A Day Out in Orvieto

Tricia and I spent the day in Orvieto yesterday, and what a day it was!  We toodled along the curvy road in my darling little macchinina, enjoying each other's company and sharing stories and sunshine.

When we arrived, we were in the mood for a cappuccino.  So off we set on our first mission.  Interestingly, all the bars appeared to have tucked their skirts in and fled...there was nary a one in sight. Churches, however, were thick on the ground -- clearly calling for a change of plan.

We wandered up one of the larger streets, finding lots of closed shops, clothes shops, and kitchen ware.  They were just tempting us.  We even found a bread shop, raising our hopes until they were dashed (to the accompaniment of an intoxicating perfume of fresh bread) by the lack of a coffee maker.

And then we got picky.  We needed coffee at a bar with a bathroom.  No longer would any likely-looking place do.  Finally, we found the place.  It was actually rather large, but had the added inducement of selling all types of artisan chocolates.  Meaning Michael would get a souvenir so he could remember the trip he didn't get to enjoy.

Whew!  That mission accomplished, it was time to go to the cathedral -- one of the two reasons we were there in the first place.  We arrived twenty minutes before the pausa and five minutes before my parking pass was due to expire (I know, poor planning on my part, but for some reason I'd misread the sign & didn't realize it until it was too late & I'd purchased the dratted thing).  We had time to mutter two "ohs" and one "aaah" and then had to dash to the parking lot.

Looking down into the well.  It's much further down than it looks!

Fortune smiled on us, since the other main goal of this trip was to see the pozzo.  The pozzo is a well dug in the 1500s as a water source for the city in the event of siege.  And from whence came the fear of siege, you ask?  Well, the pope of the time thought that it likely that the Roman forces would try to oust him & he'd have to take refuge.  Orvieto looked like a right good place to him, so he figured he'd prepare the city for his protection.  Since all it lacked was water, digging a well was the obvious thing to do.

The view from the bottom

Tricia on guard

And here's where the fun begins: it's actually a cylinder within a cylinder.  The well is in the center, and the space between the inside & outside cylinders is taken up by a staircase.  Boring, you say?  Well, think again: it's not just any old staircase with 280 steps.  It's actually a steeply inclining double helical staircase.  This meant that donkeys (with water jars) could go down one staircase and up the other, allowing them not to meet asses going the wrong direction.  Good plan, no?  It was actually fascinating how quickly we went as we chatted, not realizing how steep the descent actually was.  Holes carved in the walls provided light and regular access to see our progress.

Once we made it up and I extricated myself from the ratcheted exit door that had designs on my purse, we wandered happily around the park that was the remains of the local fortress.  Beautiful views and a lovely tranquil spot.  Back to get lunch at a local spot (delicious, by the way), and time to see the cathedral for real.

After much admiration, home to Todi!

Love,

Alexandra

A church & celebration dinner

Last Monday we were invited to celebrate the live Nativity in which we participated over Christmas.  We thought that a dinner was a lovely way to join together again and get to know our fellow Presepe members better.

It started with a local dish.  It's great unless you know what it is.  Unfortunately, I knew what it was: essentially pork 'n' beans, but with pig intestine instead of bacon or other yummy pork bits.  Really, the texture is a bit like softish calamari.  But after having had half a plate at the birthday party James attended in the fall, I couldn't do any more.

I bravely stirred mine around with some bread, and passed off the rest to my unknowing neighbor.  Tricia made the mistake of asking what it was, and I couldn't lie.  After having also enjoyed half a plate...she was done.  As we cased out what was going on elsewhere, we realized that some of the Italians were also picking out the "onions". That made us feel much better.

Then followed the veggies.  And the meat.  Our neighbors had been eying us, and we'd been similarly eying them.  Tricia broke the ice in one fell swoop by asking whether it was permissible to finish cleaning the yummy pork (rib) bones by picking them up.  One of the neighbors (whose beardlet was carved into a peace sign) proceeded to show us that he ate everything with his hands.  I asked if "troglodito" was a word in Italian, and he knew what I meant -- so I guess it was.

Yes, there was lots of wine served in jugs.  Lots of laughter, good food, and sharing of silly stories.

At the end of the dinner, Don Riccardo wanted to discuss what went well, what could have been improved, and so on.  And then he wanted to talk about Easter.  Yes, he had the grand idea of re-enacting the crucifixion.  For some odd reason, there weren't any volunteers -- although I said that I'd be happy to be a weeping woman.  I also volunteered Michael to eat as a Last Supper re-enactor.  We'll see what happens with that.

