Climbing Monte Piglione—this day could not have been better!

Davide and me on the northern
peak of Monte Piglione.

I had the privilege of hiking in the Alpi Apuane mountains Saturday with perhaps the second best guida turistica in Italy, Davide Seghieri (sorry, Davide, but the top tour guide is still your wife Elena). Of course, Davide is not actually a guide by profession, but he certainly chose an ideal destination and route, not to mention that he also ordered up perfect weather—clear and mild.

The rugged peak of Monte Croce, which is also visible from our terrazza. With a cameo appearance from a bird.

We drove together for about an hour northwest of Montecarlo, past the village of Pescaglia, before the road turned too rough to continue by car. We started hiking at an altitude of perhaps 600 meters (about 2,000 feet), and it took us about an hour and a half of steady hiking to reach the northern peak of Monte Piglione, which has an altitude of 1,233 meters (4,045 feet). We stayed at the top for a half hour while we ate a light lunch and marveled at the 360-degree view.

The weather-worn trailhead sign.

Because of the unusual clarity of the air, looking west we were able to see the Ligurian sea and the cities of Viareggio, Pisa, Livorno and La Spezia. We could also faintly see through a light haze the islands of Elba, Corsica and Capraia—and even all the way to the mountains above the Italian and French Rivieras.

The peninsulas and the small island in the background protrude beyond the bay of La Spezia. Monte Matanna is in the center.

Here we are on the ridge ready to climb to the northern peak.

Looking north, south and east, we saw dozens of other mountains, including the impressive gray cliffs of Monte Croce, Monte Matanna, Monte Prana and the interestingly named Foce del Pallone, which translates as “mouth of the balloon.” As Davide explained to me and I later looked up online, the ridge is named after a balloon that became famous in 1910 and 1911 when a wealthy family that owned a resort and restaurant on Monte Matanna found an unusual way to transport customers up the mountain. They used a large balloon attached to cables that could lift as many as six people at a time. The balloon lift, though expensive, quickly became famous and carried wealthy people, including the king of Belgium, up to the exclusive lodge. However, its success only lasted six months, because one cold and windy day in February of 1911, a violent storm destroyed the balloon and its hanger.

Here we're looking south to Monte Prana, with the Mediterranean Sea and Viareggio in the background.

Davide told me the names of many of the other surrounding mountains, and it seems he has climbed at least half of the major ones. Monte Piglione actually has two peaks about 1150 meters from each other, connected by a ridge. We ate lunch on the northern peak and then walked to the slightly lower southern peak. From there, we could see Montecarlo, so now I knew that Monte Pigliano is one of the mountains we can see from the terrazza in our home. I waved to Lucy and even called her on the phone, but it was only in our vivid imaginations that we could see each other from such a great distance.

In this view from our terrazza, Monte Piglione is just to the right of the tree trunk. Note that there are two peaks, joined by a ridge. Davide and I are waving to you from the southern peak, ha! On the far right is Monte Croce.

Ripe blackberries on the trail.

Davide makes a great hiking companion, as we seem to have similar personalities. I was pleased that I was mostly able to keep up with him, since he is 14 years younger and extremely fit. For my benefit, he chose a destination that was only moderately taxing, and it is one that I will definitely want to repeat. Who wants to join me next time? 

My first cinghiali siting in Tuscany!

Finally, finally, I saw a cinghiale—a wild boar—in Toscana! Actually three cinghiali at once, in a ditch near the Lago di Sibolla. We’ve been coming to Italy for months at a time since 2011, we live in a relatively rural area, and we like going hiking in the woods, so it’s surprising to me that previously we’ve never seen a single boar.

Not my photo, but a good representation of what I saw.

We’ve seen many places where cinghiali have disturbed the ground to dig up roots, and we think we heard some rustling in the bushes at the Padule di Fucecchio once (we ran away, so we’ll never know what it was). We’ve seen a fox (three times), wolves (once), and last year I saw a deer crossing the road coming up the hill to Montecarlo. Last week, after doing some bird-watching at Lake Sibolla (I watched at least 100 herons in simultaneous flight), I rode my bike on a nearby trail that ran along a mostly dry canal. With a squeal of alarm, up popped a big boar, followed by a sow and a cinghialino. They fled up the opposite bank, too quickly for me to get a photo, and disappeared into the bushes.

A typical hunters' blind.

The website Italy Segreta says that the wild boar population in Tuscany is estimated at 150,000, while their only wild predators, wolves, number around 530. The site goes on the say: “. . . wild boar populations have risen exponentially. To boost the boar-hunting industry, national park authorities introduced a stronger and more ‘prolific’ species of Northern European wild boar from the 1950s until 2010, when they realized population numbers had gotten out of hand. These sows can give birth to a dozen boarlets every six months, which grow to be strong and, often, dangerous; an adult boar can weigh up to 200kg and stand up to a meter tall. Boar cause over 2,000 car accidents a year and some direct injuries—although deaths from (the bullets of) hunters during the boar hunt are more common (than deaths from collisions).”

