The last day is the most difficult. Fausto and I went to the district office of water control to arrange to have my water bill paid automatically from the bank account. On the advice of friends, we arrive early, since the line forms quickly and the wait can be considerable.
We are there a half hour before the office opens and already there are five people before us. The waiting area is small and not air conditioned. Everyone is fanning themselves with a hand fan or booklet or whatever is available. The topics of conversation are the heat and the long wait. Fausto and I manage to converse despite the language difficulty. There are two categories of women here ; the elderly nonne, all of whom wear sunglasses by Fendi, Versace or some other Italian luxury brand, support hose and orthopedic shoes; and the younger sexy type, dressed to show what she has to offer. There is a young woman in her 30’s with platform heels, a very short one-piece skirt/tank top combo and white rimmed sunglasses, dangling earring. Her hair is dyed an unnatural shade of orange.
There are two small offices and when one’s turn is called, you go into the office and do not emerge before at least an hour. What could be taking so long? When our turn is up we find out; it’s not the business at hand that takes so much time, but the intermittent phone calls, the bathroom break, the time out to deal with some unrelated matter. We are told that in order to arrange to have the bank pay my bill, we must arrange directly with the bank and not here. But so the trip is not a complete waste, I ask I can pay my current bill in cash, and I am able to do so.
Following this episode, I drive to the Deruta branch of my Italian bank. Rather than driving the 40 minutes to the bank where my account sits, I think it will be easy for me to write a check at another branch and get some money for last minute expenses, since I’ve run out of cash. I discover that getting money from this branch is not so easy. Many years back, this account was opened by someone who was helping my realtor and it is her name that is the authorized name on the account, even though the account is under my name. So she is the authorized person to make withdrawals at this particular branch, not me. Even Judy’s name is on record as being able to withdraw funds. I show them my passport, but they tell me that they cannot cash a check for me.
This for me is the ultimate ridiculous Italian experience. I show my passport, with my photo. I tell them this is my last day in
I hurry to Todi to purchase a copriletto, or bedspread, that I had seen a few days ago. It is simple, beautiful, washable and affordable, things not so easy to find here. My last day at Le Caselle is sad. I don’t want to leave. There are several trees with obviously dead branches and I hack away at them with the rake. Branches are falling all around, helping to sculpt the view. I save all of the dead wood to burn in the fireplace on my next trip. Fausto arrives and we talk about a variety of things, what kind of pavement is best, what sort of fence to build, how to do the ballustrade on the internal staircase. There are two small sprouts of grape plants in the garden and Fausto suggests connecting them with a metal arch and allowing them to grow around it. I think this is a great idea, and the garden begins to take shape in my mind.
In the evening, against my better judgement, I go with Judy and Fausto to a barbeque at the home of one of their friends near Assissi. In the end, I’m happy I went, since the both the company and the food are great. We are at an agriturismo owned by Vickie, an Australian married to an Italian, her neice is visiting from Greece, a friend Sabra is from England - each one of these meals is a microcosm of the new global society.
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