PANICALE Archives - Page 13 of 17

NEXT STOP, UMBRIA. GOING DUTCH?

To quote the Italian designer Valentino: “ . . . I must go. It is not convenient. Perhaps it is not right. But this garden must be seen. There are many things you have to do in life, but you cannot ignore the roses.

We typically go to Umbria via London or Munich or Paris. But London is having a jet fuel issue and threatening to raise Cain with flights originating in the US. Airline pouting and politics. So, maybe this time, we are thinking, we will go via Amsterdam. Kind Dutch people have emailed us here at SeeYouInItaly extolling the charms of their town outside Amsterdam named Vreeland. Never been there. Never got the Tshirt. But the perfect meld of Dutch and Italian is happening now in honor of the 400th anniversary of Rembrandt’s birth and one of the highlights of the celebration is a massive Rembrandt—Carravaggio show at the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam. That has to Gogh on our list. And then, la nostra cara Panicale. To see how my Umbrian roses do grow. This photo was taken last April by our good friends the Lambarts, from Steamboat Springs, Colorado. Nico and I have been tending these roses for several years but I have only seen them in bloom, in photos. Hope to correct that this year!

To quote the Italian designer Valentino: “ . . . I must go. It is not convenient. Perhaps it is not right. But this garden must be seen. There are many things you have to do in life, but you cannot ignore the roses. When they demand to be seen, one simply has no choice but to go to them.” Words to live by, whenever possible.

. . . THE NEXT DAY

Aldo is in his cups. In quiet moments he is washing up a lifetime of Sunday coffee cups, when one jumps straight up out of his hands and does a suicide swan dive onto the hard, cruel floor below. Not again. What can we say? It has been a funny, full moon kind of day. Well, funny unless you happen to be one of Aldo’s coffee cups or Prosecco glasses, of course. And I guess you would have to say, it been a smashing day for them, too.

PANICALE, UMBRIA— Today’s fun was hanging with a group of Australians in the piazza. Saw Emma and Luca going by after church let out and finally got to meet ”la contessa” Luca’s cool, Mamma from Sarzanna. Our table is positively full of Sunday morning Prosecco drinkers, . . . and . . . here comes reinforcements! Oops. One hits the ground. Aldo? Dropping a glass? Later, instead of letting him clear off the tables we decided to be really helpful and brought our glasses in with us and Wiley tumbles one. Here comes the broom again. Aldo laughs and sweeps us all toward the door — Everyone go home to lunch! Please. Which we all, obediently, do.

Now, lunch over, I’m in the garden, but I’m going to put down my pencil and just doze in this patch of sunshine. Just. Sit. Very. Still. Like my new role model. That lizard on the plum tree’s branch a few feet away. He thinks I can’t see him. And I barely can. But it is just the two of us. Absorbing the absolute last bit of today’s solar energy.

Ten minutes later:

Pssst. Wiley. Wiley? Want to go for a late afternoon walk after your nap? Wiley? Guess that would be a no.

LA LUNA ERA PIENA. AND IT WAS A FULL MOON TOO.

More Cuckoo. Less Swallow. Actually, no swallows at all. They are so omnipresent in Summer. Hard to think of them as seasonal, fair-weather tourists, like us. Their visual acrobatics are nicely replaced by the gentle coo-coo’ing of the cuckoos that you hear but never see. Oh. There is Wiley. Did I wake you up?

Early evening, the weather still grand, we took a lap around town, took a couple sunset photos of the town. Happens every time. We walk, we get thirsty. We end up at Aldo’s where he pours us some drinks as we lean on the polished metal bar. Fresh squeezed combo of orange and grapefruit juice only, I promise! Finally, the crowd has died down and it is just us. And Aldo is in his cups. In quiet moments he is washing up a lifetime of Sunday coffee cups, when one jumps straight up out of his hands and does a suicide swan dive onto the hard, cruel floor below. Not again. What can we say? It has been a funny, full moon kind of day. Well, funny unless you happen to be one of Aldo’s coffee cups or Prosecco glasses, of course. And I guess you would have to say, it been a smashing day for them, too.

GRAZIE. GRAZIE INFINITE.

Caro Signore, che abita in cielo: Avete fatto bene, bene, bene. Che giorno oggi. Grazie infinite.

