Okay, at this rate, I’ll never be finished writing this for your perusal! Let’s see . . . where were we?
Oh yes, completing our trip to Serra de Conti, to the Rooms of Suspended Time. And then I guess I suspended the time for awhile . . .

So – Monday, September 21: A rainy day at the villa, where we slept late, shuffled to the kitchen in relaxed fashion, munching on bread, fruit, cheese and prosciutto, sipping coffee, writing and reading and planning the rest of our time here in Avenale at Casa Frances. If I remember correctly, we did go back to Cingoli, found a bigger “supermercato” and collected some fresh fruit, vegetables, cheese and very fresh fettucini in preparation for a dinner I promised to prepare for our little group that evening. We had plenty of wine, and I bought another two bottles, which should last us the rest of the week.

Tuesday, September 22: Our plan today is to visit the southwest part of LeMarche, beginning with the Grotte di Frasassi, an enormous, incredible complex of caves with a collection of stalactites and stalagmites the likes of which I’ve never seen. Discovered by a group of climber/spelunkers in the late 1970’s, Grotte di Frasassi is one of the most well-visited natural phenomena and I can understand why. I’m told the Grotte could house the Milan Cathedrale!

We weren’t allowed any photos there, but here are two from an on-line site. if you’d like to know more about this attraction, you might visit one of the websites you will find when googling Grotte di Frasassi. You can request that it come up in English, rather than Italian, which should be immensely helpful!

We wore our coats inside and listened to our English version of the tour guide’s information, though I think next time I will wait for the English speaking tour guide, so we can ask questions and understand the responses of others’ questions.

Our next stop was to the city of Fabriano, home of the famous watercolor paper manufacturer. Fabriano was one of the first cities in Europe to manufacture paper, beginning at the end of the 12th century. The biggest mill, Miliani, produces an amazing 600 miles of paper a day, and the watermark (filigrana), along with other papermaking techniques, were invented here. Fabriano paper supplies the Italian treasury with the paper for its banknotes, and is sent from Kashmir to the Congo. We visited the Museo della Carta e della Filigrana (paper and watermarks museum), watched a demonstration of hand-making paper, marveled at the intricacies of watermarks bearing the faces of famous world leaders, and purchased one or two beautiful hand-made journals, of course.

Tomorrow . . . a local vineyard and winery, and preparations to leave this lovely area, heading toward our final destination in Italia . . .

Saturday, September 19, 2009 – A visit to a tiny country

LeMarche is an Italian province, similar to Tuscany, but wilder, less traveled, more varied in terrain. It is just south of Veneto, the province in which Venice and Ravenna are situated. LeMarche runs long, along the northeast coast of Italy and the Adriatic Sea.

And nestled into the LeMarche hills, just south of Veneto province, is a tiny country, third only in size to the Vatican as the smallest country in Europe (Monaco is second) and the fifth smallest country in the world. From About.com: Geography: ” San Marino – 24 square miles – Located on Mt. Titano in north central Italy, San Marino has 29,000 residents. The country claims to be the oldest state in Europe, having been founded in the fourth century.”

Described as “shamelessly touristy” (and that is quite accurate!), the town of San Marino sits as a medieval hilltown at the top of the country of San Marino, and once we got going on the A-road (the super toll road), we made it from our villa to San Marino in less than two hours. We parked in a designated lot and walked to the entrance to the FuniVia, a funicular (sort of a cable-car/goldola ala ski areas) that took us to the town at the top.

Beautifully situated, with wall-to-wall shops, mostly horrid souvenir shops, and some lovely stores sprinkled in to encourage those of us who wanted to wander without being assaulted by tacky pinocchio dolls and soccer flags, medieval guns and plastic toys at almost every turn. I know, it sounds horrid, but it’s like going to the circus, and whenever we got a glimpse of what was beyond those medieval walls, we stopped to appreciate the decidedly lovely views.

One of the gimmicks is that since San Marino is its own country, it makes its own postage stamps and has its own passport office. We decided to play along (when might we ever get there again?) so we marched into the Ufficio Communale, paid our 5 Euro each, and had our passports stamped, not only with the typical rubber passport stamp, but also with an official San Marino postage-type stamp, though I don’t think I could have used it to send a card back to my family. We chatted with the woman behind the plexiglass window and asked her if she had fun doing her job. She smiled. Of course she would . . . collecting 5 Euro from all manner of people, just so they could collect a stamp of her country in their passports!

We had a lovely lunch at a restaurant whose card is in the pile of receipts I have waiting for me, found a wonderful Lladros ceramic statue for Rebecca, and after a few photos of the area and a sculpture garden we discovered on the way down to the FuniVia station, we headed back to the villa. An adventurous day in yet another “country”! (I know, the photo is sideways, but I can’t yet figure out how to switch it when it does this . . . I’m waiting for my daughter to return my call. She’s the blog-whiz!)

