Siamo Qui. We are here.
You know those postcards you see of the Mediterranean Sea by Portofino? The ones where the colorful houses line up in layers like so many Lego blocks climbing up the hill with the sea twinkling below — here — much like the movie ‘Luca’. It’s really our tourist stop, which I usually avoid, but since our traveling companion Chris has roots near here, siamo qui.
Laundry — we drew straws — actually breadsticks — to get ourselves in order. Our undies and outies are all hanging out various windows, Italian style. We are fortunate to have a washer, but no one ever has a dryer, so window-lines it is. We are also a couple of levels above the train station which has a calming regularity to its various noises. The fast train roars through, the freights travel at night mostly, and passengers about every hour or less. It’s not disturbing to me, although I worried that it might be, and in fact, I barely hear it after 12 hours as more than a calming hum. To go between layers one walks the abundant stairways, or every so often, finds an elevator that connects several layers. The beach is the small gravel type, not the flour-white sand of some places, but there are people out there swimming day and night.
We are still greatly amused by our San Michaele di Soglio celebration. We were stars for a moment. Carlo, a local guy who works harder than anyone at these things, came up to us in the middle of the Macarena (don’t disturb dancing!), insisting that we Americans come and take a photo with the mayor (the Sindaco, known for his ribbon prominently worn across his torso) himself, and the priest, Don Marco. He handed us a plaque, and waved it around, talking about the generations of families of that parish who had come back years later and given so much back. We posed, people applauded, we were embarrassed — yes we had given them a significant donation — but it was small — to buy a computer for their archives. The punch line? The photo was posted on Facebook by our friend Carlo, and the translation of the plaque says something about how we were there to commemorate a new plaque from the cemetery that was placed there in 1930, well before any of us were born! We were played! Nicely done Carlo!
Our last night in Soglio was hosted by the son of a cousin’s cousin, a man who has done well for himself. I must tell you that this is our first giant Italian family celebration — mostly family of the host, 7 of us Americans, and one Chilean with local roots. They served about 45 of us with 11 various courses, (veggie, stuffed artichoke, spinach flan, potato torte, focaccia, tomatoes, sliced antipasto prosciutto and salumi, cold slaw-type salad ) pasta pesto and a barbecued veal, Brazilian-style. Following that came 5 — five! — separate desert courses that became more unbelievable with each course. and naturally, water, wine, and coffee. Loud and remarkable. We had just attended our first big family-style outrageous dinner and left the crowd cheering on a young versus old competitive foosball game. I said he was successful — a contractor, he also had an 8-car garage with 20-foot ceilings.
Now we are here — an hour or so away, in another version of postcard paradise. No parking, as the narrow roads don’t do well and they don’t accommodate either. Six inches on the side of the white line is sufficient for someone to use as the base of a parking spot. Here, there is nothing that qualifies as a two-lane road, but everything accommodates as needed. We breathe, inward, sucking in our breath to narrow our profile a bit, but does it help???
Fortunately Lew is a calm and steady driver, and John Lavezzi is our sidearm navigator, so we have slithered and shimmied through it all like we knew what we were doing.
We are here for four hopefully, bright sunlit days in an apartment that was constructed in 1850, and has the old ceilings and floors that one could find in those days — painted angels and flowers above, and terrazzo designs below, twelve-foot ceilings, those fabulous five-foot Italian windows that crank up, down, in and out, and side to side. The same family has lived here all this time, and we even have a kitchen table upgraded to a marble top, but with a hole in its base for a rolling pin! Too cool…