Tuscany has a love-hate relationship with cinghiali, as many restaurants offer pappardelle al ragu di cinghiali and other specialties made with the prized meat.

“When it comes to wild boar meat nutrition, domestic pork can’t even begin to compare,” says the website of the butcher shop Beck & Bulow of Sante Fe, New Mexico. “This meat is a great source of zinc and healthy monounsaturated fats. It also contains thiamine, riboflavin and niacin. These vitamins help our bodies to convert food into energy, boosting metabolism, nervous system and brain function. Wild boar is very lean and much lower in cholesterol and calories than pork, while containing higher levels of protein. Because they are wild animals, wild boar enjoy a robust nature and are far less prone to illness and disease than domesticated pigs. Our wild boar meat contains zero sodium, while farmed pork contains extremely high levels. For this reason, wild boar is a much healthier choice for heart health.”

The hunting season in Tuscany usually runs for four months, from October through January, though only for three days per week: Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday. Our home is near enough to a forested area that we can hear the popping of rifle shots in the morning hours. I’ve also walked through the woods during the off-season and witnessed several hunting blinds. Once, when hiking in the Valleriana area, Lucy and I found a large pile of bread scraps, obviously left by hunters hoping that the cinghiali would become accustomed to coming to that area for a good meal—and then become a good meal themselves when hunting season began.

A field of corn devasted by cinghiali in Toscana.

The main complaint that Italians have is that cinghiali wreak havoc on farmlands. A herd can quickly destroy many acres of corn, wheat and other grains. They also eat grapes and dig up roots in vineyards. The website Visit Tuscany writes that “a 50 kg boar needs around 4,000-4,500 calories per day . . . a boar may weigh from 50 to 180 kg and eats bulbs, tubers, roots, acorns, wheat, corn, eggs, birds, small rodents . . . almost everything.” I’ve seen television interviews with frustrated farmers who claim that cinghiali have destroyed as much as 50 percent of their crops. They also devastate natural fauna, which contributes to erosion and flood damage.

Here is a grassy field torn up by a herd of cinghiali.

While hunting is a popular sport in Tuscany and other regions, hunters can’t keep up with the burgeoning boar population. It seems that any effort to reduce the population results in the sows simply giving birth to greater numbers of cinghialini, so the numbers actually increase.

So with all the cinghiali out there, I doubt that the three I saw last week will be the last. Hopefully, Lucy will be with me next time, so she too can experience the thrill of discovery. And hopefully, the cinghiali will once again run in the opposite direction.

Rat poop on the wall . . . not at all

What would you rather have in your house, rats or lizards? We were warned that in case a schiera—houses attached to each other—rats could easily find a way to move from one attic to the next. Before we remodeled our attic in 2017 and 2018, we saw ample evidence that rodents had made themselves at home there, but each year I added more barriers. I sprayed foam insulation or stuffed steel wool in every possible gap, but I still found rat droppings each time we returned, even though I’ve never in my nine years actually witnessed an offender.

Found on our wall . . .

I had hoped that this fall would be the exception, because in the spring I had plugged even the tiniest of holes—or so I thought. But once more, around the walls of the attic, I saw the characteristic pellets. But wait, why were two of them stuck to the smooth sheetrock wall? A close-up examination and a quick web search revealed the answer: We don’t have rats in the attic; we have wall geckos! They are the source of the droppings, not rats, as the images clearly show.

According to pest control experts and lizard specialists, geckos are much preferrable to rats. Though there are some internet posts about the dangers of geckos, the scientific information I found says these claims are false, and the truth is that geckos pose no threat to people.

Dr. Jeanne Tarrant of the Endangered Wildlife Trust in South Africa, said in an email to a French news agency that geckos are not harmful to humans and “actually provide a service by eating insects and spiders around your house.”

“Humans and house geckos have been living alongside each other for hundreds if not thousands of years, with no detriment to humans,” she wrote. “It really would not be recommended to try to eliminate them from your home.”

Professor Aaron M. Bauer, a biodiversity specialist at Villanova University in Pennsylvania and a world authority on geckos—he even has a species named after him—echoed Tarrant’s comments.

Biting, he said, is highly unusual in geckos and, in any event, you’d receive nothing more than an unpainful nip on the off chance you try to handle one. 

Salmonella transmission is similarly unlikely, he explained: “Geckos, like many reptiles, can carry salmonella although such transmission is not common, and it is easily avoided. Geckos are probably less likely to transmit salmonella than other reptiles that have larger, wetter fecal material.”

