Martini Mission in Montepulciano

We were on a mission all day to find a martini glass my father bought in Montepulciano ten years ago that has since broken. We are now convinced there is not a SINGLE martini glass to be found in all of Italy. We waited for one shop to re-open after “riposo” (that quiet time when things shut down). The shopkeeper was late, and while we waited, I leaned on the glass door to his shop. The sunblock on my arm left two huge smudges on the glass that caught his eye the second he returned. Luckily, I was standing across the street at this point—mortified to see him notice the big smears! I felt terrible but was convinced by my family not to run over and apologize. I am very glad I didn’t because he was a perfect ASS to us when we went in. We politely gave him a few minutes before descending upon him, even though he was 15 minutes late. No martini glasses. Never had them. He did, however, have some glassware that reminded me of the style of the martini glass, so I asked if he would mind if I took a photo of the little tag on one of the pieces so I could research if they made martini glasses. He said Si, he would, in fact, mind. What’s that Italian hand gesture that means !@#$%^&*? 

These photos are of Montepulciano and have nothing to do with the aforementioned ass.

                    

Tuscan hills in the distance. Placing the camera on the wall, set with a timer, restricted our angle, forcing us to feature more body and less scenery than I would have liked.

                    

Montepulciano Piazza.

                    

Even the ugly stuff is eye-catching in a not-unattractive way.

                                                          

I so wish I could have evesdropped. They talked animatedly for quite a while. What might they have been discussing? Some kind of service interruption—electric, water, gas…..A parade that’s shutting down the street later that day… or one that shut it down earlier? A mutual friend?  How ‘bout that Brunelli we had last night? I love a man in uniform. I love a woman dressed as a flamingo. You talkin ta me?

                                           

Kitty in a cage. He was not pleased with my advances.

                                         

Fred droppings!! His camera…..little foldable stool…. sketching supplies….. hmm… Fred Lynch is in our midst.

                      

LOVE THIS!!! To think a wine store might, in fact, have a self-service bar! Point me in that direction!

Basile Day

This is a post I’m so glad to write. One of our most special experiences in Italy every July is visiting with the Basile family. We lived next door to Mario and Assunta Basile our first year in Italy, in 2007. Three of their grown kids, and four grandchildren live in the area, so we got to know them as well. Alessia, one of the granddaughters, spent last Easter week with us here in the States, as she was attending high school in Kentucky for the year. 

We all speak Italian and English with varying levels of proficiency. And I do mean varying. One or two words for some of us, all the way to pretty much fluency now with Alessia. (The year in the States put her into this category.) So we have some fun communicating. Assunta and I speak very well together, considering the obstacles. But this year she told me my Italian was not as good as last year….. must work on this! You will always here straight talk from Assunta. No beating around the bush about how she feels. The Pope—this one and the last one—thumbs up. Berlusconi, thumbs up. Obama? Hmm… not so much.

Sometimes the day we spend with them is at the sea, once was at Mario and Assunta’s home, last year was at a restaurant, and this year, we gathered at Alessia’s family’s home in Vitorchiano (the next town over). Their house is beautiful, up on a hill overlooking rooftops of the neighbors. They have a pristine pool, a perfect green grass lawn (the only one I’ve seen all month!), a pizza oven (!), lemon and orange trees and two really cool spherical outdoor lamps that I must have.

The day often starts out with a smallish group of us, but as time goes on, more and more members of the family accumulate (always a surprise to us!), so that by 10 pm, there’s a gathering of 17. This time, we started with some coffee in the afternoon… and a swim.. and lots of chatting. Then some fizzy water…. then some prosecco… Next, grilled vegetables (including potatoes from our host’s mother’s garden), pork, sausages, bread, olive oil, cheeses, fruit, tiramisu, wine, wine, wine and finally, mirto, a digestivo made from the myrtle plant. The kids, whom we’ve watched grow up, sat at the kids’ table (just like a family celebration at home!)  Every year I ask Assunta the same question—accidentally, I should add: Do you all get together every Sunday? Oops. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I remembered this is a sore subject on any continent, apparently.

The Basiles are the best hosts and the warmest people. They allow us to be with their family for this day every year, the real gift being that they carry on the way they would as if there weren’t four non-family non-fluent-in-Italian people plopped down in their midst. They include us when they can, and sweep us along even when they can’t. It’s authentic Italian amore, and we are blessed.

Fred showing Assunta, Mario and Alessia his drawings of Viterbo. Assunta grew up in Viterbo and knows every via and vicola!

