Stew, you’ve got something Green in your teeth!

Leaving a town as small as Panicale is hard, once you’ve goodbye’d your way through town you hate to go out again. Hug, hug, seeyousoon, kiss, kiss. Tante Cose Belle. Ciao. A settembre! Hey Stew, you still here? Sigh. Such sweet sorrow.

LAST DAY IN UMBRIA — You bet, I’ve got something Green in my teeth. Annnd, I’m loving it. So there. Final night in Umbria. I can do what I want. Tomorrow we are leaving for England and daughter Wiley’s graduation. We had so many kind offers of party time that we hardly knew what to do but we did what we could till early evening and then snuck off for a quiet final dinner together. I think we needed to settle down regroup a minute. And figure out where the plane tickets were. And figure too how and when the packing would happen between early evening and way early morning departure.

Leaving a town as small as Panicale is hard, once you’ve goodbye’d your way through town you hate to go out again. Hug, hug, seeyousoon, kiss, kiss. Tante Cose Belle. Ciao. A settembre! Hey Stew, you still here? Sigh. Such sweet sorrow.

But we soothed that sorrow by going off to a nearby pizzeria. Nearby, but someplace where we weren’t 100 per cent guaranteed to see everyone we had just said goodbye to. The Burnt Goose in Paciano filled the bill. L’Oca Bruschiata. They have everything, full menu, etc. AND they do a great wood oven pizza. And that was all we had in mind. Oh, Waiter!

We ordered. And watched the sun go down in shades of neon pink. It was setting behind the similiarity colored pink geraniums in the flower boxes on the railing of the terrace over my shoulder and casting a peachy glow over us all. Where di the day go? Where did the whole week go?

The sun may be setting on our trip – but here comes the pizzas!

Mine was green as a leprechaun. Did they call it Tutto Verde? Hmm. Did not permanently register its name. What made me order it? I do not know. Zucchini being full in season, probably. So, the three greens were Zucchini, Salvia (sage) and Basilica (basil). With mozzarella thrown in for good measure. If only I could have captured the taste and smell in my photo. But a picture does tell a certain bit of story. See Midge&rsquo’s fork digging into her pizza? She was not, in any way, willing to let hers cool off for the sake of art. Or even Stew-art. Hers was strictly porcini and mozzarella. It tasted like a thousand carefully selected exotic flavors, but no, only two ingredients. Both pizzas had cracker snap thin crusts, and roll your eyes back taste. High art in deed.

And on that happy note we say goodbye and turn out the lights on another trip to Umbria. See you next time.

See you in Italy,

Stew

A day in the life: a Friday in Umbria

San Feliciano is Right smack on the lake. Boats tie up along the park and then there is one small street faced with one seafood restaurant after the other. We like Settimino’s there but today we are so going to sit in the park under an umbrella and watch the world go by. There is a nice stand with all kinds of food, bathrooms, and oh, my God look at the Gelati.

PANICALE, SAN FELICIANO AND BEYOND — Don’t want to waste this one sleeping so I ducked out quietly and headed to Biano the Barber’s hair cut and gossip salon. I saw him yesterday – almost finished with a client – and I said, give me two minutes. Came back and he’d given me two minutes but he’d given the chair to a guy who was positively gloating to have aced me out of the chair. I win I win. His smile seemed to be saying. So, that was yesterday. I pouted and determined to be first in line today. Now, where is that silver haired rascal?

While I’m waiting for him, I get to watch the town come to life. It is only 8 AM but it is already a hot one in the sun of the spot I’m guarding. In this corner of the piazza there is nothing but sun right now. Being Friday, there market is in town and big trucks are unfurling tent awnings off all sides and setting up racks and racks of stuff I can’t imagine buying. Tshirts and dresses, mud boots, hose clamps and flashlights. Mostly clothes related things.

There goes Andrea from the restaurant on his new new Bee Emmay Vooo. BMW to you. That is him in the photo on his restaurant balcony later in the day. A grocery truck stops in front of me and the driver loads his groceries into a tall wire rack with wheels. And then pushes it, noisily up the cobblestone street. Street is too small for his truck. Its about a block to the store. He really has to lean into it. I did that one time for our friends in the store and it is a picturesque way to break your back or bring on a heart attack. Hey, this guy is young and he does it several times. No fat on him anyway but wow what a workout.