On the other hand, rat poop is much more dangerous. Web MD says: “Because contact with rat poop and pee can lead to dangerous and life-threatening infections, use extreme caution when cleaning. Inhaling particles from rat droppings can cause diseases like hantavirus, so be very careful not to clean up the droppings in a way that kicks up dust, like sweeping or vacuuming.”

How the geckos get in the attic and why they are always gone when we arrive is still a mystery, but an obvious part of the answer is their small size and streamlined shape. I’ll probably never be able to keep them out, but their presence probably explains why we have so few spiders and other bugs. Since they live primarily on the walls, cleaning up after them just means running the vacuum cleaner hose around the baseboard each time we return, not a bad trade-off for the organic pest control services they provide. And incomparably better than rats.

 

We're happy to be in a mostly unchanged alternate reality

We’re back living in our alternate reality, experiencing la dolce vita in our Tuscany home in the lively and lovely hilltop village of Montecarlo. What’s new is always the first question on our minds when we arrive.

Lucy relaxes in the cool of the morning.

We’ve never been here before in August, so one question concerns the heat. How bad is it, really, to endure day after day of temperatures in the 90s (or 30s, as 95f = 35c), without air conditioning? It turns out that it’s not terrible, so long as we have nothing to do and can stay inside. Since our home is made of stone, is joined to other buildings and doesn’t have an overabundance of windows, there aren’t many places that the outside heat can get inside. Also, we are at a slightly higher elevation than the surrounding cities, and we catch some breezes. Right now, it is 96 in Montecarlo and 98 in nearby Altopascio, which is on the plain below. We don’t have an inside thermometer here, but it’s definitely bearable in our living room, especially with a couple of fans going. I can’t imagine how miserable I’d be if I was standing in a line waiting to enter a museum in Rome right now.

Construction on the Torre degli Spadoni has actually commenced! It was first announced to be done in 2023, and then re-scheduled to begin early in 2024, but as of May the only thing we’d seen done was temporary fencing installed to keep the public out of the work zone. Now about one third of the outer walls have been patched and repainted. The one window at the bottom has been boarded over, so we can’t see if anything has been done inside, but I suspect not. Plans call for the installation of a spiral staircase that will take visitors to the top, and also for the addition of lights to illuminate it from below, and more lights at the top. Our beautiful sign is still on the door.

How about our elusive kitchen drain, that seven years ago we paid to have connected to the sewer system? In the last conversation I had with our contractor/downstairs neighbor, he indicated that the drain would be connected this summer when he did some remodeling in his part of the building. Nope, the sink still drains into the field. Why am I not surprised? But like Charlie Brown when Lucy holds the football for him, I’m still optimistic. Stupid, maybe, but I’d rather live with stupid and optimistic than angry, upset and combative.

Opening my mailbox when we arrive is always slightly daunting. In 2018, I received notifications from the Agenzia delle Entrate (Italian IRS) that I owned about 800 euros in taxes for purchases and sales I had allegedly made in 2014 and 2015. I tried to explain that I had not even been in Italy during the times these transactions took place, but nobody at the agency seemed interested in listening to me. Was my case ever dismissed? It’s doubtful. I keep expecting that some eager new agent at the AE will come across my file and send out a new threatening letter, but once again, there was nothing new in my mailbox. In this situation, I can be thankful for the inefficiency of Italian bureaucracy.

Overall, then, little has changed here, which is fine with us. Our house is in good shape, we’re on good terms with our neighbors, our city is still lively and lovely, and we’re free to relax and enjoy the sweetness of doing nothing for the next six weeks.

 

  

The Villa di Vorno will soon be helping travelers on the pilgrim trail—and hopefully we will too

With Shandra at the future Villa di Vorno

During our years of living in Toscana, we’ve heard countless references to the Via Francigena, an ancient pilgrimage route running from Canterbury, England, through France, Switzerland and Italy to Rome. The route has particular relevance for us because it runs through both Lucca and Altopascio. One of its many variants actually passes through Montecarlo.

I could, and probably will, someday devote an entire blog to this important trail, but what has me particularly excited at this moment is that Lucy and I could be involved in future years in helping modern day pilgrims on their journey through our section of Italy. An old friend, Don Mansfield, recently called to let us know that an organization Lucy and I were active in during our college years is purchasing a convent in Vorno that will be used to host travelers walking on the Via Francigena.

“No way!,” I said to Don. “I can see Vorno from here, on my terrazza.” On the west side of our house, we look out across the plain of Lucca, where we can see the mountains that separate Lucca from Pisa. Vorno is on the hillside, near the source of the Aqueduct of Nottolini, the main water source for Lucca. “Way,” Don replied, and he gave us the contact information for the person in charge of arranging the purchase of the convent, Shandra Galloway.