Happy swimmers.

If you look closely, you can see Mario in the pool—upper right corner.

Pizza oven chimney. The flowering plant is no worse for the wear.

Owen wants to build one in our yard. We said, you find the plans and we’ll make it happen. I think Fred and I were so enthusiastic about it, we scared him off.

Hot!

Potatoes aren’t just for Ireland anymore.

These are a kind of eggplant.

Roberto rinsing the roasted peppers.

These Cypress trees (which need to be groomed) are so densely packed they are hard as a rock!  I’d never been close enough to touch one!

HOT.

Mario admiring his daughter and son-in-law’s yard.

The potatoes were cut two ways. 

Olive oil. It’s just an every day commodity. We Americans have all kinds of fancy vessels for ours.

Father and daughter team.

My boys monitoring the situation.

Kids table! Owen, Henry, Alessia, friend Gabriele & cousin Leonardo! Later, the boys bonded by shooting bottle caps into each other’s cups. Who needs language?

The Fam! xoxoxox

Tuscany Day Trip

We always take a lot of day trips during the last week after classes end. This day, on the agenda were Montepulciano, Pienza and San Quirico d’Ostia. Beautiful honeymooner-type towns. My friend Peter Pappas and his family just got back from their favorite villa, for which the owners commissioned Fred to do a drawing for a label for either their wine or their olive oil. We forget. Anyway, we found it (easily) and dropped in to meet the brother of our contact. Gracious host. Beautiful spot.

                        

The boys and I were thrilled to have the company of this kitty.

But I was the happiest, being the only one not allergic.

                   

Notice the light to dark change. This happened almost every day for the first three weeks of our stay. Huge thunderstorms.

                   

Another picture-perfect piazza. Pienza, in this case.

                   

Grape lights!

                                        

Groups of old women are fixtures on every piazza.They’re almost as irresistible as CinqueCentos.

                   

"Gas" marked behind each chair. Need a better caption…..

                   

Ugliest flower ever?

                                

Ciao Bimba! 

                                  

I don’t like this monk’s body language. It says, “Who, me?”  

                   

I feel like I’m being watched.

                   

Cheese, Grommet!

                                   

Cutest shop, cutest proprietor. I bought a ring made from a wine bottle’s spout. Everything in the store is made (by her) from things people usually throw out. 

                   

Pienza is a town (like our own, Viterbo) that is on the Roma via Francigena, an ancient road and pilgrim route running from France to Rome. In mediaeval times, it was followed by those wishing to visit the tombs of the apostles Peter and Paul. This charming ceramic signs pop up often.

                   

Badass Henry Lynch.

                   

Small boy with smaller dog.

                   

The man responsible for all of this.

                   

Where’s Waldo? (Find the cat.)

                   

Sun setting on Tuscany.

CinqueCentoCharm

I love these little gems and cannot not shoot when I see one. The shot of my dreams (which I’ve never been quick enough to capture) is a Cinquecento with an elderly, well-dressed couple in it. (This is not rare.) Second best would be just the man. (Also not rare, just always unexpected. And they move quickly.)   

   

Back in the 'Hood

Last year’s apartment was next to a very friendly older woman (who spoke no English) with whom we would chat, balcony to balcony during our cocktail hour. She was very warm and interested in us, and in Fred’s art. Her friend lived just above, and would sometimes pop out on her balcony. The two of them would exchange things (cup of sugar, for example) using a long pole with a hook on the end (used to pull out canopies to protect the balconies from the sun) with a mesh basket on the end. This is how we passed Fred’s Viterbo art book across from our balcony to hers.   

Here are two shots showing one of the women passing the bag all the way down to a friend on the street.        This year, Fred and I took a walk over to the old apartment to buy wine from the shop on the ground level of the building. As soon as we turned the corner, guess who greeted us. Good to be back.      

Word on the Street

There’s this little street along the edge of Pienza (which is a lovely town, by the way), and it has four streets that are perpendicular to it. The first one I noticed was Via Del Bacio. 

                      

Street of the Kiss. I thought, how sweet! I’d love to live on a street called that.

The next street was Via Dell’Amore. 

                          

Street of Love. REALLY sweet, I thought. The city planner must’ve been a real romantic. I wonder what the next street’s called.

Via Della Fortuna. 

                         

Street of Fortune. I excused myself from the family and told them I needed to check out that fourth and final street.

Via Buia.

                         

Street of Dark, Black, Somber. 

Talk about a buzz kill.