Sunday, September 20: A lazy day at the villa, at least until mid-afternoon, because we have carefully checked to see when some of our “wish list things-to-see” are open. One has to remember we are in Italy, one of those civilized countries that take a break in the middle of the day. Today we are headed to The Rooms of Suspended Time Museum of Monastic Arts. In Italian, that’s Le Stanze del Tempo Sospeso. They are rooms in the Convent of Santa Maria Maddalena, full of objects on display that were part of the manual activities of the Sisters, which have survived since the late 1500’s. The display is set up in rooms with themses such as the pharmacy, the pantry, and the “workroom”, with spinning embroidery, tinting equipment among other things.

This is a museum that sounded intriguing to all of us, but it is closed from noon-3:30 p.m., and is located in Serra de Conti, a town we estimate is an hour’s drive from our villa. So by about 2:30, we are on our way, we arrive in a sleepy town and find an approved parking spot, just outside another of Italy’s medieval walls, and begin our walk up to the “Centro”, the old center, where most of these historical museums and churches are located. The entrance sign for Museo Monastiche leads us to a quiet, tree-lined patio before we walk through the doors of the quietest museum setting I’ve ever experienced. Of course, it’s a monastic setting, and we are the only people in the place, which suits me just fine.

The rooms have simple displays, as though one had dropped into a Quaker or Shaker setting. The old implements – spools of thread, embroidery hoops, apothecary bottles, copper pans, etc. – are nested in their display cases or on tables, in what I can only describe as a spiritual setting. This is the kind of place to which one might like to bring a small suitcase, old and black leather in construction, sit with a candle or oil lamp and write in one’s journal for days. There is a quietude here I never find at home. Maybe I’m headed for a monastery myself! I wish I could point readers to a website, but of course there is no such thing. Here are a few photos for you, and I hope they help capture your imagination.

See what I mean? Lovely old representation of life 500 years ago. When we finished in the museum, we wandered the streets for awhile, found a bar (these aren’t just alcohol bars . . . more like a cafe, with coffee, drinks, and sandwiches) and sat outside with cappucchino, small sandwiches and dessert goodies. Next to us was a group of perhaps eight men, all speaking in some sort of Arabic tongue. Each time another man joined the group, several of the seated men rose up, kissed the newcomer on both cheeks, and they all sat down again.

The church bells clanged loudly across the piazza, every fifteen minutes, in two tones. On the hour, the lower toned bell would ring the number of the hour (in our case, five, then six o’clock). Then every fifteen minutes, the deep bell would ring again, the five or six tolls, and then a higher pitched bell would come in for one ring (5:15), two (5:30), or three (5:45). Since we sat for more than 90 minutes, we had lots of time to learn the bell code of Serra de Conti. By 6:45, we were ready to wend our way down the cobblestoned streets, looking for our parked car beyond the old walls. Then it was back to the Casa Frances for another night of reading, writing, and eating before settling into bed.

Well, Day 1, Friday. We relaxed at the villa, enjoying a day of rest after the long day on trains, boats and automobiles. A short trip into Cingoli, twice, actually, to get provisions (we can’t seem to remember that everything is closed from noon or 1:00 p.m until 4:00 or 5:00 p.m. any day, no matter whether the store is filled with things we need or just things we want.) While we waited for the supermercato to open again, we walked down the street a block to watch a group of old Italian men playing bocce ball in the park. They seem to gather every weekday afternoon to throw those little Italian “bowling balls” down the course. Sort of a cross between bowling and pool.

At 5:00 p.m., the supermercato opened its doors, I wandered around with my list, trying to decipher the various commodities. Was this dishwasher soap or clothes washing soap? Was this really hot chocolate mix or chocolate pudding, as it seemed to appear on the box? Why is there milk on the shelves as well as milk in the cold cases? And which one is skim, which one is whole milk, which is cream? Often it’s a matter of making an intuitive choice and hoping for the best, but as an adventure, it’s worth any errors I make in my choices.

And the men and women behind the “deli” cases, where all meat, fish, and cheeses are selected and lovingly sliced and packaged . . . well, there are no errors there. I only have to point, say “Questo qui . . . ” (“this one here”), pantomime how big a cheese wedge, or say in my numero-Italian how many slices, and my wish is granted.

Home after a visit to the farmacia for triple-antibiotic cream, to make one of my traveler’s blisters heal more quickly, and I’m on the windy nearly-unpaved road back to Avenale and our villa, Casa Frances. For dinner . . . some of what I purchased today and some of the leftovers from our delicious dinner last night.

Until tomorrow . . . a visit to San Marino!

Actually two trains. We left Venice by vaporetto, our luggage in tow, after I helped Erin find the place to get her VAT Tax refund form stamped. We had plenty of time, and I will remember that leaving later than the morning train is a very good idea. The extra hour or two or three allowed us to avoid hurrying through the narrow streets, roller luggage in tow, and we could afford the time it took to stop at each dock, rather than make SURE we got the #2 or N vaporetti, which only stops intermittently.