Shandra has been a long-time staff member of Cru, and she is currently in Lucca working on the many steps that will be required to arrange the purchase. Cru was founded in 1951 by Bill Bright as Campus Crusade for Christ, and it has a branch here operating under the name Agape Italia. Shandra took us on a tour of the grounds of the convent, which is named the Casa di Preghiere Sorelle Dorotee—the house of prayer of the sisters of Saint Dorothy. The villa, once a vacation home of the wealthy Mansi family of Lucca, was donated by the family to the sisters. It is now primarily maintained by only two elderly nuns. They have offered to sell to Cru at a very reasonable price because they know that the property will be used to offer hospitality in the name of Christ, Shandra said.

The villa is a 17,000 square foot, four-story home with 20 bedrooms—each with a private bathroom—a professional kitchen, several great rooms, two chapels and an expansive terrace. It sits on four acres, including an olive grove, fruit trees and a small vineyard, and when the purchase is finalized, it will be known as the Villa di Vorno Pilgrimage House. Excerpts from the Cru vision statement describe how the villa will be used:

Most pilgrims arrive in the afternoon. They will be greeted by a group of volunteers who have been trained to welcome people into the Villa, give them an orientation of what is available to them during their stay, and show them to their room. The greeters will be like Porters in the Benedictine Tradition—welcome people, offer them a cup of cold water, an espresso, or tea, and show them the place. In their room, there will be a short description of who we are and a free Bible with some highlighted “travel narratives” that they can take along with them. They can rest and shower before dinner, take care of any physical ailments, connect with other pilgrims, or spend time reflecting on their journey.

There will also be an opportunity for prayer and a brief voluntary chapel service before dinner. Dinner will be prepared and served by volunteers at around 7 pm (a little early for Italians, but pilgrims tend to rise early to walk in the cool of the day). At dinner, one of the volunteers or staff will share their own spiritual journey. The staff and volunteers will offer to stay around after dinner if anyone wants to talk further about their faith or questions about faith. Staff and pilgrims will be trained on how to enter gentle conversations and share their faith.

Each of the pilgrims will be given some stationery, a pen, and a poem template. They will be encouraged to write an “I Am From” poem before they leave and post them on the guest-wall so other pilgrims can read them (there will also be a wall on the Villa di Vorno website where they can post their poems.

In the morning, there will be a light breakfast (pastries & coffee) and a blessing given to the pilgrims as they set out on the next leg of their journey. When pilgrims leave, the staff and volunteers will clean and prep for the next group; and they will have the opportunity to walk a short leg of the trail or explore the cities of Lucca, Pisa, and on longer breaks, Cinque Terre or Florence.

This courtyard could be used to 
welcome travelers or serve as
an outside dining area.

Shandra said that Cru is already operating a similar and very successful guest house in Spain, and there is already a waiting list of volunteers. She foresees that church groups will be eager to sign up to spend a week in Italy to serve as hosts. Shandra and her husband are American, but both lived in Florence for many years and speak Italian, so they will likely live on the site and direct operations. The ministry will also need a few other full-time staff members for ongoing operations and to train each group of volunteers.

Lucy and I will very likely be among the volunteers, and until the sale is completed, we’ll also try to help in other ways. We introduced Shandra at our church in Altopascio on Sunday, and that could open some valuable relationships. We also introduced her to Luigi Spadoni, who operates a vital organization that ministers to the needy around the world. By coincidence, the headquarters of Spazio Spadoni is only 13 minutes by car from Vorno. Luigi gave Shandra some vital tips based on his experiences and expertise, and no doubt he will be a valuable resource in the coming years. He has a broad background in both business and charitable services.

Luigi Spadoni & Shandra meet at Spazio Spadoni
for an exchange of friendship and knowledge.

The earliest the Villa at Vorno could open would be the fall of 2024, perhaps on a trial basis. At this point, Cru does not have all the 3 million euros needed to close the sale, and the organization is still looking for more donors. Cru could possibly rent the villa while fund-raising continues. However it works out, it’s going to be fun to watch as this exciting ministry develops further. For additional information, photos and a chance to contribute to the cause, you can check out the website for Villa di Vorno.

We are among 21 montecarlesi at a sublime evening of masterful music

Featuring guest author Lucy Spadoni
Did you ever hear the story about a violinist playing in a subway? People would pass by, a few staying to listen for a while before busily moving on. The violinist is revealed to be a world-famous musician with an equally great violin, a master that people would pay hundreds of dollars to hear? Well….

It was a Sunday night in Montecarlo. We were tired from our day’s excursions, and Paul was suffering from pollen allergies. But we had put on our calendar that there was a free concert nearby, in the old church—really just a large room now—down the street. Maybe we could leave if we got tired. Paul worried he might drift off, as he is famous for doing this during concerts and movies. But we grabbed our books and went to get early seats.