Love,

Alexandra

Another use for "scotch"

Last time we were here, "scotch" (said with an Italian accent) became a household word.  That is the magical transparent tape that La Cleaning Lady used to hold everything together.

Well, today, Tricia and I visited San Filipo da Benizi at the bottom of the hill.  As I wandered through the church, my attention was caught by a beautiful life-sized painted (presumably) hand-carved wooden Pieta.  That's a statue of Mary holding Jesus' corpse and grieving.

Very touching.  Really.

But then, I saw it: Jesus had clearly received damage at some point and been broken.  His fingers are now attached with... scotch.

Love,

Alexandra

Mamma Mia!

Tricia is visiting, so of course we had to go to Deruta.  I finally purchased the picture of Mary that I've been eying whenever I've visited this town of ceramics!  She is now gracing our home from the mantel.

I took a picture with the artist, who also made the cookie jar I happily brought home (and blogged about earlier).

Love,

Alexandra

More views

Sorry to bore you, but I had to post a few pictures I've taken over the last months.

Love,

Alexandra

Back to Normal Life...awwww

Don't you feel sorry for us?  After such a nice vacation, we have to come back to...
...a cappuccino with Signore Grassetti in the newly reopened (!!!!) Cafe Medioevo
...a conversation with Giuseppe, our lovely friend
...a BIG package from Amazon, delivered in our absence to the neighboring shop (but listed in the delivery information as having been signed by "Hook")
...Angelo, with the freshest of oranges and the most beautiful spinach (I met the man who grows it at Angelo's -- he told me later when he saw me out walking that he'll let me know when there's more ready)

Not that Michael was tired
& fell asleep on the floor or anything...

Okay, okay, so it's not all bad.  Frankly, in my opinion, life is pretty wonderful.

But I owe you the story of our remaining days and our trip home.

We thought this sky was amazing
-- do you see the ripples?

The bad news: my knees came unglued.  So I had to spend the last, beautiful, glorious, wonderful ski day at home by myself.  The good news?  There's always knitting; also, the expression "Silence is Golden" holds a lot of meaning in my life. And the kids & Michael had a fabulous time out on the slopes.

The village of Morgins

We decided to go via Zurich to get home.  While it would at first blush seem absolutely loony, it was (according to Google) an hour longer -- but was all highway.  Which means that the roads would be clear.  As a veteran of the trip up, I can tell you that this route held a lot more appeal than ice skating through the mountain passes again.  And given our average speed over those passes, it would probably be faster taking the longer route.

So, we got up early, scrubbed the house, and got on our way -- leaving only memories behind.  Having five kids means that I secretly think we also left single socks and mittens, but one can always hope.

About an hour into our trip, I called Rosly!  Rosly is my beloved grandfather's companion of many years who was extremely devoted to him until his death soon after my marriage to Michael.  I don't think I've even seen her since then, to tell the truth.  Anyway, she lives in Zurich, and I could not possibly get within spitting distance of her house without giving it a shot.  Not literally, of course.  One couldn't imagine anything so uncouth with such a lovely and well turned out lady.

She was thrilled to hear from me.  I timed it carefully (I thought) so that she would have enough time to dress and put on her face, but not enough time to make a three-course meal and get flustered about being a proper hostess.

Of course, I was outflanked and outmaneuvered at every turn.  To begin with, it took a whole lot longer than I'd anticipated.  Then, if you've never driven in Zurich...don't make it a life's goal.  There are one-way streets, things marked on the map as streets which turn out to be stairs, and absolutely no  street parking unless you have the proper permit.  Bear in mind, this is Switzerland -- you will be ticketed.

The Hookmobile.  Don't you think the new chains look snazzy?

Leaving

We finally found public parking through blind luck (or as a beloved colleague once said, "Even a blind squirrel can sometimes find a nut"), and walked to her house -- number 31, as I've addressed my letters for years.  The thing is, um, her name wasn't listed at 31.  I called her again, and she blithely told me where we should park for free right next to her house (she owns a parking spot -- gah!), and that the reason she wasn't listed at number 31 is because she lives at number 35.  Makes me wonder whether the postman knows her or whether she never got any of my thank-you notes over the years...I promise I sent them (well, most of the time)!

Walking up the stairs (note the stairs, they are important), she opened the door with a warm smile and a chuckle.  And that's when she noticed the quantity of Hooks in the stairwell.  She laughed and said that we just kept coming and coming!  She greeted all the kids (some of them twice!), and said that she'd had no idea how many of us there were!  She was terribly worried because she'd only made smoked salmon sandwiches for two or three...and there were only enough egg salad crackers for us to have one each!

