Holy Smokin’ Alfa Romeo

After 10 days in Italy what impresses me most is the careful way in which the land is tended. The country is a visual feast. There is no junk: no trashy yards, no cars on blocks. It's not perfect. I’ve seen some litter along the roads and even in the woods at the top of hill that Montestigliano sits on, but mostly the towns and countryside are postcard-perfect.

Spring comes a bit earlier to Tuscany than to Cascadia. The tulips are just past prime, the cherry trees are in full bloom. The fields are emerald green with new wheat about a foot tall, and in the valley below the hill on which our farmhouse sits, a swath of bright yellow rape seed (canola oil seed) draws the eye. It seems that nearly every hill has a walled town or castle dating back a thousand years or so. The contrast of old stone, weathered and pocked, surrounded by new spring growth is, to me, a stunning expression of continual renewal. It is a place to me of abounding hope.

We are a resourceful trio of travelers. We have not found Italians, overrun as they are by tourists, to be exuberantly friendly. But they are more than willing to respond to a request for help. Between our Portuguese/Spanish/French and their (sometimes quite good) English, we have managed to get where we wanted to go. Perhaps with less flair than we might have in an Anglophone place, we are doing pretty darn well. But then there is the driving of our 6 cylinder, diesel, Alfa Romeo, 4-door, intermediate-sized, honkin’ sedan through medieval villages on narrow little streets and tiny arched gates designed a thousand years ago for ox carts.

The roads are actually quite well-marked. You just have to get good at reading 6-10 pointing arrows at a glance. You also have to pay attention to the signs that say one way, no entry, and don’t park here. We don’t know why we see so many cars parked under no-parking signs, but we are sure whatever exemption those cars have doesn’t apply to us. HOWEVER, we did learn that our handicapped placard from the States allows us to drive through the medieval gates past the no entry signs and right into the center of the hill towns, carefully passing all of the tourists trudging up the hill. We were pretty pleased with this arrangement, that is until we took a wrong turn.

We ended up pointed down a steep narrow hill to an archway we would never get through and into a corner we would never manage to turn. A passing pedestrian said to us as we sat there trying to figure out what we were going to do something like “Don’t go there, it will rip your car to shreds.” So I got out of the car and Kath backed and straightened, and backed and straightened while I guided her back up the hill. In case you’ve never driven an Alfa Romeo, I pause to note that the rear deck is extremely high and you can’t see squat out the back. After what seemed like an eternity but was probably about 5 minutes, we were at the top of the hill and pointed in the correct direction. This however, was only after we had the complete attention of everyone within a one-block radius and had filled the air, the car, and our clothes with the acrid smell of a burning clutch. Noses wrinkled as we walked by. Seriously! Two days later, we can still smell it in the car which, fortunately, seems to be running fine. Shaken but whole however, we have motored on, a bit more cautious about where we take the car.

Today is our last day in Tuscany. Tomorrow we go to the Mediterranean coast. As of yesterday it was raining there, so I am hoping for an improvement in the weather. On Sunday we are going to Genoa, where I will meet my 3rd cousin Luciana and her family. I am very excited about this. I know little about my Italian roots (my mother’s side of the family), but expect to learn more. Luciana has letters that my great grandfather wrote to his brother (her great grandfather) in the early 1900’s. We should have a great time.

Ciao,
Rosemary