There were only about 25 chairs set up—a fact that surprised me. Only one other person was there so far. In front there was alone a small, old piano-like instrument (a clavicembalo in Italian, harpsichord in English). I ventured up to look at it and take pictures. It had fewer metal wires compared to a piano, wooden keys, and it was painted with pale green and gold paint. Soon a man came in and started tuning it, using his phone app to check the tones. He is Gabriele Micheli, the harpsichord player, a handsome man with an expressive face.

People started coming in and almost filled the chairs. Violinist David Monti, who specializes in baroque (barocco) music. The evening is called Il Mio Viaggio in Musica—My Journey in Music. Maestro Monti introduced the concept of the evening and asked (in Italian) if anyone needed a translator. Paul and I can get by, so we kept silent, though Paul said afterwards that he wondered how anyone who didn’t speak Italian could have understood the question.

The free evening was sponsored by the comune of Montecarlo, which desires to bring diverse European music to its citizens. That night was music from 1645 to 1720 with composers Uccellini, Corelli, Francoeur and J.S. Bach. (At this point I was sorry my Italian couldn’t keep up). The Italian magazine Il Cittadino has described Monti as “capable of combining energy and talent resulting in natural expressiveness. Davide Monti is an all-round artist: director, soloist, accompanist and chamber musician. Critics recognize his ‘incredible freshness’ where ‘everything appears extraordinarily spontaneous and organic.’ ”

Then, for the next one and a half hours, we were taken back in time to what it was like long before electronics, where this room would have been packed with people, where kings down to peasants and civilians and soldiers would have stood quietly to hear these virtuoso musicians flawlessly and with emotion bring to them such music. The violinist did all by memory. Sometimes the violin sounded like many violins, wonderful in this old church’s acoustics. By his eyes and body movements he would coordinate with the harpsichordist the music’s pace and intent. He would rise on his toes, sway, and both men expressed the music also through their eyes and facial expressions. It all was astounding!

After and during, there was clapping and more clapping, standing ovations, and three encores. The 21 people, including Paul, were all amazed that these men had honored them by sharing their lives and their music.

I myself cried, not just for the music but for knowing these men had prepared all their lives for this moment in a bare room, with a small audience—the years of practice, memorizing, concerts, dances, holidays, sharing music with their families. Truly they were demonstrating their life journeys with music woven throughout. Someday they will be gone, as will we, but for that one evening these men gave their hearts to play and play for 21 people. We were so very grateful.

Amazon.it has helped overcome dread of speaking Italian on the phone

I have to chuckle when I see the book we have next to the toilet in the bathroom: Italian in Three Months. Somebody should have written a book more geared to my learning curve. They could have called it Learn Barely Passable Italian in Just 25 Years. It seems strange that I’m pretty good at English—good enough to have been a newspaper journalist, book author, English and journalism teacher, freelance writer for magazines—but such a slow learner in Italian.

It's not something that I let discourage me, but rather I take the attitude of the turtle. I will get there eventually, if I keep moving forward, and what I can do now is adequate for my needs. I’ve long since overcome my fears of making mistakes, which is an essential hurdle in learning a new language. Often I recognize the mistake as soon as it tumbles out of my mouth, but I soldier on, knowing that my meaning was probably clear enough despite persistent grammatical butcheries.

I normally look forward to opportunities to practice and improve my Italian, but there is one context that I’ve dreaded and avoided over the years: speaking on the telephone. Communication without visual cues is different. People can’t see the look of confusion on my face when they finish their torrent of instructions and questions, so after a few moments of silence while I slowly try to process their words, I often have to say: “Non ho capito tutto. Puoi repetire, per favore?”

However, thanks to some high-level bungling by Amazon.it, I recently have received a lot of valuable practice. Looking on the bright side, I thank Amazon.it for forcing me to practice my Italian while speaking on the telephone, as I had to make eight different phone calls to solve a very simple problem. The feeling of triumph at the end of my struggle almost made up for the two weeks of frustration and fist-pounding that my desk had to endure.

I had set up my Amazon.it account a couple of years ago, and everything worked flawlessly. Orders came quickly and efficiently. We could watch movies on Prime, choosing either English or Italian as the language, even adding subtitles to some shows. But between last year and this spring, the company added an extra layer of security: a two-step login process that required me to enter a code that had been sent by text to my American cell phone number.

I have an Italian cell phone that I use here, and I can’t access my American phone, so I couldn’t complete the login. Without being able to access my account, I couldn’t change the phone number, and there was no option to have the code sent to my email address. I did, after some clicking around, find an option to deactivate the two-step verification process, which required me to send a copy of an identification document. I then received an automated email which said my request was being reviewed by the responsible department, and I would hear from them in 24-48 hours.