I think (it’s been days, so everything melts into itself, of course) the Venice to Bologna train was the one that was 20 minutes late, and then came in quickly, ready to depart again. We practically ran to the far end of the track, looking for our first class coach, which is often farthest from the station, so when it arrives at the next large stop, the first class passengers (my travelers and I) won’t have to walk too far to the switching place. But we hurried and had to hoist very heavy bags (never again) up to the racks above the seats or stashed somewhere in the train car.

Venezia to Bologna, then another switch and Bologna to Ancona in LeMarche, where we picked up our car (I make it sound simple, but it never is in Italy), load the luggage, and head to our villa in Avenale, about 5 kilometres outside of Cingoli, an hour’s ride from the Ancona station. If you don’t make any wrong turns. In a strange place, even with maps, is that possible? Not typically. And generally it’s half the fun, though when it begins to get dark and my excellent navigators are still reading about “hairpin turns down rural roads”, we all begin to get nervous. But we arrived at Casa Frances at dusk, and were greeted by the smiling faces of Marcello and Rita, the parents of our Villa owners. Rita had prepared a delicious meal, fit for a dozen, though we were only three. And I apologized to both host/chefs and told them in my broken Italian that we would eat the rest of the TWENTY pieces of chicken for lunch tomorrow (and the next day and the next and the next). The antipasti (three kinds of meat, three kinds of cheese), the pasta con pomodoro, the twenty (really!) pieces of sautéed chicken pieces, and the cherry tart, along with appropriate wines . . . pro secco, vino bianco, vino rosso AND moscato for dessert, were so much more than plenty for us, and we graciously thanked Rita and Marcello before we tumbled off to bed.

I got some practice with my lingua Italia, talking with Rita, who reported to her daughter that my Italian was “very good”. I told her daughter that my Italy was only “very good” because Rita’s English was limited to “hello” and “eggs”. But it was such fun to dig back into the recesses of my memory and have a decent conversation, very basic, but decent, with Rita and Marcello. I’m back in my heart country, dead center, with no English in sight tonight, but for my companions.

Buona Notte!

Well, with the Internet nearly nonexistent in most of the Italian towns, I have resorted to typing these entries on my laptop at a bar overlooking the beautiful Lago d’Orta on our final two days in Italy, trying to recap the last eight days of our adventure.

September 16 – Venezia – the day of the deluge on the streets of this water city. We wander on our own, looking for stores we had each marked on our Streetwise Venice maps. My goal is to get to a bead store called Anticheta in Dorsoduro, over the Accademia Bridge. It is raining, but nothing my umbrella can’t handle. However, I arrive at the store I’m looking for, only to find that it closed 30 minutes ago and won’t be open again for three more hours, at 16:00, 4:00 p.m.. This is a long break for a store in Venice, but since the shop is in Dorsoduro, rather than in San Marco or the Rialto district, it is calmer, this shop is probably more legitimate, rather than touristy, and the owner can close for as long as he chooses.

I look for a place to have lunch and find one just two or three doors down from Anticheta. I have an excellent sandwich, a delicious peach and apple tart, and a cappuccino. I eat slowly and stay in my seat, grateful for once that the bars and restaurants don’t slam down the bill (il conto) until you ask for it, even if that is three hours from the time you finish your meal.

Unfortunately, I have hope that the rain will abate, even slightly, so I finally pay for my meal and begin to walk, taking advantage of this “killing time” task, believing it will afford me a chance to see this part of Venice, even in the rain. However, “rain” isn’t really what continues. How about torrential rain? How about deluge? How about . . . the streets are ready to float into the canals!

However, I walk, my favorite, dependable Primo Breeze shoes sloshing, holding me without sliding on the wet stones, but never to recover from their afternoon and evening of Noah’s Ark weather. I have kept them on every windowsill (windows open) for the past 10 days, but still, they throw off the scent of Venetian canal water mixed with a rainstorm the likes of which they’ve never seen. A new pair from shoes.com is definitely in order as soon as I arrive at a dependable Internet point.

And the beads? I return to the store at 3:30, pace a bit, go two doors down to the little lunch place, ask for a cappuccino again, and sit, writing in my journal for 30 minutes. Then I pace outside the store. A young Pakistani man asks in a sort of Italian pantomime whether I am waiting for the shop to open (no, I’m just pacing in the deluge for my health!). He makes a quick phone call, speaking in rapid sort of Italian, and hangs up, telling me “Quindici minuti” Fifteen minutes. At 16:20, an older, graying man appears at my sisde to open the store. Three hours and twenty minutes’ wait, then ten minutes in the store, and Euro 200 worth of beads for Euro 150 in a little red bag . . . truly, there ware probably fifteen beads – very old Venetian, some sort of old, and some he says were “newer”. He’d throw those in for no charge. Wish I had known that! I would have gotten a few more. They are silver, and very nice. See the photo with the smaller beads. The second bead collection is one I purchased earlier that morning, before the deluge!

At any rate . . . my Venetian flood, from the heavens, not the walkways. And by the time I get back to the hotel and greet my travel mates, they have already changed their soaked clothing twice. We are all hungry and ready for some dinner. And the weather has cleared, so we walk the streets toward the Rialto Bridge until we find the Il Colombo Ristorante . . . very nice, lovely food, fresh fish, whole and waiting to be chosen, and the boast that Woody Allen has eaten here.

