Chapter 14
Perspective in the Mural
“’Ah, signora, you are learning the Italian secret!’ he exclaims.
‘And what is that?’
‘Our greatest art: the art of living.’”
- - Dianne Hales, La Bella Lingua
Early each morning at La Contea, Giulio and Daniela would show up to clean the pool, straighten the yard, and do all sorts of tidying up. Some days they were there and gone before we even got up. On other days we would awaken, open the big dark wooden shutters and doors, and emerge into the bright morning sunlight to find them hard at work, clipping hedges, sweeping stoops, or any other number of things. It eventually became part of our morning routine to get up early enough to interact with them.
Although there was a significant language barrier, Terri with her Spanish was usually able to make out what they were saying. Daniela was particularly cute, patiently repeating a key word over and over as if repetition alone would usher in a sudden comprehension. Strangely enough, it often did.
One morning they told us about an abandoned church ruin at the top of the mountain behind us, marked by a big cross. Another time they gave us information about the fresh market days in the surrounding towns. Giulio was the one to tell me of a motorcycle trail up the mountain behind the villa that followed the entire ridge all the way to Tuoro and the scene of the Roman defeat by Hannibal on the shore of Lake Trasimeno. These conversations were not only great tourist tips, but they built a bond between us.
Giulio and Daniela especially liked our children. Both took special time to point out to them interesting features of the grounds. One of these was the skin or shell of a cicada still completely intact and stuck to the bark of a canopy pine. Another time Giulio unlocked a door that had been marked “private” and led all four children down a set of steps into an enormous basement the size of the whole villa, pointing out the fireplaces and stacks of old furniture. At Terri’s request, took the kids into another previously locked section of the house. It was a room with two large stainless steel vats filled with the extra virgin olive oil pressed from the harvest of La Contea’s very own trees. With hand gestures and simple words, Giulio explained the process of pressing as he filled a container of extra virgin for our use in the kitchen.
The care Giulio and Daniela took with La Contea and with us was what finally eased our anxieties. The hot, restless nights, the creatures crawling on the walls, the remoteness of the location, and the thousands of bees circling the swimming pool had been disconcerting. Additionally, traveling with little children is a little on the nerve-wracking side. There is also the traveler’s anxiety that settles in on me at some point during every trip. Not exactly homesickness, it’s a discomfort rooted in the abundance of the unfamiliar and the cold hard fact of being so far from hearth and home. But La Contea went from adding to this anxiety to soothing it. We came to realize that being there wasn’t so much about accommodations as it was adventure and discovery. We had come to this understanding gradually, through the care of an elderly couple with whom we could barely speak. What we learned was that even without a common language, we could still communicate. Warmth and sincerity come through without words, and Giulio and Daniela had it in spades. We fell in love with them.
We also fell in love with the view. From nearly anywhere on the property the scenes are amazing. Far to the south sits Lake Trasimeno, a serene blue gray disc punctuated by the high castle walls of the medieval town of Castiglione del Lago. To the west sweeps the broad Valdichiana, centuries ago a marshland but now one of the most fertile farming areas in Tuscany. Beyond it are the smoky gray ridges of mountains running north and south, framing the backdrop of the valley like a beginner’s painting. From La Contea’s elevated perch, the colors and contours of this sweeping vista change with the position of the sun. Early morning produces a gray-green monochromatic look, sometimes with the low-lying areas blanketed by fog. Later in the morning, the scattered little towns and individual stone farmhouses almost twinkle, the whole area being an explosion of vivid colors; the tans of the wheat fields, the platinum of the olive trees, the dark sage of the woods, all punctuated by the dark green cypress spires. The hours before sunset are the best, though; the farmhouses glow as if they are lights plugged in for some special occasion.
The sounds, too, are inviting. In the morning it is quiet except for the birds, and an occasional church bell clanging up from some unidentifiable place in the valley below. By mid-day the cicadas have taken over, grinding angrily with what sounds like broken bows on rusty steel strings. Occasionally, the rumble of the train to Florence rises up from Terontola, accompanied by a distinct bell ringing for the street crossing. Many times at night, especially on weekends, music from parties and live performances comes in broken pieces up to La Contea’s terraces, never enough to be disturbing, but sufficient to let one know the valley below is alive, full of action and vigor.