Two days later, still unable to login, I repeated the process. Two more days later, I bit the bullet and called the help line. The rest is a bit of a blur. I do know that I explained the situation to eight different people. One of them put me on hold and then hung up on me in the middle of my explanation, but the other seven were extremely kind, patient and sympathetic. They spoke slowly and repeated themselves when asked. However, over the course of the conversations, it became clear that they did not have the power to deactivate the two-step login process, no matter how many security questions I answered correctly. In the end, the best they could do was send me a link to the department responsible for this procedure, which did not include the possibility of actually sending a message. I just had to enter my login name and then send my identity document, with no chance to say I had already done this twice with no result. Nevertheless, I did send my identity document for a third time. First, I used my passport. Then, I sent a photo of me holding my passport up by my face. Then my American drivers license, and then a photo of me holding it up. And finally, my Italian carta d’identita’. Surely five consecutives submissions would draw someone’s attention!

Many automated emails resulted, but two days later, still no results, and I saw no route to get a progress report other than calling again. Then, in a stroke of uncharacteristic brilliance, I wrote out everything that had happened in English, translated it into Italian, and saved it in jpg format. This allowed me to send a personal message:

For the fourth time, I ask you to deactivate the two-step verification because I can’t access my Amazon account. Please. I beg you. I’m not able to receive messages on my American cell phone number, and therefore I can’t access my account with the two-step process. Otherwise, you can let me do the verification on my Italian cell phone number, 3533986899. Or at least do me the courtesy of explaining why you refuse to help me.

After sending this, I decided to try one more message of an unusual nature, thinking that it would surely draw attention to my plight and might even appeal to someone with a whimsical sense of humor. I had a photo of myself that Lucy had taken just as I had awoken after nodding off while waiting during a seven-hour layover in Frankfurt. I looked disgruntled, though I swear I was just tired and in truth was perfectly gruntled (I know that’s not really a word, but I’ve always wanted to find a good place to say it). Above the photo I wrote: “How I feel at this moment about my amazon.it account.”

The usual automated email came. Two days passed. More silence. I’d had enough. I made one final phone call, closing my account. After that, I opened another using Lucy’s email address. To celebrate, we watched a movie on Prime. Thanks, Amazon.it, for helping me overcome my fear of speaking Italian on the phone!

Lucy has a meaningful experience at the Montecarlo Catholic church

We flew down the stairs to get our bikes ready to do what we usually do on Sunday in Montecarlo . . . go to the chiesa evangelica (protestant church) in the nearby city of Altopascio. We turned in our rental car last week, so now we’re dependent on our e-bikes. Even though we rode a long way to Pescia two days before with no problem, we discovered Paul’s front tire was flat—and then also the back one, too! Plus we discovered the electric battery had not charged, and he would only be at half power. Strange. I suggested that Paul take my bike and I would stay.

Awfully quiet upstairs alone. I heard the bells of the Catholic church of Sant'Andrea down the street ring a call to worship. I remembered that I usually go to some church no matter where I am, and then I realized I rarely have the opportunity to go to this church. So even though I don’t understand every custom and nuance, fellow Christians are all over the world, and we will spend eternity together. I decided to go.

I arrived to a packed house as I came in at the back. It’s a beautiful place, with brown and golden marble, matching walls, lit paintings, nicely arranged flowers and candles, wooden pews—it’s a calm place. A group of families with babies were coming down the center aisle from the vestry in the front towards the back. I took a seat in the front third row. Everyone quietly stood and looked back, and the priest came down and led them up to the altar area, dividing the group to rows of chairs on either side.

It was the Sunday of the Good Shepherd and a time set for baptisms. Most of the babies were dressed in white. Grandparents were included in the family groups.

Then began the worship songs followed by the priest reading a part and the congregation responding with their part conveniently written in a bulletin (which helps me, too). Then came the sermon about the good shepherd tending His sheep, which these children will become.

Happy churubs watching from on high

The baptism, I think he said, will take care of the problem of the children’s original sin state, through Christ’s sacrifice for them. The babies were prayed over and anointed twice with something from bottles, and then each was taken to a basin, surrounded by family, and the back of their heads were rinsed three times with water. A girl about 7 years old was also baptized. Towels were provided. Families beamed. The priest was gentle. After that, the girl and a baby who weren’t dressed in white were dressed by the priest with a white apron over the baby and a white frock over the girl. I read afterwards that “the white garment shows that the newly baptized have put on Christ and have risen with him. To be clothed in the baptismal white garment is to be clothed in Christ’s protective love.” The sign of the cross was made on all the foreheads with perfumed oil. Then the fathers came forward and all were given long candles which they lit from an Easter candle, signifying the light of Christ is in all their lives due to Easter and reminding them that they are to be lights for the world. The fathers (and seated grandfathers) beamed with lovely smiles.

More prayers about Mary and lots of saints, and the “peace” was passed among the congregates. Everyone was blessed by the priest and dismissed.

Tranquil church with baptismal font.

