A Rocky Beach

Maybe you, too, have seen the photos of the beaches in Italy that are surrounded by boulders.  Some people sunbathe on the rocks, others jump into the clear, blue water.  And, maybe, like me, you long to be at that beach.  Even though I read about Ancona before my trip, I didn't know that I was about to discover one of those beaches!  When I checked into the Grand Hotel Palace, I asked the young woman behind the desk for recommendations. She suggested a nearby cafe with outdoor seating for lunch and then a walk to a beach directly outside the historical center.  Her voice and face filled with caution, "There are many stairs to get to the beach, and it is rocky.  There's no sand, just rocks." She thought for a moment and added that it was also possible to take an elevator to get to the beach.  I was curious!

After a lunch of salad, orecchiette with sausage and tomatoes, and white wine, I strolled through the historical center of Ancona. Then, onto a tree covered promenade to finally reach a monument and the stairs to the beach.  

Partial view of the elevator that goes to the beach. 

Stairs to the beach area.

There are many, many stairs to reach the Spiaggia del Pesseto.  There is also an elevator from the street level above to the beach area below, though most of the people I saw took the steps. I walked toward the elevator to take pictures of this postcard view, then climbed down the stairs for a closer look.  I could see low ramps to get into the water, and in one area the white stones went right to the water's edge.  Getting into the water did not require a death-defying dive!  In fact, people of all  ages were easily getting in and out of the water.  I was already eager for a beach day!

View through the plexiglass that surrounds the elevator.  

The next afternoon, I returned for a relaxing afternoon in the sun and sea.

I took the steps to get the beach and back to the street.

Sunbathing.

The elevator is partially visible on the right side of the photo.

Life can be filled with surprises, and my visit to Ancona was certainly a pleasant surprise.  Arrivederci, Ancona, alla prossima volta. Until next time.

Piazza del Plebiscito

The view of the port from my hotel room. 

Remember to Look Up!

I arrived in Pesaro in time for lunch.  Pesaro is in the region of Le Marche on the eastern coast of Italy, along the Adriatic Sea.  It's a popular seaside destination.  I reserved a hotel for three days, with a loose plan to explore the city, take the bus to the nearby medieval village of Urbino for one day, and have another day to relax at the beach.  After leaving my bags in my somewhat bleak hotel room and eating a mediocre lunch, I hoped the day would improve as I set out for a walk through the city center. 

Well, I was pleasantly surprised at the charm-- quaint streets, shops, and interesting fixtures overhead on many of the side streets.  I truly smiled when I reached the street with the hanging umbrellas!  I have seen photos of this display, and did not know that it was in Pesaro!  

I asked my neighbor, Sergio, who seems to know almost everything about Italian history and art, to explain the significance of the umbrellas.  He replied that it was just for fun.  That is a good enough reason for me! Though, I did wonder if the lanterns with the musical notes connected to the composer Gioachino Rossini.  Pesaro is his birthplace and the annual Rossini Opera Festival was happening while I was there. (Outdoor and indoor performances.) 

Perfect symmetry! 

At Home

A week ago, I went with my friend, Ursula, to Ikea.  The impetus for this was as follows:  I was at the apartment next door, home of Ursula and Sergio, when Ursula placed crackers into a zip-lock bag.  I pounced and asked, "Where did you get those bags?"  A regular zip-lock bag cannot be found on the supermarket shelves in Italy.  She replied that they were from Ikea and that she needed to go soon to pick up coffee and napkins.  I asked if I could tag along on her next trip.  

In addition to zip-lock bags, I had a list of items that I wanted to buy to have my apartment here feel more like "me"... more like my "home".  Included on the list-- glass jars for my morning oatmeal and tea; colorful potholders; a short glass vase for the table; an outdoor mat; new sheets.  And, of course there were the extra items I picked up while there, like the heart napkin holder in the photo.  Isn't that what Ikea is all about?  

The questions of what creates a "home" and where I feel the most "at home", have been on my mind for months. (And, the question of feeling "useful" again, but that's a separate issue!)  When I first bought my own house in Bloomfield, I had clear notions of the home I wanted to create.  All the photographs on the walls were ones I had taken of significant people and places. Each handmade item had a story.  Homemade cookies were always in the freezer.  Flowers were on the table. Good quality soap was in the bathroom.  I wanted a feeling of love. Of course, some of those aspects are easy to recreate anywhere; but, the essence of "home" is something else.  

After the Christmas holidays of 2019 and before the "lockdown", I began to feel homesick.  I missed all of my belongings and the activities that I did with ease and confidence.  I emailed my friend, Ed, who had traveled extensively.  He called and said, "I'm surprised it took you this long."  I blurted out, "I just want to throw two sticks of butter in my KitchenAide and bake a damn batch of cookies!" We had a serious conversation about being connected to a place, about routines that mattered, and how it was normal to miss all of that. I had read articles written by people who were traveling long term, and each one said that they didn't even think about the items they had packed into storage.  Turns out, that is not my case at all.  

After almost a year, my apartment, which is beautifully appointed, does contain more items that I selected.  I like remembering each purchase and the conversations with shop owners. The apartment is modern and my taste tends to be more "country", so now there's a happy blend.  This is only a small step, because "home" is more than objects.  A casa.  Dove cantera' il mio cuore? 

(Note-- After I wrote this rumination, I listened to a podcast by an American journalist working in Beirut and reporting on the explosion of 4 August. Her apartment was badly damaged.  She had multiple cuts requiring stitches.  Her story, and worse, is multiplied throughout the city.  Perspective.)