Stew

Caro Signore, che abita in cielo: Avete fatto bene, bene, bene. Che giorno oggi. Grazie infinite.

Stew

Oh. Please don’t let the sun go down on this one. Twilight. Cuckoos cuckooing in the last bit of pale afternoon light. I am nostalgic for this day already. And not complaining, or ungrateful, in any way, about the nights here in autumn, either. Sleeping under covers, in these silent Umbrian nights, with the windows wide open is a kind of heaven itself. Perfect temps have followed us every day. Blue, blue skies. Coffee at Aldo’s with Italian friends competing to buy us coffees. And then, after coffee, an early trip to Cortona.

We started out with a gauzy haze hanging low between the hills all the way there. We saw an artist’s dream house and had an engaging talk with her and ooohed and aaahed over her home and her picture postcards views. Took a twisty viccolo the few steps up to Bar Sport where our friends Nando and Pia made us smiley face cappucchinos. And then met new friends at Bar 500. They have a strictly old Fiat 500 theme and, well, you have to respect that.

BACK TO THE GARDEN
And then back home as the sun starts to reach its delicate, almost wintery rays into our garden. It comes later every day and for less time. And that is my garden time. So much fun. Especially because Wiley is recovered from her accident. We are even more thankful for her now. Every day. To spend this time with her healthy and happy is a miracle.

Thank you for all the happy moments in this garden. And in this life. In these days, when so many have so little, I feel guilty to have so much. I know that a certain amount of life does depend on luck. And that the rain falls on the just and the unjust and even marketing people. But, please, always count me appreciative. Amen.

Happy HALLOWEEN.It came early in Umbria this year?

No, this isn’t Halloween, but a WileyReport recap of the Grape Harvest Festival. Who knows what the theme was this year, but it was crazy costumes and wine-dispensing floats as usual. Just another day in the neighborhood.

PANICALE, Umbria—After all the excitement of the Road Trip to Rome, the night before- we are ready for the Festa!!! Yeah, go party people! But it is chilly, and rainy and party people are dropping like flies. But Celia and Paulette and Daniel and I are set to go to the cena- and go to the cena we will!

Its absolutely packed and after a long line with loads of women coming through with heaving trays shouting permesso! Are appetites are totally whetted and soon we are sat down on at big plank tables and for 20 odd Euro we are getting bruschetta’s with beans and crostini, garlic and olive oil, tomatoes . . . spaghetti with wild boar sauce . . .grilled pork and veal . . .salad . . .bread . . .wine . . .wine . . .wine . . .oh sorry got a bit lost! And finally grapes with blueberry pound cake and vinsanto. Well . . . that’s wasn’t hardly enough and after all that we made our way to Aldo’s where we met up with Anna Maria a Danish art expert and former dentist and indulged in Cappuccino’s, Proseccos, and Limoncellos . . .yes completely overkill . . . but absolutely incredible . . .oh and gelato!!! We also took many a turn at the Pesca…a charity draw type of thing where you pay a euro get a scroll, and get the prize that matches the number on the scroll . . . we ended up with an ashtray and matching Limoncello glass, an air gun, a fanny pack, a change purse, and a kitchen knife- so some excellent finds!

On Sunday it was a bit rainy and fireworks and parade were cancelled: (BOO!) But, oh well, we had our little blue feed bags that hold wine glasses, that you can get in town to sample local food, wines, fabrics and art. Well, of course the wine was phenomenal. The ostrich meat and salted beans could make you weep… and the biscotti and pecorino with honey just well . . .left you speechless. Now you’d think Paulette and Daniel and I would have been fine with all that, but we had reservations at Masolinos- and you just don’t break reservations at Masolinos- especially with Steffania’s deserts- no way! So we sat in a warm little food hole eating — just about everything! The taligata (thin slices of beef covered in arugala and parmigian) as the absolute show stealer, with the umbrechelli (thickly rolled pasta) with peperoncino, garlic and tomatoes, an easy second place. Wow! And then another bout at Aldo’s- of course- it wouldn’t be Sunday night of the Festa without say a grappa and maybe a cappuccino with amaretto, right?!