Well, time does fly, and yes, we are having fun. Day two in Lake Como was spent in Bellagio, the most upscale busy little towns on the lake, in my opinion. And yes, the hotel in Las Vegas IS named after it, but don’t hold THAT against the original Italian village.

Walking from any of the hotels to the ferry dock is easy, breezy, and a lovely stroll along the water if you choose to take that pedestrian boulevard. We did, of course. A short ferry across the lake to one of the three triangle points (Varenna, Mennagio and Bellagio are all towns at the “crotch” of the lake, just where the two “legs” of water meet the long body).

An afternoon of window shopping, cafe stopping, and photo shooting was just what we asked for, and the sky was bright blue, the day was warm, and the crowds weren’t too bad for a Saturday at a bustling vacation spot.

When we’d had enough of Bellagio for the day, we hopped on a ferry back to our town and our hotel. We had made reservations at Albergo Milano for dinner, and enjoyed a delicious meal of tuscan soup, fresh lake fish with “Venus” rice (that’s black rice, black from the squid ink, of course), and a wonderful dessert of panna cotta with berries. My favorite! I’d give up all gelato for an occasional dish of panna cotta . . . truly.

After dinner I spoke with the owner/chef, who told me the story of his purchase of the hotel eight years ago. Neil and I stayed at this little hotel in 1997, when we first came to Italy, and while the hotel’s location can’t be beat, the rooms were (at the time) shabbby with horrid mattresses . . . quite uncomfortable. But the price was right and it was a Rick Steves bargain, of course. Well, the current owner, Egi (pronounced edgy), had a “meant-to-be” narrative that’s too long to write here, but perhaps someday I’ll do it in an essay. Needless to say, he agreed with my assessment of the beds of a dozen years ago, and a year after the purchase, he and his wife completely redid all the rooms. Small hotel, ALWAYS booked. Wonderful meals . . . try it sometime!

Yesterday, our last at Como, we decided to head up to a small village “just 30 minutes’ walk” up the “hill”, to see a raku artist whose brochure Erin had picked up at our hotel. Don’t ever believe hotel personnel in Italy who say anything is “just” a short walk. Nearly two hours later, after switchbacking up a road to Perledo, asking an old couple how to get there, climbing into their car after their offer to drive us, getting to the top of the mountain, only to find that there was no raku artist in Perledo, but just in Vezio, again, “just” 10 minutes walk down the hill and then UP again . . . needless to say, the whole trip was absurd. We were directed to here, and then there, and then down a tiny path through an olive farm, and then over the road, over a bridge, above a dry stream, through woods with a loose-rock and cobblestone pathway, up the mountain again, nearly climbing on hands and feet until we reached Vezio, where we DID find a lovely artisan shop with the raku we were looking for. And THEN, of course, we followed the signs (another mistake in rural Italy) that were supposed to lead us back to Varenna.

It DID lead us back, to be fair, but we ended up at the complete opposite end of the village from the place we began, and walked perhaps another mile back to our hotel. All in all, a story to tell our grandchildren, but would we do it again? Probably not.

A lazy rest of the day, a visit to the beautiful gardens of the Villa Montastero, a glass of pro secco, and back to the rooms to pack up for our train trip to Venice today.

This morning, we ate our last breakfast at the Hotel du Lac and climbed into the taxi driven by Rita Faggi, who got us to the station 30 minutes ahead of time. The train back to Milan was only an hour, and the EuroStar to Venice was just ten minutes late. Not too bad.

The day was gloomy and spitted rain here and there, which didn’t ruin our vaporetto ride down the Grand Canal from the Venice Stazione, Venezia Santa Lucia. Our stop, San Marco Vallaresso, was the end of the line for this boat/bus, and we dragged our rolling luggage the short walk to our hotel, Dimora Marciana, a new hotel with very ornate Italian rooms.

Shedding all the luggagee was a relief, and my little group must have visited thirty mask shops just in the San Marco area. A gelato for the others, bruschetta for me, later a bottle of wine, and finally at 9:30 some pasta at an out of the way trattoria near the Rialto Bridge, and we were ready to “bread crumb” our way back to our hotel.

Here we have free wireless in the rooms, and that is a relief after the terrible wireless service at our Varenna hotel. But still, no downloading of photos. Inserting them later won’t be as nice, but I’ll try to do something!

Must go get ready for bed. I brought three books, two of which I have to read before I return home, and the third is the one I can’t seem to put down.

Buona Notte, il miei amici!

I’m typing this just inside the balcony dining area of the Hotel du Lac on beautiful Lago di Como, in the village of Varenna (yes, there is also a Hotel du Lac in Bellagio), just as the sun is setting through the blue-grey clouds and settling behind the mountains that surround this most enchanting lake.