Uh oh, big tall friendly guy in swim trunks and a tshirt is strolling my way, aimed right at Biano’s door. MY Biano’s door. the one I’m staking out. The iron gate is up and usually that means he’s open. He smiles and points at the door and says Chiuso? I shrug Sembra. Closed? Seems to be. He walks off and a couple minutes later returns with long arm draped around diminutive Biano. Am I aced out again? But no. Fabrizio (the tall guy in trunks) and I both tease Biano about being late and then we launch into the cutting of the hair. Hour minimum chair time.
Fab, as he says Americans all call him, stands right by my chair during the process and we just all have a fine chat. Wicked nice guy, low key, engaging. He leaves and Biano quickly says, Harvard MBA, third largest cement company in the world, his company, lives in Cairo, digs classic cars, has the best racing green Jag and some other fun stuff. The guy in the swim trunks? Just when you think here we are, tiny town stuck up on its hill in the middle of Umbria.

ONE GOOD CUP DESERVES ANOTHER

Had coffee once I had it twice I had it once again. totally equal opportunity coffee buyer. My second cup was at Masolino’s and I noted that all the family was there which is rare in the mornings. They’ve all been up till whatever hour closing the restaurant and here they are again. Ran home to tell Midge this is the time to give them the pancake mix. So we ran back bearing Bisquick to go with the Maine Maple Syrup we brought them last trip. What you should know and appreciate is that Italians are pretty blasé to indifferent about food if it isn’t Italian. That is my experience. They are wild and passionate about Italian food. Other foods? Not so much. Well, hey, I like Italian food too but I really need some Morroccan or Mexican or ’Merican Apple Pie every now and then too. Not Italians. Not in my experience. If momma didn’t cook it I don’t need it seems to be the song they sing.
One exception: Maple Syrup. They don’t know what the heck that is or what you are supposed to do with it but if they get a taste of it their eyes light up like Christmas. That was fun and got all kinds of cooking stories going.

COME ON PEOPLE! LETS ACT LIKE TOURISTS!
LETS EAT US SOME GELATI AND WALK US SOME
HILL TOWNS LIKE WE MEANT IT.

And then we got up from our panicale pancake round table discussion and had to really get cooking because Midge needed to see Corciano. Our friend Kiki said that if we had only seen the industrial strength shopping chaos part of Coriano we had missed something. She said the town proper is way up above the commercial sprawl and was really worth the trip. Some times we get all involved in fussing in the house or the garden and forget to be the curious tourists we should be. Resolving to be better tourist in future.

Now, it’s the usual time problem that confronts people shillyshalling about getting long haircuts and drinking too many cappuccinos and chatting on and on: too late for lunch and too early for afternoon shopping. What to do what to do.

Lets head to Corciano (lower right corner of Lake Trasimeno) but stop before that in San Feliciano for a snack to tide us over. San Feliciano is Right smack on the lake. Boats tie up along the park and then there is one small street faced with one seafood restaurant after the other. We like Settimino’s there but today we are so going to sit in the park under an umbrella and watch the world go by. There is a nice stand with all kinds of food, bathrooms, and oh, my God look at the Gelati. JeemenyWhiz! I, I, I, don’t believe that collection of swoops and mounds and ice cream flourishes in every color in the rainbow. So we munched something but our minds we clearly on the gelato prize waiting in that display case. Hugely engaging latin music playing, boats gently rocking at anchor, bikers biking, breeze rustling lightly in the leaves ok, enough of that get me an ice cream cone!

I swear I may only be partially right in remembering how they spelled my new taste treat. Agreto ? di Sicilia. All the citrus of Sicily in one. Pink grapefruit, oranges and lemons. So I had that with cantilope melon flavor. Well! I am a new and better person now. Don’t take my word for the taste or the spelling, get over there and get you some! We must have mindlessly passed the time there, just being, just hanging out for a couple hours. True happiness and hardly any expense. Quiet day in the park. And like I said, it had bathrooms. Always a plus on a tourist itinerary.

I’VE HAD THE BLUES THE REDS AND THE PINKS
Eventually we tore ourselves away and got down the road and up the hill to Corciano. Damd, that town is PINK. Wheeeow. Good pink, pale pink admittedly, but still pink. The stone in every town is a different shade. Our town is more brown. Some like Cortona are golden hued. Corciano is bunny pink. Looks good on it.