I saw long tables reserved in the restaurants, I’m sure for these families. Adding to the festive atmosphere, it was also the Spring Fair in Montecarlo that day, the thunderstorms of the day before forgotten. Vendors lined the street, and there were entertainers for both children and adults.

I hadn’t brought my phone to church, which is good—for I kept “seeing” scenes to be photographed during the service. But it was better to observe, getting the camera after and catching the beauty before everyone left.

I had taken communion with them, for I have been a Christian for 54 years and am in good standing with my God. Even before that I’d been baptized and confirmed in the Episcopal church, but then after I’d accepted as my grown self what Christ did and does through His Spirit, I was baptized again. That’s my journey, and perhaps in Heaven I’ll meet these babies baptized today and learn what their journeys with God had been. Then there will be more times to rejoice and be thankful. And maybe I will ask God how He made two tires go flat so I could go today.

 

Strangely named places in Italy

For some reason, I love looking at maps of places I’ve visited or might visit, and in following this predilection, I’ve noticed towns near our Montecarlo home with some unusual names, including Malocchio and Femminamorta (translations would be Evil Eye and Dead Female). Finding these has prompted me to search for other towns in Italy that could rival these two for their peculiarity.

I quickly found a few that were mentioned in an Italian newspaper, including Strangolagalli (strangle the roosters), Belsedere (nice butt) and Purgatorio (purgatory). The article also named some unusual but complimentary places, such as Donnadolce (sweet woman), Buon Riposo (good rest) and Occhiobello (beautiful eye). However, many of the other names were, in my opinion, quite ordinary, barely deserving of mention. There was capracotta (cooked goat), golasecca (dry throat), povoromo (poor man) and others of that nature, but I wanted names even more unusual.

Since every little neighborhood in Italy has a name, I’m sure there are other equally strange ones, but they are not easy to find. One must enlarge the map to such a degree that only a very small area of land appears, and it would take weeks, maybe months, to scroll across the entire country. I’ve only given this project an hour of time, but I still found a few fascinating names.

Ponte delle Tette

Italians over the centuries have been close to nature and fairly earthy in their sensibilities. Thus names referring to body parts are not uncommon, starting with La Vagina (no translation needed). There is also the Ponte delle Tette in Venezia, and this is the only place where I have found an explanation of an unusual name. Sources say that this ponte (bridge) was historically a place for topless prostitutes to solicit clients. However, Venezia has another bridge with a saintlier name, the Ponte Ca’ di Dio (house of God).

Fellow members of a Facebook group helped me add to my list, finding Purgatorio in Sicily, Troia (slut) in Apulia, Scannacapri (slaughter goats) in Campagnia, Sesso (sex) in Reggio Emilia, Omo Morto (dead man) near Firenze and Bastardo in Umbria. My favorite of those sent to me was Ramazzano le Pulci (they sweep up fleas). There's also the well known but strangely named airport Malpensa in Milano. It doesn't hold up as completely grammatically correct, but Google translates Male pensa as thinks badly and DeepL as evil thinks.

It seems there are quite a few places that could refer to a person’s posterior, perhaps because of some geographic features. There are Chiappia, Chiappe, Chiappona and Chiapponi (butt, butts, big butt and big butts). And only about 10 minutes from Chiapponi is Varco di Chiappe (crack of the butts). I’m not making these up! You can verify it on Google maps.

Sadly, Google maps street view only
shows the beginning of the Via del
Cielo, leaving the rest for us to discover
on our own, I guess.

God, the devil and the afterlife have also inspired some interesting names. Venezia has a Corte di Cristo, and in the province of Perugia is a town named Casa del Diavolo (devil’s home), though it’s interesting to note that this town has a church ironically named Chiesa di Casa del Diavolo. Only 16 minutes away is a street named Via del Cielo (heaven), though one can see from aerial photos that it’s very small and narrow, perhaps in recognition of Matthew 7:14. I can’t tell if it has a gate or not. Meanwhile, the city of Firenze has three connected streets in the same neighborhood dealing with the afterlife: Via dell’Inferno, Via del Purgatorio and Via del Limbo. Nearby San Miniato, smaller than Firenze, has only a Vicolo (alley) dell’Inferno, whereas Napoli has the Valle (valley) dell’Inferno. Judging solely by the numbers, it’s much easier to find a road to hell than it is the road to heaven! There are no ands, ifs or butts about it.

Intersecting streets in Firenze. Take your choice: Purgatorio, Inferno or Limbo.

 

 

 

 

Did I naively pour a thousand-plus euros “down the drain”?

I’ve avoided writing about this topic for a few years because I don’t want people to think I’m crazy. But what else could you say about someone who pays for a construction service and patiently waits nearly seven years, without complaining, for its completion?