My small but mighty group of travelers arrived in Milano yesterday morning after an all-day flight. We loaded ourselves and our luggage on the mandatory bus that takes travelers to the Milano train station from Malpensa Airport. I’ve always wondered why an airport near this cosmopolitan city doesn’t have a short train or metro between the airport and the train, but the answer has always been, “It just doesn’t . . . “. So we buzz through the suburbs of Milan and arrive in the traffic, choked with auto fumes, arriving at the Stazione. Since there is construction near the entrance, we drag our suitcases around the large dark-blue wooden panels which close off the unfinished work from the pedestrians, and finally we reach the entrance to the station.

I spend the next hour securing my 5-day train pass, replacing one I received a month ago (don’t ask . . . long story). My travelers have passes, and they join me at the front of the queue to get theirs validated, we move on a slanted ramp to the third level where the tracks are marked and the walkways are a-buzz with travelers. Boarding the train for Varenna, we settle in for the 50 minute ride to our little village at Lake Como.

When we arrive there, two taxis await the disembarking groups, and they scurry back and forth from hotel to train platform, loading and re-loading passengers and depositing each set of three visitors to their proper hotel, turning around again for the next group. We, fortunately, are second in line, and we arrive at the Hotel du Lac. Our rooms aren’t quite ready yet, but we are just in time for a light lunch out on the balcony overlooking the lake. Don’t you just love the combination of lake and mountains?

Bruschetta and insalate caprese are brought to our table, with tomatoes more colorful than I’ve seen in years (except in Italy, of course). Why can’t we grow tomatoes like this in the United States? I remember them in my garden when I was growing up, but they are now faded remnants of those good old days, and I’m always grateful when I arrive in Italy and order my first caprese. I sprinkle those red chopped gifts with salt and close my eyes as I take my first bite.

Okay, enough of the swooning about tomatoes. When our rooms were declared ready for our arrival, we took the tiny elevator, taking turns, to our respective room levels and began the initial ritual of unpacking what we would need for the next three days.

Rebecca, my roommate, didn’t sleep on the flight over, so she fell on the bed for a much needed nap. Erin decided she didn’t want to screw up her internal clock anymore than necessary, so she opted to try to stay awake until evening, and I, having had a great six-hour nap on the plane, headed out to explore the cobblestone pathways along and above the lake, finally venturing up one of those infamous set of steep stairs that lead to the next levels of streets in this mountainous village.

Two stops to sit on stone stairs at the water’s edge, a bit of journal-writing, photo-taking, more observations in my journal, and I climbed the stairs to the piazza, where the town’s church was brimming with the families and friends of a bride and groom! There always seems to be a wedding in the village church, no matter where we arrive, and the church bells rang, announcing 5:00 p.m.

After an hour or two of exploring, I rewarded myself with one of the two gelato treats I will eat on this trip. I’m not really a fan of gelato (I know, HERESY!) but I do seem to feel the need to have one or two scoops during any trip. Today the shop I chose did not have my favorite, lamponi (raspberry), so I settled for fragola (strawberry), and did enjoy the cold creamy substance, atop a sugar cone. Maybe I kid myself about this dislike of gelato. Hmmm.

And . . . back to the room, where Rebecca was waking up from her second nap of the afternoon. Erin had left us a note that said she had lost the battle to stay awake, and she’d see us in the morning.

So Rebecca and I headed back out for the water walkway, found a nice little restaurant, Il Molo, as the skies opened for a 10-minute downpour before it cleared up enough to allow us to stay at a table outdoors while we had our pizza and risotto asparagi. A half-liter of the house red wine and we were set!

We returned from our casual dinner at 8:30, and I read for perhaps 10 minutes before I slipped into oblivion in a comfortable bed, the sound of waves my only lullabye.

Twelve hours later, I awoke to our second day on Lake Como.

More later . . .

Tuesday, May 20 – It’s still raining in Cinque Terre as we get our bags ready for the hotel staff to drag up or down the stone stairways from our rooms to the Piazza near the yellow church.

We are waiting for our next private bus to arrive at the piazza to take my group and our luggage to Lago d’Orta, the last stop on our three-week adventure. The arrangements become complicated, of course . . . Nadia has sent a 30-passenger bus rather than a 16 passenger bus, and the larger bus won’t fit on the small roads that wind from the top of the hill down to our hotel. So the La Torretta staff comes up with a creative solution, and we are taken, the women first and then the bags in three loads, and finally me! We settle in for the 4-5 hour ride to the lake.

Our bus driver speaks no English, but for “Hello”, “Thank you”, and “Goodbye”, but he talks to me in less complicated Italian than I typically hear, because he wants to tell me about his life, where he grew up in Italy, where he has visited, and he asks me some simple questions I can answer.

The day is rainy and he tells me it will be rainy where we are going as well. I hope he is wrong, because the scenery is less beautiful with all the fog and clouds. No sparkling water on the Mediterranean, no emerald green glistening on the hillsides. And we’re beginning to get soggy!

We arrive at San Giulio d’Orta, do the now-usual transport from bus to hotel, people first, then luggage. As I greet Elena and get our rooms sorted out, Colleen and Calla have already begun to wander the piazza and they’ve stumbled into a little shop with lovely jewelry. It’s Cerri Flora, Elio’s store, and he knows they are American women. He immediately asks if they’re with “Joannah’s group”, and they are astonished by this question!

