Camogli by the sea. Done. While we’re sad to leave that quintessentially Mediterranean gorgeousness, another landscape awaited us in Bettola. Some of our dearly departed lived, made families, and worked here many years ago, and some, generations later, still do.
We’ve been here before in a series of mishaps and misadventures that I won’t bore you with, but this time, we are staying in a for-real hotel, which is quite upscale and lovely, with thoughtful touches in every room, with a view of the hillsides quilted in greens and a blazing sun overhead. It’s nearly fall, and olives are making their way toward becoming oil, trees are slightly crispy at the edges, and the flowers here are much less tropical than in Camogli since we are a few hours north.
Our host makes us wonderful breakfasts, and we’ve been exploring. We went to a family farm known originally for being the actual farm that Christopher Columbus’s family owned. (And maybe George Washington slept here too…) One side is derelict, and one side is updated. Two houses in one; two related owners who cannot agree to sell or not, which leaves one house side occupied and enjoyed, and the other boarded up and disintegrating slowly from neglect. The stable has an old-style timber roof, with a cantina for storage below. The view is stunning at the top of the hill, with the town and opposing hillsides glowing in the sun, and I thought of the partisans in WW2 and how they would hide in the countryside and the woods, wondering how people got around and did so much all on foot. I read too much.
Yesterday was also ‘Fabulous Lunch’ day — we were visiting with local people (the lovely Francesco and his equally lovely mother) and they simply kept ordering for everyone. I have to say, we had to beg off on several courses called ‘secundi piati’ — second plates. It is mushroom season, and one of my favorite things is the fungi that is presented here in October!!!! OMG (picture me kissing my fingers at the sight). We didn’t eat the rest of the day and had a fresh peach for dinner.
It is easy to enjoy the change in location when it’s a sweet small town, and a sweet small square, on Alpini day — a celebration of the heroism and bravery of the forces of the Alpini, a mountain infantry force that serves with great pride … See the logo? The hat is a part of the whole deal. No Italian would think to have a fashionless uniform, of course. I even got shown an old bell tower that is semi-hidden behind their headquarters, a gift of Maria Theresa of Hungary some decades and a century past. To celebrate they hold a festa, and serve polenta, which is known for its low cost and high energy.
Today, Monday, was market day, set up in the Christopher Columbus square, the statue in the center surrounded by trucks and merchants of all sorts. Buy your shoes, clothes, fruits, and household items — WalMart on wheels. Even today, as a hundred years ago, they manage to make a living bringing in goods to these small villages that don’t sustain larger economies. People dress here in ways that make us look like bums. Completely done — hair, jewelry, high heels, matching jackets, purses, and dresses, with that little something extra in each thing they wear, even to market, maybe especially to market. Always a little something extra. And some of it was at the market too, so they know their audience! We spent some time with a bookstore/dressmaker shop set in combination as husband and wife; each store about ten feet wide, sporting a shared doorway. No backstock here! Slow and steady, it’s very appealing for breathing and taking a long view of your life.
I spoke to you about the presentation of a plaque in Soglio at the San Michele festival before, and how odd it was. Today I received a snapshot of the local paper where we Americani were all posed around the plaque, and the notes said (we think) that we as descendants of people from the area we came from San Fransisco to pay for a replacement plaque for the cemetery built in 1935. Notoriety is such a fickle mistress.
I’ve not spoken about their heat. Normally it is quite cool here when we come, but they tell us that this has been a difficult year. The river is dry, and the stones strewn at the river bottom lay out in the sun without a drop to cover themselves with. And that same sun feels uncomfortably hot too, so we disappear in the middle of the day back to the hotel.
Tonight, as the highlight of our final night in Bettola, we have a dinner reservation at our own hotel, La Vecchia Quercia — celebratory in nature, as we begin the slow snap back to everyday life. It is nice to end our trip here, with our sweet little village home cooling from a hot day, quiet, and ready to pack up for the trek to Milan tomorrow.
The big city awaits. They had an international fashion show two weeks ago, and we missed it. Darn. No what will we do to hold our collective heads up when we all are in tennis shoes, and obviously have no style whatsoever?
Onward! Wishing you peace and as much love as you can stand. Or a tiny Fiat…
