train?” “I don’t know,” he responded. “ I can’t see if this is first class or not”. He kept running past the carriages. Meanwhile a monochrome stream of nuns filed into the nearest train doors. Showing my usual sensitivity to people around me, I near-shouted/panted ‘FUCK that for GOD’s sake! Let’s just get on the train before it leaves!” So we did. Just in time. Our first white-knuckle moment of the day.
The sighs were of the ‘thank God that’s over’ variety. We had perspiration to dry, books to read and relieved sighs to breath for the next 2 and a half hours. The Nuns disappeared to economy. Nobody seemed to have noticed my blasphemy or swearing. Phew! Rome faded behind us and we began to see Italian countryside for the first time. I think I read a page, maybe a couple of pages during the following journey. There was too much to greedily absorb hurtling past our window. There was a fog over the countryside that created a mystical atmosphere. Ancient ruins faded in and out of view along with incongruous glimpses of ugly, squat apartment blocks. The view became more rural, green fields, bare trees and what resembled heather began to predominate.
Finally, we rocked and swayed our way into Perugia. During our stay in Rome we’d become accustomed to the following linguistic ritual. First, I’d attempt to converse in Italian. Success was variable, depending on what we discussed. Ordering red wine or coffee? No problem! Anything else? It would go like this. First I would furtively practise the appropriate phrase from the lonely planet guide before we entered the restaurant, then I’d take a fortifying breath, stride in, make eye contact and spew out something approximating what I’d read. By some miracle they’d usually understand what I said and respond in Italian. 80% of the time what the answer would transfix me with its beautiful rhythm, but remain completely unintelligible. I’d parrot back my rehearsed statement ‘I don’t speak very good Italian, can you repeat that?” and so they would. Usually at this point they’d note my stunned-mullet impersonation and start speaking English. Here’s where a relieved sigh would be used.
In Perugia it was immediately apparent that this linguistic dance wouldn’t work. When asking for directions to the rental car place from the information booth the response was a long, fast, stream of sing-song sounds (that may as well have been Swahili) accompanied by lots of hand gestures. My previously successful ‘Parle Inglese?” (do you speak English) was met with ‘no’ and then more incomprehensible rapid Italian.
Our next attempt at conversation was with a taxi driver. In retrospect I think I said something that was a strange cross between Italian and the universal language of the overtired. In other words I mumbled words that made no sense in any land and shoved our booking info under his nose saying “Europcar?” with a rising inflection . The obliging taxi driver spoke for a long time. So long that I think I may have started swaying like a cobra to an Indian. On the plus side his hands spoke very clearly. The map he so cleverly drew in the air required us to lug our luggage up a large hill. Just great. To our delight the Europcar office appeared before blisters formed. The Europcar lady spoke a close relative of English and with a little accompanying sign language we worked out that we were too early. Leaving our luggage behind we sought out a refreshing coffee and a bit of food.
By now Brett is an expert at ordering Macchiato’s and can point (much safer than trying to ask) to a desired pastry with 100% accuracy, so we sat down with our proscuittio croissants and waited for our coffee. Nobody spoke a word of English here, but it became apparent that an argument was taking place and it was about us. Much gesturing and what appeared to be Italian swearing was directed at us. The store was packed and pretty soon the usual hubbub of loud voices fell silent except for the employee yelling at us with a red face. Then another staff member joined in. I swallowed the last of my food and tried to follow what was being said. No idea. Brett approached the agitated duo with a tentative ‘I’m sorry?’ in Italian. This led to more loud words & gesturing.
It took us a while to work out what the problem was. It seems the waitress had asked Brett if we were after take away or would eat in. Having no idea what she was on about, he used the aforementioned bluff technique (perfected by me) smiled, nodded and said ‘yes.’ She passed over the food and we sat down. Oops! He’d said yes to take-away and then stayed in. Criminal!!! It costs more to eat in and he’d paid for take away.
Not sure if we paid 20 euro or 5 for that little mistake. It involved much apologizing and some cash thrown in the general direction of the counter before we made a hasty, embarressed retreat. Time to pick up the rental car.
I should explain at this point the difference between driving in Australia and driving in Italy. Firstly Italian drivers don’t use blinkers, or brakes. They make up for this omission with heavy use of the accelerator. Nor do they take any notice of the white lines on the road. Lanes? Other cars? Italian drivers don’t seem to acknowledge either. We first noticed this when the limo picked us up in Rome. Our driver got us all settled and then put his foot flat to the floor. Instant face lift as G forces pushed us hard into our seats. The rear bumper of the car in front got closer, closer, closer, until we couldn’t see it any more. Were we touching the car in front? A wee bit concerning considering our speed of 120km’s an hour. Looking over my shoulder I saw a truck behaving in the same manner. We were sandwiched at warp speed. Muttering and giving the said car the finger Mr Limo driver swerved violently across the road without looking anywhere but straight ahead. Horns blared. My heart stopped, stuttered and began again.