Then there are the smells. One night I awoke for a brief moment and inhaled deeply the fresh air drifting in through the open oak shutters. It was so fresh it actually had a taste. It was both invigorating and a reminder that I was someplace foreign, remote, and alive. I don’t know the names for most of the flowers and trees, but their varied and pleasing aromas waft around me everywhere I go in Tuscany. Never one to have slowed for botany, I promised myself to expand in that direction. I simply had to learn more about some of these fascinating species, if only to plant them in my own back yard.
Many times throughout our days I would be interrupted by the view, or caught by a sound coming in briefly from the distance far below. I never grew tired of standing at one of the wooden railings, no doubt constructed long ago by Giulio himself, and peering out across this panorama. I became familiar with each little town and farmhouse, could easily spot the train station in Terontola, or catch the tiny blip of the train racing past buildings and cops of trees. The view was always on hand to remind me both that we were far from home, and also that we were blessed beyond measure.
As the days went by, La Contea began to feel more and more like home. Our early misgivings and complaints faded away. We teased ourselves for having been stereotypical American travelers, not happy unless every little comfort and luxury was perfectly provided exactly as we demanded at the moment. We settled in; we adapted; we began to fit ourselves into the mural instead of trying to wrench it to fit us. And the more we did, the more comfortable we became. The bees at the pool largely left us alone. The scorpions were rare and never did bother us. The villa was still hot at night but we didn’t care anymore, sleeping on our mattresses downstairs like it was the most normal thing in the world. Eventually, gradually, and thankfully, we began to feel more of our blessings and less of our needs, gaining one of the biggest features of a vacation of this nature: perspective.
What is travel if not a chance to change? What good are experiences if they don’t make us better? What good is solitude if we don’t use it to think and reflect? These and other realizations crept in unseen but still absorbed.
We grew to realize something about Italy as well. The rhythm of the place was entirely different from that to which we were accustomed. The allure of this place wasn’t only its landscape, history, beauty, food, and art, although there are enough of each of these to keep any traveler busy for a lifetime. What was so special was how different everything was at the core. It wasn’t just a change of scenery featuring good museums and monuments, but a different way of life. People in Italy lived differently, and in many ways we came to believe that they lived better. I have traveled all over the world and had never been as struck by this as I was with the Italians. Their siestas, their harmless displays of anger at each other (usually ending in laughter and hugs), their relaxed schedules, the complete absence of hurry (except on curving mountain roads), their focus on togetherness, their patience with foreigners mumbling through an order at a restaurant or a purchase at a grocery store, their politeness, their slowness to embrace or idolize technology, their love of talk, their seeming abundance of time available for another person, and their utter habit of beautifying everything they touch, from a plate of food to a stone farmhouse, all began blending into a mosaic in our minds of their way of life. Looking back, I know now that this is what we were really there to discover. In my previous rushed trips through this land, perhaps I had sensed it. Maybe it was what had made me want to come back, and to do so at a deeper level. I was on a treasure hunt, grasping for some fuzzy image of value I knew was there beneath the surface, unreachable when following along behind a tour guide, sticking to highly traveled tourist paths, or by adhering to a rigid itinerary. I had left the well-worn path of shallow sightseeing and discovered the proper tools for digging – and I had struck gold.
My real attraction to Italy was its people and their ways. It was, I became convinced, the secret to the country’s lasting allure. The merry Etruscan blood, the colonizing Greek blood, the organizing Roman blood, the conquering Norman blood, the creative and expressive Renaissance blood, is all still flowing through Italy’s veins. So much had happened here, and so much had been left as proof, from ruins to buildings to sculptures and tombs. But the biggest legacy is the people themselves, the best monument of all to the many lives that have been lived here before. This was Italy’s real secret.
I thought about these things and how the next generation is the best message we can ever send forward through the mystery of time. This is what Italy had taught me. This is what the Italians had taught me. Then I took a look at my own four, precious little children frolicking among the bees in the pool, and put down my pen to join them in their play.
The Art of Vacation:
Take-Alongs and Take-Aways
1. Vacation should not be as much about accommodations as adventure and discovery.
2. Ponder whether the best itinerary might be not having one at all.
3. People and their ways may be the most interesting (and rewarding) part of travel.