They come back to the hotel and tell me that the man in the shop across the way knows me. Of course he does. I’ve been bringing lovely women to this place for six years, and they always like the merchandise he and his wife Flora present to their customers. So we’re off to a great start!

The Hotel Orta, owned by the same family for five generations, provides us with lovely breakfasts and dinners, and we prepare to dine in a beautiful dining room, overlooking the lake and the island, where 70 nuns are cloistered in the monastery at the top of the island’s hill.

The view is lovely, the food is delicious, and Stefano, the maitre ‘d, greets me warmly. We know we will be well taken care of here.

Wednesday, May 21 – One of the reasons we come to this lovely relaxing place at the end of our trip is that there is NO particular agenda for us at Lago d’Orta. Breakfast is served in the hotel until 10:00, dinner begins at 7:30. Between these two meals (and you can always skip eating if you’d like!) one may do whatever the heart desires.

We awake to the sounds of the street market vendors beginning to set up their merchandise stands, and the rain hasn’t deterred the boatloads of day-tourists (this is very unusual for our little town) who show up at about 9:30 and leave mid-afternoon. Apparently THIS year, our visit coincides with some big holiday for the Italians, though usually we miss this event by a week. Today some of us have scheduled massages with a hotel down the street, and the rest are free to shop, sleep, read, write, sip cappuccino or espresso to our hearts’ content!

And we do just that. I have opted NOT to get a massage, and instead, I wander the tiny streets, taking pictures of doors and views I know well. I try to check my e-mail, but the two very sketchy internet points are unavailable . . . one closed until further notice, and the other is just the personal computer of one of the rental agents in the village, and she isn’t very happy about sharing it today.

Between the opening and closing of our travel umbrellas, we are grateful for the dry but cloudy skies. I make a reservation for all of us at the Hotel Leon d’Oro across the piazza for lunch tomorrow, our last day in Italy!

Thursday, May 22 – Today we again have no real agenda, but for the group lunch, which is delicious, expensive, and hosted by a rather crabby old woman, the owner of that particular hotel. When I enter the hotel and restaurant, a drawn woman of perhaps 40 greets me, if you could call it that. I explain that I have spoken to the owner of the restaurant about my group. She turns, sighs, and calls over her shoulder, “Mama!” and the old woman appears.

No wonder the younger woman looks the way she does. If the older owner has made arrangements for a group lunch for us, her attitude completely uninspired and grouchy, can you imagine what it must be like to be raised by such a woman? She is the first really austere, unpleasant person I have met in Italy. She has tried to polish her manners when she realizes I mean to add quite a bit of money to her lunch coffers, but she falls short of anything like enthusiasm! Oh well . . . we have only to go to the desk of our own hotel to receive all the nurturing and warmth we are lacking at our lunch restaurant.

After lunch, the rain looks like it has gone for the day, and we arrange to have a boat take us to the Isola San Giulio, where the monastery sits on top of the island at the center, the one beautiful little church is near the boat dock, and the meditation walk goes around the island easily, threading its way through the beautiful houses. The island’s sole restaurant is closed indefinitely, but the tiny gift shop is still open next to the church.

We buy our round-trip tickets, go over as a group, and are on our own once we get there. One could never get lost on this tiny island, and no matter where you go, you always end up back at the dock, waiting for boats that return you to the village.

Last-minute shopping at the many lovely stores, a final trip to the Buongustaio, our favorite deli (that word doesn’t even begin to describe this store), where the young woman, the owner Luca’s only employee for as long as I have been coming here, vacuum seals great chunks of parmesan cheese and carefully wraps small bottles of 30-year old balsamic vinegar (“Don’t EVER put this in salad!” Luca warns) for one of my former trip participants, and we are ready to dress for dinner.

NOTE: As I write this, I wonder whether my memory has confused and reversed yesterday’s and today’s activities, but no matter. Boats, food, shopping, cappuccino, walking, beauty. What could be clearer than that!

Our last night’s dinner is bittersweet, and we gift our remaining bottles of Spumante to the staff. I settle up with the bill and tip the staff generously, receiving hugs from several of them, and we each return to our rooms to pack up. Our shuttle will take us to the private airport bus at 7:00 a.m. tomorrow for the ride to Milan Malpensa airport.

Friday, May 23 – Well, we were all out at the Piazza with our mountains of luggage by our sides at 7:00 a.m. The hotel staff made sure they began breakfast one hour early so we could have something to eat before we departed. After a bit of confusion between the bus company and the bus driver, we finally got on the road to the airport 45 minutes late!

When we arrived at Malpensa the driver parked the bus at least three departure doors away from the baggage carts and a VERY long way from our ticket counter, so we all ran like wild women with luggage shackles, hoping we would not miss our connections. But hey, this is Italy, where the Alitalia staff doesn’t shake their fingers at harried, be-luggaged, LATE American women! They greeted us warmly, assured us that there was plenty of time before the flight departed, and generally made the whole morning’s hassle go away.