Mr Limo driver accelerated some more and kept one wheel on either side of the white line most of the way to Rome. I have no idea what the terrain is like between the airport & the city, but I can tell you that 4 days later Brett still has clear finger marks impressed into his thigh. We’d been forewarned about this penchant for crazy driving in Rome, which was partly why we decided to catch a train north to a more regional centre. Mistakenly (as it turns out) we thought that hiring a car from Perugia would allow a slow introduction to driving on the right side. Instead we flew immediately into heavy, line-ignoring, speeding traffic with no idea what direction to take. This was more than white-knuckle. It was white HAIR inducing.
I sat in the passenger seat……..on the right side. Brett gripped the wheel from what felt like the passenger side and sped into the crazy Italian traffic, attempting to put on the blinker and turning on the windscreen wipers. We entered a tunnel and seemed to be magnetically pulled towards the wall on my side. I was sure sparks would shortly fly and the mirror would be ripped off at any given time. Brett was muttering “stay right, stay right’ and frighteningly it was working as he veered further and further across. From 0 to 100km an hour we sped to nowhere on what felt like the wrong side of the road. “I feel like you’re running off my side of the road!” I cried in fear. Brett hastily corrected, white knuckled and still mumbling ‘right side, right side.;’ This went on for some time. “Help me out with the signs,” he said. Well how the hell was I supposed to do that with my eyes squeezed shut while holding my breath?
The GPS failed to work. “Searching for satellite. No satellite found.” Signs flew by meaning nothing. Did they give instructions or list the names of towns? No idea. We were going somewhere……horribly fast…..in heavy ITALIAN traffic.
Then a magic sound filled the car “take the next exit in 750m”. It was nothing short of a miracle. The GPS started guiding us with a soothing generic voice. For five minutes. Then we got “satellite link failed. No connection”. In this way the robot voice teased and encouraged us towards our farm stay. It was a tense trip right along the highway, sweat beaded along Brett’s forehead and his hands were stiff and cramped on the steering wheel. At one point we had to make a u-turn and he automatically veered to the left – then almost lost control when I screamed “Right, right RIGHT!!!!”
Finally the dirt road to our haven appeared. We stopped at the first building and we were directed up the hill with warnings about the steepness of the dirt road ahead and the sharp turns we would encounter. I could go on about the way the wheels slipped in the gravel and how the car slid towards sharp drops, but suffice to say it made the highway look appealingly safe. At last we made it and it was possible to breath, unclench my fist and detach my shoulders from my ears
We are staying in an Abbey that’s part of a 1500 acre working farm. They grown olives commercially here, produce their own olive oil, grow their own veggies and herbs, have cattle and deer herds. After checking out our room we came to the conservatorium to recover from our mornings adventures and asked the receptionist if she could recommend somewhere for us to grab some lunch. “What do you feel like eating?” she asked in her impeccable English. ½ an hour later we were served a salad made from salad veggies grown in the kitchen garden, olive oil produced from the groves we can see just outside the windows and freshly baked bread (which explained the ½ hr wait). Bliss! This was followed by a cheese platter that came with a pot of honey from their own bees. And so began the contented sighs. Once sated we went for a walk around the farm and found ourselves repeatedly saying “Wow’ out loud – the sounds, sights and smells were deliciously overwhelming. The contrast to the hustle of Rome & the stress of driving further enhanced the experience.
The Abbey is perched high above the town of Solfagnano and the higher we walked the more spectacular the view became. (You can check it out on the web by typing in “Le Torrri di Bagnara Solfagnano Perugia”).
We strolled past a lake and a fortress that’s used as further accommodation until finally coming to some partially reconstructed ruins. Sadly a gate stopped us from exploring further……..until Brett gave me a leg up and then scrambled over himself.
We felt like naughty school children as we carefully picked our way through the old buildings. Huge beams sagged under rotten floors and walls had collapsed, but so much remained intact. If I closed my eyes in the sunlight I could imagine it bustling with livestock and people. There was a smell of old stone that was a strong reminder of Rome and this mixed with the scent of wild mint crushed under our feet. It was exotic and oddly familiar. Rosemary hedges grow abundantly along the path and I couldn’t help bruising some in my fingers to add that heady perfume to the mix. Pinch me!
We returned from our walk slightly sun-burned and pleasantly tired from climbing the hill and breaking into historic sights. There was nothing to do but relax in our HUGE MARBLE bath. After which Brett had his nap and I started typing. Tonight we are indulging in a 4 course meal in the restaurant that is mostly made up of food produced and prepared on site. It might be boring to read, but I want a record of the culinary delight we are about to experience! Here are our choices for the night. Talk about mouth watering……………..
Starters
- Baked “scamorza” cheese with Acacia Honey
- Kitchen garden fried vegetables )zucchini, eggplants, sage, onion and artichokes)
First course:
- Home made ‘lasagna” with “Chianina” veal ragout
- Risotto with Radicchio and “Pecorino” cheese
Main:
- Stewed Umbria Pork with au gratin fennels
- “chianina” veal slice with “porcini” mushrooms
Dessert:
- Perugina” dark chocolate heart with black cherries and whipped cream
- Strawberry sunday with custard
Well am up to page 6 and haven’t even started on our experiences in Rome………hmmmm……….shades of Ireland.
Am going to finish now as it’s time for dinner! Yay!
Stay tuned……….
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