November 2009

November 12, 2009

T,S.Eliot may have declared April the cruelest month, but November, in my opinion, can be infinitely crueler. November in Umbria is damp, chilly, windy and enveloped in dense fog, that sometimes lifts in the early afternoon, but is often followed by icy rain that soaks the ground and makes driving even more treacherous than usual, especially when navigating the hill towns of Italy. Not the ideal time for a visit, but it was the first time Ralph and I were able to travel together and I figured it might be a good time to get work done without the distraction of the seductively beautiful weather that inevitably leads to long lazy afternoons and evenings of al fresco eating and drinking.

The first order of business, given the chill, was to stop at IKEA and get a comforter for the bed. But with only a vague idea of the Roma Nord location, we managed to miss the highway exit. Plan B was to look in Marsciano before going up to Le Caselle. Judy had mentioned that the mist was thick in Umbria but traveling up the autostrada the sky was bright with sun and the foliage still green. Approaching Terni the fog appeared to be rolling towards us, the distant hills largely obscured. We stopped at the Conad store in Marsciano to get some provisions – an espresso coffee maker, wine, cheese, coffee and milk, cereal for breakfast – and then headed to Todi.

Ascending the road to Le Caselle, we eventually rose above the fog, as if a magical land had suddenly opened up. A land of sun and warmth, greenery and silvery olive trees, leaves ruffling in the gentle wind. I called Judy to tell her how lucky I felt to have arrived on such a gorgeous day. She didn’t know what I was talking about; down in Collepepe, just a few miles away, it was damp and gray.

The welcoming committee was not there when we arrived, but the neighbor’s front yard was overflowing with even more junk than I remember. Apparently someone in the family is a metal worker, and, as Ralph reminded me, no one here throws anything away, particularly if it can be reconditioned and sold. Rusty machinery, ancient car parts, old porcelain toilets, stones and wood are all useful commodities, and if one is not concerned with aesthetics, the garden is a perfectly adequate substitute for a shed or garage.

A car was parked in the midst of the very narrow public road that circles the borgo, denying access to my house with our Fiat Bravo. The contadini are used to having Le Caselle to themselves and for the moment I don’t wish to make myself unpleasant by asking them to move their vehicle. Besides, the path is so narrow that I'd have to fold back the car mirrors and proceed with extreme caution to avoid brushing against the houses on either side.

It feels like an achievement to have arrived here, intact, on this glorious day. In total, from my apartment in New York to this spot, it has taken more than 15 hours. In another sense, it has taken more than eight years. Even in November the grass is full and a saturated green – likely the result of a wet autumn - not at all patchy as it sometimes is. Entering the house my eyes are drawn immediately to the stairs – the stairs that I ordered on my previous trip and were installed after I left. I can now go upstairs without going outside! For me, this is a milestone of huge significance. They are the exact color wood of the kitchen cabinets which stand to the side. They’re quadrant, not spiral, meaning that the edges are angled rather than curved. The overall effect is what I can only describe as exceedingly handsome and somewhat artful.

Fausto has provided us with two small electric stufe, or space heaters, one for downstairs and one for upstairs. Later I will decide whether to buy a device for temperature control that will provide both heat and air conditioning. Electricity is expensive in Italy and I am not a fan of air conditioners, preferring ceiling fans. Although a scaldabagna , or hot water heater, was ordered, it has not yet arrived at the store, so for tonight at least, we will not be able to shower. In the morning I will heat water on the stove to wash my face, as I have done periodically over the past 20 years in my rent-stablized New York apartment in a comparatively young 100-year-old building.

After setting up and dressing the newly purchased beds - still wrapped in plastic – and placing the Umbrian copreletto matrimoniale over both to create a large “double” bed (there are only two sizes of beds in Italy – singolo or matrimoniale; you are either single or married) , it is time to toast our arrival.

A little metal folding table is transported to the garden and covered with a thin airline blanket. Along with two folding chairs, Ralph brings out a wooden cutting board upon which sits a loaf of fresh unsalted Umbrian bread and a large block of cheese. Some olive oil, a bottle of the sublime local Sagrantino di Montefalco, and two small glasses complete the tableau. The sun is strong and we feel incredibly fortunate to have this temperate weather that enables us to sit outdoors in November in just our sweaters. As always, the panorama is exquisite and justifies the effort involved in getting here. In fact, it’s hard to recall the details of just a few hours ago, when we got stuck between two parking gates trying to exit the airport this morning, so quickly does the scenery and ambiance begin to work it’s magic.

In the evening we go to Todi, taking the tram from Porta Orvietana. The little park at the top is something out of a movie set, at night eerily tranquil and theatrically lit with ornate street lamps. At Pane e Vino, a small ristorante, we sit upstairs with only one other occupied table of two women chatting in Italian. A few days later, we discover that one of the women is someone who we were scheduled to have dinner with while here - a friend of Ralph's friend, Nancy - but had only met by phone. Such is life in November 2009, in this small Italian town, where two Americans can be so easily identified by someone they have never met.