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.)

Capoliveri and Laundry

Several weeks before my trip to Isola d'Elba, I purchased a watch from the Locman store in Florence.  The headquarters for Locman is on Elba, which I did not know until I was chatting with the store manager, Simona. Because Simona was so friendly, I emailed her before I went on my trip and asked for advice.  She replied that I had to go to the town of Capoliveri at night.  

While there were many places on my Elba list that I did not visit,  I made sure to see Capoliveri. The hotel manager, Massimo, who advised me to relax on the "sunbed", did help me plan this small adventure.  He arranged for the taxi, selected and reserved a table at the restaurant, La Taverna dei Poeti, and suggested the time I would need to explore and eat dinner. 

Capoliveri sits on a hill, 167 meters above sea level and overlooking Porto Azzurro.  Many people visit this town to wander, shop, enjoy an aperitivo or dinner, or attend a performance. While one cab driver said no one actually lives in the hill town,  I found evidence to the contrary-- many clotheslines filled with laundry hanging in the alleyways.  One aspect of Italian life that I find so intriguing is that laundry is not private.  

In a country where few people seem to have clothes dryers, there is no alternative but to hang clothes to dry, either outside in the warm weather, or inside when necessary.  In my neighborhood in the Oltrarno, clothes are draped over balconies and outside windows. Once while on the island of Burano (near Venice), I walked away from the main street with all the shops selling expensive, hand-made lace, and laundry was everywhere!  There was even a clothesline strung in a small passageway connecting two streets.  I am always touched by this glimpse into our real human lives, especially amidst all the tourist attractions. Also, there doesn't seem to be much modesty about one's undergarments on public display!

After secretly looking at laundry and strolling around the town, I ate a wonderful meal at La Taverna dei Poeti.  The waiter said it's the oldest restaurant in town, dating from 1909.  Now, the decor is modern, with a fresh, innovative menu. Dinner lasted over two hours, and I had to hurry to meet the taxi driver.  The streets were crowded and there was a line at the gelateria.  Everyone was enjoying the cool night air, the freedom to walk around after long days of "lockdown",  and the lights sparkling on the hill below.  

Colors

The soap of Acqua dell'Elba perfectly matches the color of the water surrounding the island. This is a grand design of marketing genius, and a soothing color wherever it is found. 

Lists

While in the Maremma, we could see the distant outline of Isola d'Elba, an island I was interested in visiting. Back in Florence, I read about all the island offered- a variety of beaches, hiking, snorkeling, sunshine, and Napoleon's villa during his one year exile on the island.  Elba is accessible via public transportation from Florence.  This was a good destination for a seaside vacation.  I  read  lists of "best" hotels and selected Hotel del Golfo, with its own sandy beach and swimming pools.  Then, I wrote a couple of lists to take with me-- other beaches to visit, historical sites to see, restaurants to try.  I was ready!  

The journey took five hours with two trains, a ferry and a taxi to reach the hotel.  I arrived in the late afternoon, checked in to my room, changed for the beach.  A swim followed by a late dinner facing the sea ended the day.  My list would wait. 

The next morning after breakfast, I stopped by the front desk and met the hotel manager, Massimo.  He patiently talked with me about my list.  He opened a map on his computer and showed me the different beaches, explaining the process to reach each one via bus.  The beach at Sant'Andrea was an hour one way, then a walk to the beach. Napoleon's villa- also an hour by bus.  Of course, I could rent a car or a motor scooter.  I declined.  After fifteen minutes, Massimo looked at me and in a kind voice said, "Madam, please go enjoy the sunbed and relax.  This list is stress.  If you want stress, you can come behind this desk.  Please, go to the sunbed for me, since I cannot go myself."  I nodded in agreement.  

On the walk back to my room, I reconsidered my list.  Did I really care about seeing Napoleon's villa?  No.  Did I need to take a bus to another beach when I had a beautiful beach right here with my own sunbed and umbrella?  No. So,  I put away the list, gathered my beach bag and walked to sunbed #84, where I happily remained for the next six days.