More about Italy

The excitement of being in Italy was enough to keep me high our entire trip, but it's the details that stay with me in my memory.

These cities are so old and contain so much charm. I took several pictures of doors and their decorative knobs and elaborate knockers.

The people who live and work behind these curious doors must have lots of patience and love for humanity for every day they contend with driving their cars through these twisting, steep streets full of oblivious tourists. I never heard a cross word nor did I see an exasperated face. Maybe if I could eat like they do every day I'd be alot more patient, who knows?

We looked inside the Temple of San Biagio that sits at the hill of Montepulciano. Here's a wide view inside:

The streets are cobblestone. There are a few old stone gate entryways scattered about of which Doug took pictures.

Notice the window above as evidence that someone lives there. How would you like to be about to tell someone you live above the east gate in Montepulciano, Italy?

The streets run between tall, old, stone and brick buildings but every once in a while there is an alley down which you can see The View, similar to this. The pictures I took down the dark alleys leading to views like this didn't turn out.

We arrived in Montepulciano under a full moon so we usually took a walk after dinner to take in these views under the moonlight. Very romantic.

We were not always out running around. We spent plenty of time in the room, the courtyard at the hotel or sitting in a park reading. We started one day doing some yoga in our room. I was reminded that poses, like Mountain, are active poses. (For those of you not familiar with yoga, Mountain pose is a basic standing position, hands held open and muscles engaged for balance and posture.) This reminded me that I can be active in life without being physical. This is something I know, but should realize more often.

There was a artist's exhibition in a building next to the park that we went to see. The artist carved figures from olive trees - only fallen, naturally lost olive trees, none were cut down for this. The most striking display, to me, was The Last Supper in which each disciple and Christ were represented by their hands alone. The thought this man put into what Peter's hands would look like in contrast to Bartholomew's was interesting.

One of our walks led to a cemetary with a huge, old, rusted iron gate at the entrance. We walked around and noticed, humorously, that the rest of the cemetary was surrounded by a very short wall that anyone could have climbed or hopped over. I can't express how much I loved taking walks there. It was always accompanied with an "if my friends could see me now" feeling of excitement. I even asked God once if He could see me! The last time I felt this was on a beach on the Aran Island of Innishmore off Ireland. The moonlight shone on the water and I wept, it was so beautiful.

The beauty of the agriturismo we stayed at near Volterra (Marcampo) was very different than Montepulciano. It was not as green. It still had rolling hills, but the hills were covered with what looked like cut hay. I walked and walked over and around these hills. There was a huge grove of trees that I wanted to walk around, but, as I tried, I realized that the grove just kept going with no break and after a couple hours or days (I lost track of time in fear of becoming truly lost) I gave up and went back to our room.

 I got up twice at sunrise and walked to see the shepherds with their sheep. They talk and whistle to them and I loved listening. I tried to record it, but between the wind and the distance it didn't turn out. The first morning I saw them I was on the hill and they were in the valley below. I kept glancing over listening an watching. Soon I realized that the watcher was being watched. I raised my hand in a wave and in response I heard, "Ciao!" "Ciao" I shouted back. More chat was volleyed back, but my Italian was exhausted. I can still hear them in my head, I really wish I could have recorded it successfully. It sounded much different than the Uzbek shepherds and goatherds I hear in the mounains of Uzbekistan.

When I go on trips like this that I so thoroughly enjoy I wonder how I can take some of it home with me. One way to bring Italy home is flowers. Flowers spill off every doorstep, dangle off every wall and, sitting in pots, fill every street. On one walk, I saw one tiny flower in a very small pot that was quite dry. All we had with us was our Camelbak so I sucked in some water, spit it into the soil and repeated enough times to give it a good watering. I enjoyed the flowers so much I somehow felt obligated to help the little guy out.