Very well kept and pleasant place. And there must be a town bounty paid on pink flowers. Every balcony and doorway was awash in pink geraniums and other fun flowers. They all clearly got the memo. Lots of neutral jasmine too. The whole town is very much of the same fabric and it works. Must have been a bit religiously zealous at some point in time as it was solid covered with churches and bell towers. Now, I’m from Iowa. Well, born in Florida. But FROM Iowa. And if we have two church steeples in town that means we have two churches. Two denominations even. You might have your Presbyterians over here and your gasp oh no you wouldn’t let your daughter marry one of those Methodists over there. Ok, but see, those are two nominally different churches.

This is Italy. Rumor has it that all the churches here have the same label. Very Catholic brand. So how in the world can I stand in one place in a town the size of a strip mall and see seven or eight bell towers? Each one attached to a church-sized and church-shaped stack of stones? Mystery to me. But sweet mystery because it is scenic as all get out. But really. Fund raising must have been a bit less userfriendly than it is today.

PIGGING OUT. UMBRIAN STYLE.
We had to leave sometime. So we did. Someone had been looking for the perfect porchetta sandwich so we remembered that on the way back out of here we wanted to go by one and we would take a photo to show them. Well, now I have the photos but don’t remember who cared. But choices? You bet. Play Pig? Or King Pig? I not sure which of them we liked best – but there were a whole lot of police cars around Re di Porchetta and more streaming in as we went by so I’m betting I would try that one first.

GETTING BACK TO THE GARDEN
Back at home we had a couple hours of pre sunset garden duty. Reading, totally distracted by the changing colors of the long lazy sunset spectacular. How many days can we just go wow, look at that color, did you see those swallows, are they extra bright colors tonight, are the swallows wilder than usual?

But today for the third day running the cherry on the ice cream cone has been the Renaissance flute music wafting, no I mean it, real wafting, over the garden. Its just too, I don’t know, wonderful? for words. It comes and goes out of lower limits of your ability to hear.

One minute very soft but clear and obviously and then it wafts away and you think Did I really hear that? And then there’s more and it is just so nice we had to go check it out at the source which isn’t all that hard as the church is only right over there, a part of a block away.

They were doing a course and some students were inside walking around the Baroque interior lost in their music and every now and then one would step out to a stone bench overlooking the lake, just outside the door, and practice a little piece for awhile and then duck back into joint the group. Even when they were all inside the door was open and we could hear them at some almost subconscious level.

CARLO AND THE CARNIVORE GRAPES OF PANICALE
Then it was to dinner at Elida and Guenter’s. Perfect way to end a perfect day. Picked up some dessert wine like the bottle that we had enjoyed together the other night at a restaurant, and strolled out to their place outside of town. Midge had been there earlier in the day. Cleaning squid? Yes, so she claimed. Here’s my rule, if Elida cooks it, I’m eating it. No questions asked, even if it is squid big enough to have eaten Capt Nemo’s cat. Elida worked over the big industrial range and the rest of us drank her wine and sat in the garden and told lies and watched the chickens pecking whatever they peck in the lawn. And then when the sun had set, we went out on their stone veranda under the grapes with little Christmas lights in them. Strangely and totally wrongly these grapes are somewhat my doing and I’m kind of proud of them in an abstract sort of way. Blind leading the blind will actually work out a certain per cent of the time you might say. This would be one of those times.


Our neighbor Carlo in Maine told me I had to plant some grapes and to raise them right I had to feed them lard. What do I know. I didn’t even want any darned grapes so I didn’t care if they choked on the lard or grew world class Vino Nobile. He kept coming over and bumming beer from me and waving his cane at me till I agreed to DO RIGHT, mind him, get grapes and don’t forget the lard. And. I have serious grapes. Thanks to lard evidently. So, a couple years ago Guenter asked me if I knew anything about grapes and I told him Yes, Lard, Yes. And he, in this land of ancient vines and ancient vintners, took my Iowa/Maine word for it and is presently covered with grapes. Lard. Who knows. So we sat under the extra healthy carnivore grapes of Panicale the Christmas lights twinkled, glasses were filled and clinked, the painted ceramic plates were passed, and we ate some darn stuffed squid. And a potato salad with fish in it. And because we cleaned our plates, we got to have a lovely semi-freddo made with another guest’s fresh apricots. The stars came out, the time went peacefully by and we walked home without saying hardly a word. We were tired little teddy bears. Passing through the gates with home in sight and the tower bells striking twelve I thought You know, I’m pretty happy to be right here right now.