You see, in 2017, we discovered that the kitchen sink in our Montecarlo home was not connected to the sewer system. The sink outflow—the scarico—just drained onto the roof of our downstairs neighbor, ran across the surface and then flowed into the rain gutter. A downspout attached to the gutter dumped soapy water and food bits from our dishwasher into another neighbor’s field.

Our beautiful stairway to the attic.

Fortunately, the neighbor who owns the field is an absentee owner, the field is completely private, and the small amount of water Lucy and I put down the drain is absorbed quickly. The food bits are usually hidden by a healthy growth of grass that is watered regularly by rainfall even when we aren’t present. As far as we know, the field has only been used a few times during the nine years we’ve lived in Montecarlo—and we were away during these times and thus not using the sink. Still, I don’t need to be perfectly fluent in Italian to know that the city codes surely prohibit dumping gray water onto a neighbor’s property.

The pink plastic tube was added in 2019, but the water from
our sink still ends up in the rain gutter.

Knowing this, I got a preventivo—a price quote—to attach the drain to the sistema fognario—sewer system—as soon as I became aware of the situation. The price quote included several other projects, including adding a stairway to the attic, bringing our electrical wiring up to date, and adding walls and flooring in the attic. The itemized price quote listed the drain project as slightly in excess of 1,000 euro. All of the other work was completed in 2018 and 2019, but all that happened with the kitchen drain is that a plastic tube was added so the water didn’t run across the roof. It still runs into the gutter and ends up in the neighbor’s field.

So why hasn’t the drain work been finished? Maybe because the plumber friend that the contractor worked with has retired. That’s one of the reasons I’ve been given, but surely there is more to it than that.

The field below our house is completely
private and almost never used.

But just as relevant is the question: Why have I put up with this situation for so long without making a fuss? It’s because the contractor is also my neighbor, who lives just below us. All of the other work he has done for us has been of high quality, and he has also supervised our joint projects of painting the exterior of our house and replacing the roof. These projects involved obtaining permission from the city, something that would have been difficult for me to do. In summary, he’s been an invaluable resource, and I don’t want to alienate him and damage our relationship. I’ve brought the topic up a half dozen times over the years, and each time I am assured that he will complete the work as soon as he can, and that he knows it has been paid for already.

I can’t simply ask for my money back and use it to hire a different plumber, because connecting the drain is undoubtedly going to impact the neighbor’s home in some way. Our floor and his ceiling are obviously connected, so unless he can somehow connect the drain directly to the sewer line, he’s going to have to cut into a floor, a ceiling or a wall, at the very least. Having the neighbor’s cooperation is going to be essential, whether he hires the plumber, or I do.

An additional factor—perhaps the most important—is our friendship with the neighbors. One of the prime reasons Lucy and I come to Italy is to establish connections, to become part of the community, to make friends—and we are on the path to becoming friends with these neighbors.

Most people are familiar with the saying: “To have a friend, you must be a friend.” So I considered my choices—treat the neighbor as if I’m his customer, or as his friend? I chose the latter, even deciding that I’d rather end up trusting him and eventually getting ripped off than souring our relationship just to get the work done more quickly.

Having faith in someone can be powerful, as is illustrated by an anecdote in the memoir “The Cross and the Switchblade,” by David Wilkerson. Called to minister to gang members in Brooklyn, Wilkerson rents an auditorium and invites the young people in his neighborhood to attend a series of meetings. A raucous crowd shows up, including members of rival gangs. Not sure how to get their attention, he decides to take up a collection, and he selects Nicky Cruz, a leader of a prominent gang, to supervise passing the collection boxes. When Cruz and the other five young toughs reach the back of the auditorium, Wilkerson asks them to pass behind a curtain before coming to the stage to bring him the filled boxes. At this point, the crowd realizes that the gang members can easily just slip out the door and never return, cash in hand.

But they don’t. Impressed that someone has shown faith in them, they bring the money to Wilkerson—to the amazement of the crowd. Later, Cruz explains his reasoning:

“There was the door. It was wide open. Back in the arena some of them were laughing. They knew what we were pulling. My boys were watching me, waiting for the word to cut out. But I stood there. I didn’t know what it was; I had a funny feeling. Suddenly I knew what it was: That preacher trusted me. That never happened in my life before.”

I’m not trying to compare my neighbor to a gang member, but the message is clear. Wilkerson took a chance. He could have lost both money and face in front of a large crowd. Instead, Nicky Cruz responded to the trust Wilkerson showed. That same evening, Cruz answered the altar call and gave his life to God, later becoming a preacher himself.

I could also lose the money I paid for the drain, but by showing a bit of patience and restraint, the growing friendship between the neighbors and us will become stronger. The last time we discussed the work, about a month ago, the neighbor said he would be doing some remodeling of his house this summer, and as part of the work, he will attach our drain to the sewer system. And I trust that he will.