These fine festival fotos are from the famous Paulette of San Francisco. The parade was put on when the weather cleared, a few days after the originally scheduled, but rained out date. The float themes are always puns on the word Vino. Vinocchio instead of Pinocchio, etc. but what the Cadillac, discomania theme line was, no one seems to remember. Still researching. Of course with the observers all dutifully on the grape, their testimony is somewhat suspect anyway.

Later that same day, word in from the coast: The Vampire? The Castello of Count Drac-uva. Dracula=Drac-uva. Uva means Grape. Ugh. Italians are less prone to puns than some cultures. But they will stoop to them and they even have a word for them: Giochi di Paroli. Word Jokes. Still waiting for resolution on the word joke based around the disco theme.

Oh, Boy, we’re all gonna be famous, now.

When I say we, I mean in the Panicale we, sense. Panicale is in a big national travel magazine here in Italy that just came out.

PANICALE, UMBRIA—When I say we, I mean in the Panicale we, sense. Panicale is in a big national travel magazine here in Italy that just came out. Early this morning at Masolino’s, Andrea showed us the new October issue of ”DOVE” magazine with a big spread on our little town. That is DOVE as in WHERE, not as in Turtle Dove. Flashy, glossy, full color ”WHERE” magazine you see all over Italy. Che shock. And it is talking about real estate and what a good deal it is in this part of Italy and how they are going to tell their readers all the secrets of Umbrian Real Estate. We’ve been in some of the properties they mention but it is still fun to see Panicale with its name in lights so to speak.

AND IN THIS CORNER, WEIGHING IN AT . . .
This is the one where Tigre, the cat, explains life to the Great Danes. And their little dog, too.

ALDO’S CAFFE, PANICALE—The brightly red-haired Danish lady is standing by the bar. Is her name AnneMarie? She is there with some other fun Danish friends. Wiley waves Hi to her and we get introduced to the new people. I could not feel more ignorant, than when I think how casual Scandinavians all seem to make learning that second or third or twelfth language look. Anyway, with enough therapy maybe I can get over that. In the meantime, the cute young blonde between AnneMarie and myself has made a circle motion that encompassed all of them while being introduced and said, without any, repeat, any accent, ”Actually, we are all Danish” All this time, AnneMarie has been holding her black and tan pixie-ish terrier in her arms and drinking her coffee, sort of around the dog. So, in a smart-aleck way I said ”Oh, a bunch of Great Danes”! Note to self: attempts at intercultural humor before caffine on my part should be held to an absolute minimum. No matter. Without a nano second of time passing, The Cute Dane ducked down so she was way shorter than her already Very Tall Dane Dad and said pointing up at him, ”HE is the Great Dane. I am just a regular sized one.” Cute and Quick.

Introductions over, I ordered a cappuccino and sat down with some English people we had just met the night before. The Danes finished their coffee and let the terrier on his leash propel them towards the door, waving back at us over their shoulders. When All Animal Hell broke loose in Georgia. Tigre the massive, uncontested, king of the jungle here must have been dozing in the sun under a chair by the door. And the new puppy must have thought, Hey what is this? And that is when POW! BANG! YIPE! YIIIIIIPE! HELP! Cat, Dog, Danes, and multiple Baristas all blew out through the glass doors, into the piazza. In an unreal scrambled, screaming mass. It was really very like the Popeye Blutto fight scenes where you would see this big ball of blur and an arm poking out here and a head there.

I was kind of trapped behind our corner table but through the window we could see AnneMarie yank the terrified terrier straight up in the air by his collar and strangle dangle him there as high over her head as she can reach. I’m sure Mr. Terrier wasn’t complaining. Hung by the neck like a cattle rustler? Or cut to ribbons by a silver and black buzz saw? That is a tough one. And so is Tigre. Even caught cat napping, he’s dangerous. He weighs in several kilos, surely twice the terrier’s soaking wet weight. Eventually, the animal and people din died down and I could see the Danes wiping the blood off poor puppy’s nose. Ok. Now. Whose piazza is this? That’s right. Sweet, innocent purp, he had no idea what hit him. Other than it was fast, furry, and furious.

Later that day, after everything sort of calmed down and we knew that all the combatants were going to be all right, I said to Aldo, ”Boy, I wish I had had my camera on for that melee”. He just said ”La prossima”. Wait for the next time.