Having fun as fast as they can. The Lambart Report.

So…..about 5 hours after you departed, the first roses started to burst out, and today multi more….more pics tomorrow…bellisimo day yesterday and today….

UMBRIA, TUSCANY AND BEYOND — Stew, remember: MAY 1st. Be in Italy. MAY 1st. Plan trip so we are arriving in Italy May first. Not leaving. Arriving. May in Italy is twice as nice as April. And greener than summer. Wildflowers underfoot, trees abloom, more dependable weather. April showers are a thing of the past by May first. And the Italians are coming out of hibernation and celebrating spring. You know what that means: party time. Look at all the fun things Foreign Correspondent Harry found to do in central Italy in May.

Harry’s email’s really capture the mood and feel of spring in Umbria! Here are excepts from some of them that have come in during the last couple days since I’ve been back. Yes, we are living strictly vicariously now!
——————————
Hey Stew,

So…..about 5 hours after you departed, the first roses started to burst out, and today multi more….more pics tomorrow…bellisimo day yesterday and today…. Cortona last night, great meal, met Pia and chatted, start of Feste, with Drums and Pia and Nando, and fun ceremony from different neighborhoods….Today cappuccino at Aldos, where we talked with Richard and Monica, then Jane, then introduced ourselves to music professor across from you, and had a wonderful chat with her…then lunch on Isola Maggiore, Elida stopped by and we made plans to car pool to Spannoccia tomorrow, then prosecco and briscola with riccardo and Jeff versus mariolino and Kim at Riccardos, and dinner at Montale vegetarian restaurant!….and now Kim is off to Perugia disco with Simone ….wheh!, having fun as fast as we can….so much fun here…

Ciao-

We’re back from Spannocchia….wonderful time, bella day (75 sunny and hot). Midge went to Siena with us for a couple of hours after italian folk music, dancing, pranzo and tour at Spannocchia (with Elida and Guenther), Big May day celebration in center of piazza which we watched while drinking prosecco…. all 17 contradas were there with a drummer and flags each…then Midge had to go back to Spannocchia for meetings tonight.

I think that Andrea and Steffi understood why I was having them pose!….plus great reason for three Dolce, machiato caldo, and desert wine!!! you might email Andrea your blog site, so he can actually see if they come out.

Off to Bologna and Parma tomorrow after Aldos (Kim and Simone off to Assisi tonight apparently….oh, well why should a father worry….

ciao- Harry

Jeff has already been victorious in separate Briscola matches with Riccardo and Adriano this week.

Kim is at a friends house in Parma, as we dropped her off after having un fantastico cena with her friend Alberto at a true locals restaurant in Parma last night….an entire secondi of Parmagano Rigiano for me, with the vecchio balsamico (@$250 per bottle), plus parma procciutto, etc. Parma was beautiful and now we’re here Bologna today, and loving this city also.

Back to Panicale late tomorrow evening.

We got back late tonight (11pm), had some authentic fresh tortolloni that Alison bought back from Bologna, and heading to bed adesso. Kim spent two days with her good italian friend, Alberto, and his family speaking italian, so she’s getting up to speed for last days and last dances

Off on tour of Lake Trasimino and points west and north!….quick email with 3 of the 50 photos I have taken so far.

ciao- Harry

Just back from Masolinos….after cena for Feste della Mamma!…always wonderful. Scot and Karen LOVED your casa margarita!…put them on train to Roma this afternoon after swinging by La Foce for photos of road, and quick peak at villa…after morning at Aldos. Then Jeff Alison and I off to see Crossbow feste in Cortona, which was multi fun. Toured Hanibal battle area yesterday, as Scot is history buff, then to Cortona yesterday too, for shopping, etc….did Chiusi Eutruscan museo on Friday afternoon-very neat indeed.
Will be taking it slower tomorrow.
Some more rose pictures for you….as the White roses have started to Bloom!

ciao- Harry

Days of Whine and Roses

Remember the rose in The Little Prince? Mine get the same kid glove treatment. And they are just as pout-y and bad as the ones in the book. I’ve never seen them in bloom! Everyone else has. But they hide from me.