The flights departed and landed smoothly, in Milan, Atlanta and Denver, the limo showed up on time to take us back up to Fort Collins, EVERYONE got all their luggage returned safely, and we were delivered to our houses in Fort Collins by 11:00 p.m. . . . that’s about 24 hours after we checked out of our Orta hotel, and now we can rest, relax, and regroup!

Arrivederci, caro Italia . . . arrivederci.

Saturday, May 17 – We all got up very early this morning (see what we get for the pleasure of sleeping in yesterday?) to pack the cars completely and head back to Florence to return them. This is probably the most challenging part of our driving trip . . . just the part from the edge of Florence into the city to the EuropCar return office, but we made it with mystifying coordination, and we all arrived at the rental car office within five minutes of one another.

After we had unloaded all our luggage and the things we have purchased along the way (including 17 bottles of wine we expected to drink in the next six days!), our private transportation arrived in the form of a 16-passenger mini-bus, complete with Italian-only speaking driver. We settled in for an hour, arrived in Pisa for a three-hour stay, and walked into the walled city to view the famous Leaning Tower, as well as the other magnificent buildings in the complex . . . the Battistero, the Cathedral, and the Cimiterio – a truly beautiful mausoleum, and the accompanying grassy grounds around each building.

Despite the circus of souvenir hawkers on the walkway, these Pisa sights are worth seeing. The Baptistry has perfect acoustics, and contains sculptures from Nicoli Pisaro and his father (son? . . . I can never get that straight), and after all, how could we drive PAST the Leaning Tower of Pisa, no matter how many tourists surround it?

After our Pisa stop, we had a four-hour drive to Cinque Terre, the area of five little towns on the Italian Riviera, where we would spend the next three nights. Our town is Manarola, and we were staying at a new place for my trips, La Torrrette, owned by a young man named Gabriele Baldini. He was the perfect host, getting us settled in our various rooms scattered all over the rocky mountain side before leaving us for a week of business in London.

But what he left behind for us were lovely rooms, all with sea views, and in each room we found white bathrobes, neatly folded on our beds, a flower on each stack of towels, a bottle of Spumante and some lovely pastries, apples, pears. We unpacked and headed down the windy street to the sea, where everyone enjoyed . . . cappuccino, vino, and a bit of tasty food, of course!

Sunday, May 18 – Today it is rainy again, but we are each on our own to explore the Cinque Terre in any way we please. After a quick e-mail check at the train station in Manarola, and the purchase of our three-day passes, Donna and I head out to walk from Manarola to Riomaggiore, the Via dell’Amore . . . the Walk of Love. The walkway is through the mountain, with occasional glimpses of the Mediterranean and many wonderful drawings on the face of the rock wall. We’re protected by the rain on most of the walk but our umbrellas come in handy.

We check train schedules for our trip to Portofino tomorrow, step into a bar for a cappuccino, and wait out the downpour. Our train is late (what else is new) from La Spezia, but it finally arrives, opening its doors to dozens of passengers who want to disembark and dozens more who are waiting to claim a seat so they can explore like we will do.

We spend much of our afternoon in Vernazza, having lunch and wine at the Gambero Rosso (The Red Shrimp or Prawn), shopping in little stores with interesting presents to take home, getting back on the train for Monterosso al Mare, where the sun has come out! Surprise! So we find another bar on the water and have a glass of wine. It’s now 5:30 or so, and we are hungry, so back on the train, back to Vernazza, to be seated at my regular dinner restaurant in this little village . . . Gianni Franzi. The Moroccan waiter is still there, as he has been for the past four years, and I order fresh sea bass, caprese salad, and we split a bottle of wine!

Donna’s trip to the rest room results in her meeting with the owner . . . Gianni of course, and he wants to buy us a drink. It is now 10:00 and we have to get a train back to Manarola, but one short Grand Marnier and we are on our way. Oops, the train left without us, but there is another one in 45 minutes, so we . . . order a cappuccino at a little bar near the train stop, get on our train and off in Manarola, walk back to La Torretta for a long sleep before tomorrow’s train/bus/boat trip to Portofino and back.

It has been a lovely day and everyone else has hiked or napped or read or stayed in our town or explored in a similar fashion, but we’re all tucked in bed.

Monday, May 19 – Today promised to be a bit less wet, and six of us boarded the little train going north/northwest, on our way to the beautiful village of Portofino. We changed trains in Sestre Levante and disembarked in Santa Margherita, another lovely town on the Italian Riviera. From train to bus in 10 minutes, and in another 15 minutes we were dropped off in the middle of Portofino, to spend the day wandering past VERY expensive clothing stores (one lovely scarf caught my eye . . . 450 Euro (that’s about $720 with our ugly exchange rate!) and I settled for a good salad for lunch and a nice glass of Barbera right next to the water, where I could gaze out at all the luxury sailboats, the tourists getting around the large piazza, and talk with my friend Barbara L in the sun.

