It happened again. That makes twice. Which is enough but I’m not sure what happens if we get to a third. I hung a load of laundry on the line Wednesday night so it would be dry when I came home from work Thursday afternoon so that I could hang the next load. We have a really nifty little washing machine, but dryers are actually pretty rare here and most people line dry everything, as do we. We have a couple racks designed for hanging clothes indoors when outdoor conditions aren’t ideal. Normally this is fine unless more than one person wants to dry clothes or you’re trying to get your sheets dry without draping them along the floor. These are the ideal times for outdoor drying. It’s hot. Clothes dry quickly, usually. About 5.30pm on Thursday I looked out my office window to some pretty serious thunderheads. How do I know they were thunderheads? It was thundering. Anyway, I thought about my summer fresh clothes hanging on our terrace and thought about running home. But I’m a gambler (not really) and I decided to hold’em (actually I was just lazy) instead of fold’em (well I’ll fold them eventually) so I took my chances and hoped there wouldn’t be a storm or I’d be home before it started. Twenty minutes later it sounds like someone is emptying a bucket against my window. Nuts goes the laundry.
I guess I can claim I’m being green by not using a dryer, but can you claim the credit when you’re doing it because it’s the only option? Because I have to; I didn’t choose to skip using a dryer. I’m not choosing not to drive; I don’t have a car and everything I need is within easy walking distance. But choice or not my carbon footprint has definitely shrunk (unlike my carbon waistline) and is now about the size of a small foot. Barely big enough to cast a shadow. Yeah for me? Not really. If I could use a dryer I would. That fresh summer smell is way overblown. And the towels are stiff and scratchy. Give me 45 minutes on High heat with a couple fabric softener sheets any day.
Now some might think that based on the above and that I haven’t written in a while that nothing has been going on. Well if some think that then some are just plain wrong. Lots has been going on. For example, the World Cup started last week. That’s something. And another thing is I want to Ca’Gallo (I’d give you a link to it but it’s too small to get its own good link) on Sunday. And even another thing is on Sunday I also went to Schieti (again, really small) for Raimondo’s trampoli race. That was really something!
And the next something is the party I went to on Monday for Italy’s first World Cup match against Uruguay. Although that turned out to be not much of anything. And the final something was the Good Shoes concert on Wednesday night. So you see, lately it has been a lot of doing which hasn’t left much time for writing. But I’m trying to fix that…right…now.
Last Saturday was the second night of the World Cup tournament. I’m actually cheering for four teams: the USA (home team), the UK (mom is from there), Italy (sort of feel obligated and if Italy can somehow pull off a repeat I want to be here for that party), and the Ivory Coast (childhood nostalgia for the country where I grew up. Yes I did Kelly.) and on Saturday night the USA was playing the UK and Massi, Lorenza and I had been invited to dinner at Francesca’s house to watch the match. We were outside eating the antipasti course of snails, tramezzini and vegetables with the game started and about five minutes later we heard a commotion and Massi joked that the UK must have scored. “Har, har” goes I without much of a second thought, but about ten minutes later I figured I should at least check and after that is when I decided to stop watching the game. But the primi course of asparagus soup was being served just before the half ended and we saw the miracle, lucky, skillful, unlucky goal that had us all obsessed for the second half. I had four Italian rooting on the USA with me through the pasta course of spaghetti with pomodorini and mussels, the secondo of baked mussels, fried scampi, and grilled sardines. The game was tied and well and done when the fresh fruit for dessert came out. For those of you who lost count, that’s 1-1 for the match and five courses for dinner.
Sunday afternoon I had my first fun misunderstanding due to the language barrier (which tells you how my Italian is progressing; I now know enough to be dangerous). I was going to ride with Lorenza to Ca’gallo for Raimondo’s big race. When I came downstairs to meet Lorenza she remarked that I hadn’t packed anything. I asked why I would need more than my wallet, camera, keys and phone since we were just going for the day. Actually, we’re staying the night because she is not coming back to Ancona until Tuesday and I’m taking the train back to Ancona Monday morning with Raimondo she says. Am I really is about all I could come up with. Apparently this had all been discussed and agreed to in the car home from dinner the previous evening by the two of us. Well paint me surprised. Not much to do now but pack a bag quickly and get on with it which I did.