PANICALE, UMBRIA — The Rose Report comes to you direct from Umbria, by personal courier and email. Final chapter. I promise. Our garden in Panicale is totally flower dependent so I hope you will forgive me for being so involved with its flaura and fauna. It is our living room six months of the year. The street going by our garden is full of wonderful foot traffic and the roses on our pergola the full length of the street above our garden are our only privacy barrier. They and the wisteria are the roof over our head bathing us in their dappled shade all summer. As I have said earlier, I’ve slaved over these roses, manicured them at all seasons of the year. Remember the rose in The Little Prince? Mine get the same kid glove treatment. And they are just as pout-y and bad as the ones in the book. I’ve never seen them in bloom! Everyone else has. But they hide from me. This year was the closest I have ever come. I left for the plane on a Thursday morning and before my plane could touch down in Boston, our friend Harry had emailed to say the roses opened a few hours after I left. Rascally roses strike again.

Midge was still in Italy after I left and she took some new blooms off the pergola and pressed them in a book for me and brought them back here with her. My roses have always been strictly academic anyway, but now they are just this much closer to being real. It was a treat to see them even if pressed. Smaller than I imagined. They are climbing roses we call Lady Banks. And Italians call “banksia”. What they lack in size they make up in color and quantity as you can see from Harry’s email photos. Yellow roses lead up to violet wisteria. White spirea covers the bush below the plum. Oh, to be there on a day in May, with a glass of local, red wine, watching the sun go down and gossiping with friends about the day’s adventures.

OK, all done. No more whining about roses. I love knowing that they are there and that their sunshine yellow blooms will be lighting up that corner Via del Filatoio the whole month of May.

April ends. So does our time in Umbria. Parting Shots.

I have oceans of the Italian cult comic Dylan Dog. I can rationalize having my nose in a comic instead of Calvino by saying I’m doing it improve my Italian, my way.

PANICALE, Umbria— Parting is such sweet sorrow. Especially when swallows are swirling overhead having a bug fest / breakfast / airshow that starts early and goes on until after sunset every day. And even harder to leave when your rascally roses are only moments from blasting into full sunshine yellow bloom. The buds were numbering in the millions and getting fatter by the hour. Yes, that is how often I was checking. It is almost a cruel local joke here how I fuss over my roses all year long, but have yet to see them in bloom, missing them on one side or the other of their usual full month of glorious (so I’ve heard) bloom. Note to self: schedule trips to Umbria for first of May. And May is generally a more dependable weather month in Italy than April anyway. Duly noted.

IN THE GARDEN. MAYBE READING A LITTLE DYLAN.
Enjoying the garden in spite of the spite-full reluctant roses. I know they are teasing me. I love it all back in the garden anyway. It is just becoming so alive at this time of year. And one of the nice things about cleaning up a garden for company is that once they arrive I can quit cleaning, weeding and fussing. And do lazy things, like dragging out a chaise and reading in the sun.

Nothing like some Dylan in the garden. Of course, when I say Dylan, you know I mean Dog, not Thomas. I’ve always been a sucker for comics. I have oceans of the Italian cult comic Dylan Dog. I can rationalize having my nose in a comic instead of Calvino by saying I’m doing it improve my Italian, my way. Anything with pictures is a big step up and after a while you realize any author has a certain way of writing and a certain vocabulary and it gets easier with each new reading. I’ve learned a lot of conversational street talk from Dylan. To each their own. Its what works for me. My daughter Wiley is all about pop culture and her favorite guilty pleasure is gossip magazines, both in the states and in England where she goes to university. She and her favorite Italian language teacher here in Italy use the Italian version of those awful tabloids as text books when they do their lessons together and it seems to really work for her. All I know is Wiley’s Italian was better after every lesson. Again, with the words and pictures.

SOLVING THE AGE OLD DESERT DILEMMA

The other fun thing about having company in Italy is that it gives us an excuse to have fun picnics in the garden, drink wine watching the sun go down and to look forward to going out to eat next door at Masolino’s. I’ve cleaned out the frig so that is my excuse to wind up the trip eating every meal there. Three times in two days. Not counting breakfast coffees. They are so busy at night we can’t chitchat properly at night at all so I will stop in on my way into the piazza in the morning and really catch up. Anyway, I was there for lunch on Wednesday with fun clients I had been writing to for a year and was dying to meet in person. Kept thinking, pace yourself Stew, don’t have to eat everything on the menu right now, you’ll be back again in a few hours. Temptations abound.