After a few hours, we took a boat back to Santa Margherita, boarded the train to Manarola and walked back to our hotel in the pouring rain. Somehow we didn’t carry the sunshine back with us on the tracks! We met our whole group at 7:15, in time to walk to “Dal Billy Ristorante” for our last meal together in Cinque Terre.

Since it was raining, we were seated in one of the rooms “inside” his restaurant. Billy’s is built on the cliffside, and is on four levels, all of them appearing to hang off the side of the rocks. Windows on two sides give us a view to the sea, and make us feel like we are suspended in the air. Billy himself greets us, takes our orders, and provides all the entertainment we need for a memorable evening. His sidekick, Eduardo, was quite taken with our Donna, and mournfully told me, “Tell her to come back to Manarola soon . . without all of you . . . “

After a feast of caprese, antipasti al mare, Billy’s pasta, pesto, fresh fish of three types (Orato, Branzini, and some sort of sea bass, I think), we were presented with an after dinner wine and a tray of delicious desserts. Then we wandered back to our rooms to prepare for our departure the next morning to Lago d’Orta.

Buona notte!

Remember, I’m writing this after the fact, and am trying to catch up and finish before it’s NEXT YEAR!

Wednesday, May 14 – Today’s visit is to the eastern reaches of Tuscany and beyond. First we drove just over the border into Umbria to visit the lovely little Lake Trasimeno, specifically the town of Passignano, where we hopped on a ferry boat over to Isola Maggiore, a small island with about 100 people, five churches, a few restaurants, bars, and post-card shops, an abandoned monastery and a couple of small beaches. You can walk around this island in about an hour or a bit more, with some craggy paths on the back side.

After wandering around the right side of the only little street on the island, taking photos of all the doorways I had photographed each year I’ve visited in the past, I found my usual restaurant spot at Sauro, owned by a family at whose hotel we stayed on our first trip to Italy in 1996. The birds were everywhere, audacious enough to pluck bread right out of the basket sitting in front of me on the table . . . and I encouraged every bit of it!

Some of the women joined me after awhile, we had wine and some dessert, and slowly made our way back to the boat dock to return to our cars in Passignano. Once settled, after bathroom breaks and more gelato and water, we headed to Cortona, the site of Under The Tuscan Sun. It is a walled hill-town high high up on a hilltop, and I like it better each time I visit there. Neil and I spent one night in October right in the old town and I’d like to do that again some time, but not today. Today we wander through the main streets, onto some back roads, and into a favorite coffee bar, where we get bellinis and lovely appetizers.

Then it’s back to the villa for the evening, through beautiful countryside, mist hovering over the Tuscan hills, and the sunlight streaming through distant rainclouds. We were fed at the villa with delicious leftovers and wine grown, made and bottled right on our villa property. Who could ask for more?

Oh yeah, and I drove through a little town I’ve never heard of, Bettole, that looks like a good candidate for a future purchase, if my lottery ticket comes up some year!

Thursday, May 15 – Today’s road trip is to Chianti country, and there are six of us, the other four opting not to venture into this most famous wine country. Castellina in Chianti is our first stop, and I haven’t been here for a dozen years. We found an Enoteca where we tasted some wine, discovered a beautiful small hotel right next door to the wine shop, complete with spa and stone swimming pool. A spectacular view out to the Chianti vineyards that make up 90% of this area of Tuscany, and the purchase of postcards and a few bottles of wine . . . then off to our lunch destination . . . Badia a Coltibuono, owned by Lorenza di Medici and her cooking school.

The restaurant is on a hill past a grazing pasture full of huge white cows. At the front of the restaurant are wisteria and the strangest rose bushes, full of small pink roses with petals almost carnation-like. On the same branches, sprinkled throughout, are huge yellow roses with pink edges! How do they do that???

Our four-course lunch, paired with appropriate wines, was exquisite as usual, and we spent half the afternoon gazing out to the views beyond the restaurant grounds. Then to our last Chianti stop, Greve in Chianti, with its wide piazza, little flower shops, and an excellent ceramics shop. Not the tourist fare, but actual artisan art. There is a ceramic mask hanging in my studio, purchased from this shop in Greve.

It rained on and off all afternoon, but we were undeterred. We made our way back through the outskirts of Siena during rush hour traffic, just barely arriving at the villa in time to sit down to Maria’s delicious meal.

Friday, May 16 – Today is the day we all sleep in, sit around the lovely villa, and pack up for tomorrow’s departure from the villa. But mid-afternoon, Donna, Jane, Barbara Due and I took off for Montalcino wine country . . . that’s Brunello wine country, and the roads are full of invitations to visit one vineyard or another to taste the wine that has made this area famous! My goal was to get to Castello Banfi, a well-known name, even in the U.S., and as I suspected, the grounds were beautiful, the tasting room was like a castle, and we spent quite a bit of time with our two tasting hosts before reluctantly returning to our villa.

We packed up the cars before going to bed, so we would be ready to head back to Florence the next morning, to return the rental cars and get our private transportation to Cinque Terre. It’s been a good week, and I think I will see this villa again soon.