Ca’gallo is Raimondo’s home town, about a 1000 residents, north towards Pesaro and then 30 kilometers west towards Urbino. Ca’gallo means House of the Rooster in dialect in case you were curious.
We arrived during the Sunday nap so we went to the bar to watch soccer and wait for the family to rouse themselves. Once they roused, we made introductions, admired the family garden, and headed for Schieti for the annual Palio dei Trampoli festival. Trampoli means stilts and every year participants dress in historical peasant garb, mount their stilts and race through the town of Schieti.
Saturday has a series of seeding races and Sunday, there are the finals. Before the racing started there was a parade.
Based on his time, Raimondo had qualified in the third fastest group and when his race started he bolted to a quick lead. The race begins at the bottom of a steep hill which turns sharply right after about 20 meters where the hill gets slightly less steep for about 10 meters, goes flat for another 15 meters or so and then tilts up slightly around a left turn for the last few meters. Coming out of the first turn Raimondo lost his stilts and his lead but boarded his stilts and got going in time to place second in his race, a vast improvement over last year and one to which I have to claim most of the credit for as it was me that pushed him in training over the past couple of months.
After the races were all done there was an awards ceremony where all participants received a hunk of cheese and a bottle of wine.
And then it was time to party. Schieti is tiny and perched on top of a hill with an old church crowning the top and old, stone, craggy buildings guarding the approach. Nestled in any open space between the buildings were several beer gardens, food courts, artiginal (artisanal? artisan?) food and craft vendors, and rowdy children. We ate our dinner in the church courtyard, listening to live music and watching the sun set on the surrounding hills, turning the church pink and then purple while kids danced and laughed themselves silly and the adults relaxed alternating between singing, eating, talking and nursing the latest bruised knee or elbow of their tiny performers.
On Monday night, Italy played their first World Cup match. I went to a friend's house with a crowd of other people to see it. It was a cool experience. They put a TV on their patio and his wife, who is from Naples, made pizza for everyone and we sat outside in the sun and watched the match and had beer and pizza. It wasn't much of a match and just like in the US, you get that many people together and it quickly becomes more about the conversation than watching the game.
The host's parents were there and they are also from Naples. I couldn't understand a word they said. The accent is tremendous in every sense of the word. Generous. Boisterous. Gregarious. They acted like the Italian American stereotypes from the old B&W movies. Most Italians from the North consider the South another country and you can kind of see why. They also have a blind dog and a cat with feline HIV. Plus turtles that do tricks. Over the top crazy. A good experience for watching my first Italy World Cup match. The next one is Sunday afternoon.
Fortunately, at the Good Shoes concert Wednesday night there was no need to fight the boredom. Ancona is a port town and many years ago, like lots and lots, during the Black Plague, the port officials built themselves a fort to keep the infected people away and them safe so they could keep the port operating. These days, the fort hosts art shows, plays, concerts and other cultural events during the summer.
Wednesday night was the first concert of the season. It was a muggy, sticky, humid, evening but nice enough down by the water for it to be better to be outside than inside. The concert flyer said the show started at 21.30 which meant we arrived at 22.30, everyone else got there around 23.00 and the show started promptly at 23.15. Forty minutes later it was all over and soon after that I was back in my air conditioned room (my carbon footprint just put on flippers!).
And that’s the something that has been keeping me occupatto these past few days.
And finally, a coupe really BIG somethings:
Happy Birthday Mom. I know Dad will make the day special for you and I’m sure Dave has something nice planned to celebrate when you go visit him later this summer. (Don’t you Dave?) I hope you have a great year and what I would say to you if I was there is that I love you and then I would sing “Happy Birthday” really loudly and badly like you always do for me and then I would insist on a really big piece of your cake..
Happy Father’s Day Dad. I know Mom will make the day special for you and I’m sure Dave has something nice planned to celebrate when you go visit him later this summer. (Don’t you Dave?) And what I would say if I was there is that I love you and I’m really proud of you and that you’re a pretty special Father and I’m incredibly grateful that you’re mine.
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