A weekend in “Il Mezzogiorno”

On Thursday all the residence of Palazzo Alberti, minus Jenna, squished in a mini bus to head for an adventure in La Foce and Matera. La Foce is a plantation in Val d’Orcia (in southern Tuscany). For our literature class we read a war diary written by the owner of this plantation, Iris Origo. During WWII Origo and her husband helped the partisans and allied troops who roamed through their 7000 acres of land. We had the chance to visit the villa and gardens of their plantation. This land was beyond picturesque. The landscape was intriguing and watching it roll out before me was as if the book was came to life. The land has not changed much since Origo described it 70 years ago. Origo’s description of the farm both prepared me for what I would see and also helped me to reason what I was seeing once we arrived.

“We live on a large farm in southern Tuscany –twelve miles from the station and five from the nearest village. The country is wild and lonely: the climate harsh. Our house stands on a hillside, looking down over a wide and beautiful valley, beyond which rises Monte Amiata, wooded with chestnuts and beeches. Nearer by, on this side of the valley, lie slopes of cultivated land: wheat, olives and vines, but among them still stand some ridges of dust-coloured clay hillocks, the crete sense- as bare and colourless as elephants’ backs , as mountains of the moon.” – Iris Origo, War in Val d’Orcia

I often wondered what she meant by these “colourless elephants’ backs”. However when we arrived in La Foce, it was not hard to clarify. There are large patterns of erosion that zigzag down the valley in russet bare slopes. These slopes penetrate the landscape and attract the curious eye. The whole scene is more like a painting than reality. La Foce host many celebrities, designers, and politicians on luxurious vacations. Benedetta, our tour guide and the event planner for the plantation, told me that it cost 7000 Euro to have a wedding in the garden. If you decided that you want to rent the villa and the garden, it would cost 22,000 Euros. My mom always said that she wanted me to have a “destination wedding”. I have decided this will be the perfect place one day. And relatively speaking, it would cost less than one year’s worth of tuition at Meredith. It is all relative, right Mom?

We spent Thursday night in a small village close to La Foce, Montisi. The hotel was an old house renovated from- I don’t know…like really old! Hannah, Sam, Vi and I stayed in room number 7, or the attic to be more precise. The stair case winded around and ended at our room with a one platform step. It was like something out of a Steve King novel. I was afraid to open the door because the darkness heighted my sense of imagination. What is going to pop out at me on the other side of this door? I felt like I need to be carrying a candle with me.
Much to my dismay or maybe appreciation, nothing but a queen bed and cot was on the other side of the door. However, our bathroom was complete with a creepy crawl space and sky light. Did I mention it was soon to be Friday the 13th?

On Friday, we woke up early to begin the six hour drive to Matera. I had the opportunity to sit in the front seat and practice my Italian with our handsome driver, Marco. He has become somewhat of our regular chauffer around Italia and also my language partner. Marco is especially qualified for the job because, unlike my other Italian friends, he speaks little English. For this reason, we have established Italian as our communicative language. This validates my hypothesis that once you establish a language with someone it is hard to change. But, it is always difficult in a second language. At dinner on Saturday night I acted as a translator for Marco. Dr. Webb and I had been talking about how in Morocco typically a dentist performs circumcision. From there we talked about castrating bulls. Now that I look back on it, this was not actually appropriate dinner conversation. My grandfather would allocate it as equal to discussing diapers or bras at the dinner table. Anyhow, I think we were relating it to the subject of pain and diversion from pain. We joked that in Morocco, you can have a two for one. The whole table burst out in laughter and Marco looked at me inquisitively. I then mistakenly explained to Marco, in Italian, that in Morocco the dentist also performs “castrazione” (castration). Marco’s eyes got big as our dinner plates and my face turned beet red. I did not realize what I had just said. Between choking on bread and laughing, Chelsea pointed out that I really meant “circumcision”. I did not know the word for this in Italian therefore trying to explain circumcision was more awkward and embarrassing then my mistake. “Bambino” “Nascire” “un intervento”.

Matera is where Passion of the Christ was filmed. It is appropriate because the city looks like it is in Israel, not Italy. The sassi, literally meaning ‘stone’, forms a cave like feeling to the city. As we walked around, or slipped around on the glassy slick cobble stone, I was set back in time. The lighting and fog at night added to the mood. Most of the buildings are formed from caves in the rock.

On Saturday we visited Aliano, were Carlo Levi, author of Christ Stopped at Eboli, was exiled during WWII. Along the way, we stopped to buy clementines. The breakfast at the hostel was complete with bread and more bread. We were happy to consume some fruit for the sake of resisting scurvy. However, I did more than resist scurvy. Last night I went to shower and thought I had a case of bed bugs by the looks of my thighs. I ran down stairs to announce my diagnosis to the professors. If it was bed bugs, surely the whole palazzo would need to be exterminated with Clorox. My assumption was shot down and my disease clarified as overindulgence in clementines. Dr Webb likes to call anything of this nature the “epozootacus”. This could mean a rash or the runs. In my case, it materialized as “acid rash”. I think I’ll be watching my citrus intake for the week.

Sunday we made the long 9 hour drive back to Sansepolcro. Being away from Sansepolcoro really gave the word “home” a whole new meaning. Home is a state of mind, not a physical place on the map. A weekend in the Mezzogiorno, the south of Italy, allowed me to see that Tuscany and more specifically Sansepolcro has become my home this fall. Giacomo called last night and I answered the phone with a joyful, “I’m home”! I am already in denial that in three weeks time, I will be leaving this home for my other home.