Later that same day, at a different table I was eating with our long time friends from Colorado. They had just arrived and they wanted Masolino’s to be their first stop before even unpacking. Visions of panicotta and creme carmels danced in their heads.

Then sweet Stefi one of the owners and the pastry / desert chef came out and started listing all the goodies that were on the desert menu for the night. Choices, choices, choices. Hate to make decisions? Don’t. We finally we cut the Gordian Knot. And ordered six different deserts for the five of us and just kept passing them around. A desert buffet. You know how places often have AntiPasti Misto? Same thing but sweeter. Dolce Misto?

Call it whatever you want we made them all go away, didn’t we? Its kind of a trick in Italy as the deserts are often kind of a let down compared to the terrific antipasti and pasti lead ins to every meal. Stefi keeps it fun and light and is determined that even after a big meal everyone should still be looking forward to one of her treats to finish it all off.

Here’s what we had:

Panecotta. Yes. But which kind? With frutti di bosco? Chocolate? Or carmel? Questions within questions. I’m in a horrible rut. I run with a pack that is honor bound to keep trying panecottas with fruit everywhere they go just to compare them to Stefi’s. Tiny little wild forest fruits. Berries that look like raspberries and blue berries? Awful good whatever part of the fruit kingdom they below to. But then Jeff of Colorado swears by the chocolate and it is awesome. Wicked good, almost black chocolate swirled and drizzled about over the snowwhite panecotta and it just takes the panecotta to a whole different place. And, ok, I sampled someone’s carmel and I liked that too. Still a sucker for the fruit. Oooh, oooh. There are two panecottas in each order. They come out of a mold and have a pretty depression on the top to hold fruit or chocolate. Order one each with friend and divide them up. Don’t have to wait till you have a big smorgasbord group feed.

Tiramisu. Tira. Mi. Su. Get it? Pick. Me. Up. Because in my understanding of its traditional form it should have two caffine delivery systems, one coffee and one of chocolate. There was a debate raging as Stefi patiently waited for us to get over it and order already. The debate was more or less this: is Tiraminsu just too much of a clique? Is it only on the menus of Italy for the amusement of low brow American tourists? Hey, its Italy. Its Italian. Lets eat it. We did. It was a beautiful thing, it was light, it rocked and earns its fame. And its name. Quando a Roma.

Torta Fragola. Strawberry cake. Hmm. The other night I thought, “gosh if I order that it. . . means I’m not ordering Panecotta.” What to do? What to do? Will I like it, Stefi? She assured me it was worth the risk. Because I had so happily had it already, I lobbied for it to be in the mix. No one quite believed it. She called it cake but I don’t know what it was really. It just about floated off the plate. True fact. Fresh strawberries in almost cream/cake arrangement. Light, but not limp, it holds its slice-of-cake shape, but a fork just sighs and slips through it by gravity.

Cookies in Holy Wine. The VinSanto classic. The cookies are homemade of course and are of multiple shapes and ingredients and have a hint of citrus to them. I usually don’t get this because I’ve had enough wine by this time and I think I see Andrea pouring some complimentary experimental thing for us over by the bar. (turned out to be an excellent light yellow grappa based liquor. The next night the surprise Umbrian desert wine was a dark communion grape juice colored Vernaccia. I hope I spelled that right. Very much of the grape flavor. Loved it. I will see if I can get a picture of the bottle on here some time soon. But I digress from the deserts.

Crema Catalana. How about something flamable in carmel so everyone in the restaurant will look up and think “that does look like fun, maybe we DO have room for desert”. Flames of liquor burning bright, a foot or so in height. Just wait. They burn down and out and ok, NOW you can stick your spoon in there. Why wait for your birthday to have your desert set on fire? Our friend Harry had this flaming concoction two nights running and for all I know he is there tonight ready to potentially sacrifice his eyebrows once again over this showy treat.

THAT’S IT. PACK IT UP.

Well, as we know, all good things must come to an end. We did a final night with friends from Maine stirred into the equation to good effect. They seemed to be settled into the good life Villa LeMura and looking like they could get quite use to that. The next morning came, I coffee’d and hugged my way around the piazza, took this photo of Katia (Giancarlo’s new assistant) and her family by Panicale’s fountain, gave my rascally roses one last look and said until next time –

See you in Italy

Stew Vreeland