After some convincing, she allowed us to take her to lunch at the "old folks'" home. Here's where the stairs come into play: Rosly will be 88 on Saturday.  She still drives.  She still walks to do her grocery shopping.  She still goes to the gym three times a week.  And she's still an absolute knockout -- always well turned out.

Everyone enjoyed their lunch; I ran to do a quick grocery shop for the things we can't buy in Todi, and then it was time to go.  Of course, she handed out Swiss chocolate bars to each of us (you did know that the Swiss eat more chocolate per capita than any other country, didn't you?), and it was time for us to brave the streets of Zurich in order to get back to the highway.

We nearly weren't brave enough.  Michael almost had a nervous breakdown -- there were several intersections where no right of way was marked, and many of the road signs were unfamiliar -- and I almost got out of the car and walked (have you learned yet that the task of navigation is a thankless one?).  After about 55 minutes of hell on wheels, we made it to the highway.  Phew.  Which meant we could take a very beautiful route home, as well as going through the Gotthard Pass (no line!) -- Europe's longest tunnel!

Partway home, the Fiat place called to inquire whether we were ever going to bring the van back....






Love,
Alexandra

Unchained melody...

This morning, up we got, bright and early!  Yesterday was a rain (!) day, so we hung out on "vacation" all day.  However, in the night the weather changed to snow, and we have another foot of fresh snow!

We were at the lift early for us (9 or so), and purchased our tickets.  I noticed at that point that the lifts weren't running; when I asked, she told me that they had to work on the lift for about fifteen minutes as a result of the freeze last night. No problem!

After a little while of standing around, we noticed a pile of other prospective skiers moving away from the lift and taking the shuttle to the neighboring ski lift point.  Hmmm.  Time to ask the people who know rather than the people selling tickets.  I wandered around to find the guys working on the lift.  Turns out that a safety mechanism on the lift broke during the night because of the freeze.  Repairs?  At least an hour.

After some wandering and thinking, we decided to change the pass to include the French side of the mountain.  As almost everything does, it had an unintended/unanticipated consequence:  we need to have our passports to ski!

We decided to go home for the hour of waiting instead of getting a shuttle, since we had to get our passports in any case.  It would give us time for a snack, and so on.

And this is where the plan came unstuck.

As we were going up the steep driveway, the chains (which had struck fear in Michael's heart all week) came apart.  Meaning, we were blocking the road, couldn't get up, and couldn't get down (safely).  Michael wrestled with the things, teaching me some new words (fortunately the children had run upstairs to work on the hot chocolate), and sort-of-kind-of got the one back on.  He went up 6 inches, and the other one promptly came off.  More bad words and much wrestling later, he got that one back on.  But the van did NOT want to budge.

Adding to the stress, of course, the previously untraveled road became Main Street.  There were cars wanting to get by both directions.  I went and chatted up the drivers, letting them know that -- as miserable as it was for them -- it was even worse for us.  Everyone was very kind, and regaled us with stories of Erik's son-in-law going off the side of the cliff (young daughter in the car) while Erik casually observed them from the balcony, others sliding completely down the hill (or working for hours on chains), and so on.  I'm not sure whether it helped or not, but I did feel better about blocking everyone.

Eventually, Michael determined that the chains were past fixing.  Erik & Ada's neighbors (one of the cars we had blocked) were extremely kind, called around, and determined where new chains could be purchased.  Not only that, they were kind enough to drive us into town.  And boy, am I glad they did: while the town is an easily walked distance away (although less fun with skis, hence our driving), we never would have discovered where to purchase the chains.

We followed our guide into a bar.  Yes, a bar.  The hostess looked at us, our guide explained our mission, and she "oui, oui"'d us a few times and told us that she'd be right back.  After serving out some more drinks, she asked for the tire information, and handed our host a pad.  And here's where it became Swiss for just a moment (rather than Italian): rather than handing her the piece of paper on which he had already written the information, he wrote it out again on the piece of paper she gave him.  Note:  this was not a form, any kind of specialized entry device.  This was a notepad!

She disappeared down a hatch that I'd not previously noted, and one arm and a leg later, we were back on our way.  With chains that looked equally flimsy, I might add.

We're going to drown our troubles in the snow this afternoon...maybe we'll have easy stuff to deal with, like kids falling off of cliffs, skis coming off, and face plants.

Love,

Alexandra