Looking Out a Window on Assisi

It's hard to believe (from the sunny-ness) that this picture was taken in December, when we (along with Nat’s mom Carolyn and sister Christie--hey, happy birthday to Carolyn today by the way) were eating lunch at ai Frantoio. It was extra chilly outside, due to a wind that seemed to come from St. Francis’ desire to clear the earth of the un-worthy or something. Assisi was still lovely, naturally, but we were certainly glad to be inside for a long lunching:

*Note: We were on pre-tirement, and now we’re back. Want the full story? Start the pre-tirement journey here. Want to go backwards? Read the last pre-tired post here and scroll back. Or, just keep coming back for pretty Italy pictures.

Gubbio Rooftops

It must have something to do with being built on a hillside, but Gubbio always provides great rooftop photo opportunites. It could also have something to do with the amazing old buildings and the particular roofing materials. Perhaps it’s the combination:

*Note: We were on pre-tirement, and now we’re back. Want the full story? Start the pre-tirement journey here. Want to go backwards? Read the last pre-tired post here and scroll back. Or, just keep coming back for pretty Italy pictures.

Castiglione del Lago in Fog

This view of Castiglione del Lago (the mountain town that boasts not only a full castle to walk through, but also the dandy Cantina restaurant and Nat’s Italian dentist) I believe was taken from Isola Maggiore on Lake Trasimeno.  Doesn’t it look adorably medieval in a way:

*Note: We were on pre-tirement, and now we’re back. Want the full story? Start the pre-tirement journey here. Want to go backwards? Read the last pre-tired post here and scroll back. Or, just keep coming back for pretty Italy pictures.

San Michele Archangelo Church on Isola Maggiore

Isola Maggiore is the one inhabited (by humans, that is--animals are on all the islands I'm guessing) island on Lake Trasimeno, and well worth the time it takes to ferry you there. San Michele Archangelo Church sits on top of the hill in the middle of the island (a hill that isn’t hard at all to walk up) and is surrounded by ancient olive trees, roaming rabbits and pheasants, and lovely vistas:

*Note: We were on pre-tirement, and now we’re back. Want the full story? Start the pre-tirement journey here. Want to go backwards? Read the last pre-tired post here and scroll back. Or, just keep coming back for pretty Italy pictures.

Spoleto’s Ponte della Torri

My favorite view and spot in one of the favorite towns (really, a small city) we visited (really, I think Spoleto was Nat’s top residential area to visit, after those nearest to us):

*Note: We were on pre-tirement, and now we’re back. Want the full story? Start the pre-tirement journey here. Want to go backwards? Read the last pre-tired post here and scroll back. Or, just keep coming back for pretty Italy pictures.

Morning Over Lake Trasimeno

Lovely, isn’t it? Especially on a rainy day in Seattle:

*Note: We were on pre-tirement, and now we’re back. Want the full story? Start the pre-tirement journey here. Want to go backwards? Read the last pre-tired post here and scroll back. Or, just keep coming back for pretty Italy pictures.

TTITIM #7: The View from the Pool in the Morning

Every morning (at least 99.9% of the time), whether I’m living in San Martino, Italy, or Seattle, USA,  I take the dogs for a walk almost first thing. In Seattle, I usually take them separately (cause it’s easier in our neighborhood full of other dogs, cats, and all that), Rory first then Sookie. But here in Italy, I take them around the yard (not just the dog yard, but the full three-level gigantic yard) together. We tend to walk through the dog yard (which is fenced in), down the straight grassy stretch to the pool’s front edge, up the stone stairs to the olive grove, around a bit, down the slope to the back side of the pool, down the circular steps, through the tall grass pasture, up the slope to the long grassy walk from dog yard to pool and back into the dog yard. A nice little 20-minute-ish ramble to smell, sniff, pee, eat from the deer scat buffet (the dogs, not me), and wake up. We usually only stop for more than a couple seconds at one spot, the back side of the pool. It’s about the middle of the walk, and a good stop to make the dogs sit, catch their breath, calm down if the little neighbor dogs have been yapping incessantly (driving Rory nuttier than normal), and have a snack (tends to be hotdogs, if you’re interested). While the dogs are snacking, I take a moment to look out, over the grass pasture, over the neighbor’s field, and out farther, over the valley we live above, the far western corner of the Niccone Valley, our own corner of the Italy, a spot I think is as beautiful as any other spot in the world. No picture does it justice, definitely not this one, but I took it this morning, about 8:30 am, and it’ll at least give you an idea of what, soon, sadly, I won’t see every morning:

*All TTITIM

A Trip Over the Hills to Preggio and Beyond

We usually, when leaving the house to go farther than our local towns (being the twin cities, Lisciano Niccone and Mercatale), heading into Umbria (or Le Marche), go along an East-rolling-and-curving-road (the SS something or other) that’s a small highway, taking us through towns and fields to Niccone, where we either turn left to Verna (where Nestor’s is) and such or right to Umbertide and bigger highways. There’s another road from Umbertide that heads to Cielo Chiaro, but it’s mountainous and via a small hill town we’d never visited before called Preggio. We’d driven past the Umbertide exit for this route, I dunno, hundreds of times, but finally recently decided to take it. It was a fairly swell day, and it ended up being a wonderful drive. Firstly, because there were tons of vistas on each side as we drove:

and then all-of-sudden we went around a corner and saw this stately-but-homey castle:

Someone lives there (lots of “privato strada” signs), and what I say is: “lucky them.” Dang. Who gets to live in a castle like this up in a remote part of the Umbrian hills? George Clooney’s second Italian home perhaps? We passed many attractive smaller houses, too, a couple eating spots tucked into the hills, and one handsome horse who decided he was going to try and open the gate to visit us:

After about, oh, fifteen or twenty minutes we came upon Preggio (which is about say 14 kilometers from our house after driving a “U”), which was a lovely little hill town:

Mostly famous for its chestnut (or “castagna”) festival when loads of folks descend (enough that there’s a whole parking lot outside the town for folks coming to it), Preggio is another picturesque example of a hill town tourists rarely even drive by. Which is shame, because we spent oh, twenty minutes walking around its attractive stone streets, looking at the church, which has an super intriguing, pagan-y-folk-art-y cross on the side:

and at the views into and off the edge of the town:

There’s also a snug restaurant (La Castagna) that wasn’t open for lunch (when we were there), but which we can’t wait to go back to for an evening meal. Now, sometimes, isn’t it better to go the backroads?

Assisi Morning and Afternoon

Assisi is a quaint little Umbrian hill town. Well, maybe not so much, as it’s really an internationally known spot, revered by pilgrims, art and architecture lovers, and history mavens. If you don’t know (and I suppose you do, but let me refresh just in case), Assisi is the home of St. Francis, who is the reason for the above-mentioned international magnetism. St. Francis not only started a monastic order, completely changed the church, had a devoted female opposite number (Clare) who also started an order (nuns, naturally), but made friends with animals. I’ve tried to think of how to make a modern parallel to St. Francis, but it’s impossible. It’d be as if Paris Hilton gave up her worldly possessions in front of her parents and the country’s most famous governor, devoted herself to charity, chastity, poverty, and obedience, changed the way the US government operates and thinks (the church was at least this impressive and important at the time), and inspired a horde of followers to devote themselves to the same ideals, including one of her rich boyfriends. After she died, her selflessness would then inspire others to build an otherworldly-lovely monument, decorated on the inside by the top artists of the day. Unimaginable. But that’s what St. Francis was like, in hindsight. And Assisi is a reflection of this, if one that’s a bit touristy and more ornate than he would have ever approved of, I suppose. But beautiful, indeed. Not every building and brick is focused on St. Francis and Clare, though. The first church I always see when entering Assisi proper (because I always park in the same cark park—hey, I’m easy) is actually the Cathedral of San Rufino, named for a 3rd century illustrious bishop. Like most churches, no pics are allowed inside, so I can’t show you the baptismal font where Clare and Francis were baptized, but I can show you the front façade of the church, which dates back to the 12th century and is starkly handsome:

From there, it’s a short windy walk to St. Clare’s. Not as ornate as St. Francis’ big basilica, Clare’s church is still a charming, and more relaxed in its visual wonders, spot:

one that also presents, when sitting on or looking over the wall, delightful views of the Umbrian countryside (a fitting spot for Clare to be buried beside):

It’s helpful when strolling the streets and cozy brick and stone corridors to take a side path here and there away from the shops and shoppes with their products from China (okay, there are some that are truly Italian, especially one or two full of hand-carved olive-wood products) to get a grasp of how Assisi must have been a delight to wander (not that it isn’t now, but to wander it when bereft of crowds would have been something else entirely—which is why getting away from crowds here and there is good):

In the middle of Assisi is the Piazzo del Comune, where the Temple of Minerva (now called the church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva) holds court. A step back from the Renaissance into the Roman age, the columnar front of the church is perhaps the best example of Roman columns outside of Rome:

The church inside has been completely re-done in a baroque style that’s worth viewing with its garish charms. However, it’s nothing like the main Assisi event, the take-your-breath-away Basilica of St. Francis:

Honestly, there’s something about Assisi and the Basilica that amazes me more than heroically artistic cities I love such as Florence. Not that I think it’s more worthy, or has better art, etc. It’s just that I would expect a historically powerful and financially important city such as Florence to overwhelm. But Assisi is different--it’s done up because of one man (and his followers, but inspired by him). The Basilica is a reflection of the devotion he inspired. Again, no indoor pics, but it’s like two galleries on top of one another, with the top an airier, lighter, monument to his life and to the art of Giotto (thanks to Giotto’s series of frescos about St. Francis’ life, frescos which run along the sides), and with the bottom church a darker, but not dreary, array of allegorical, historical, and splendid artworks by a number of the top hot artists of the time. It was a cold day when we were there recently, but clear, and blue-skied, providing the opportunity for some bundled up, but still amazing, viewing of this town’s signature artistry, not to mention the town itself, perched on the foothills of Mt. Subasio:

Walking Down San Martino Hill

I’m not saying this happens every morning (cause we don’t need any lying here on the Six Months blog), but probably 2/3s of the mornings, or somewhere between 1/2 and 2/3s of the mornings, I go for a little walk down the Italian hill we live upon. It usually happens after taking the dogs around the grounds and feeding them (I do have my priorities straight), and every so often Nat will walk with me (or we’ll take another walk). Often, though, it’s just me walking down and up the hill. And it’s a darn nice walk down, I have to say (up is nice, too, in a visual sense, though steep, very steep), with lots of vistas and views and nature-y nature-ness. I thought it might be good for you, too, to have a walk down the hill, through a couple photos (please start moving your legs while you read now). First, when walking out the gate, I get a great olive grove on the right. We’ve seen deer in this grove at night oh, five to ten times when driving home, and once a young buck stopped in the road right in front of us before leaping into the grove:

There are many lovely vistas during the walk, looking south-west off the mountain over the Niccone valley (named after the rives that runs through it) and the town of Mercatale. This onview occurs early in the walk, and also shows a newish fence. The reason I put the fence in is because I saw it built in a way. Over the course of a week, I would see an older Italian man working on it, first mapping it out, then putting up poles, then fencing, then touching it up. The first time I walked by he didn’t give me much notice, but every day became more friendly, going from Buon Giorno to Giorno to the more familiar “ciao.” I suppose even a strange American becomes familiar after a few days:

On the right when walking down, and especially farther up, near our house, you see signs for private property from Reschio. Reschio is one of the traditional castles in the area, one of the few still kept up and modernized, and still (I think) owned by tha Count. He’s also bought up lots of the surrounding land (the castle itself is a couple kilometers from us), and rents much of it and the houses on it out for lots of euros. I like that the lower sign specifically tells to stay away from his mushrooms:

My favorite site on the walk is also somewhat castle-like, though not of the size as the Count’s. And, it isn’t in anywhere near decent shape from what I can tell, though if looking closely some construction fencing is visible. Maybe it’s being restored in a slow slow manner? I think it’s quite statuesque and elegant in its little valley, with its one crumbling tower. I suppose a couple million could get it up to shape, if you’re so inclined:

Right close to my favorite little fortress is my favorite tree. And yes, I have a favorite tree on the walk. Call me hippie if you must. The fall and winter foliage around us is stark and green, but I sway towards the stark side on favorite tree picking. This one looks so Sleepy Hollow to me, and very dramatic (even the trees in Italy have a flair for the artistic):

Walking down a bit farther, past some yapping dogs (one named Benji, by the way. Really) that weren’t out today due to temperatures being in the single Celsius digits, there is a man-made lake on the right (at least it looks man-made to me). Often, they’ll be ducks on the lake, and most times a small herd of sheep near it (about the same number of sheep that I owned when I was a twelve year old farm boy). Sadly, both fowl and furry animals were inside today, but the lake itself is still pretty:

Shortly after the lake (and by “shortly” I mean the steepest part of the walk) I’m in the valley, almost to the road that connects us with the rest of Italy and the world:

And then I turn around, catch my breath, and get ready to head back up the hill (no pictures from the way up—as mentioned: very steep):

A Short Visit to Pretty Panicale

We headed out exploring the other day (the same day we saw the Trasmino vistas mentioned below) and ended up first at a hill town called Panicale. We didn’t know much about Panicale before heading there, except that it supposed to be a very attractive spot that’s been there since medieval times, and one that has held on to much of its medieval feel. That seemed like a worthy place to visit, and you know what, it was. Extremely pretty, the loveliness starts from when you see it driving up (sadly, no great picture was taken) and includes even the ivy-covered elegantly brick arches on the way into town:

Unlike any Umbrian hill towns, that have their pretty centers but then include a newer sprawl, Panicale is mostly still what’s within the old town walls (with a little tasteful newer buildings on the outskirts, and a nice mountain-view park), starting with the Palazzo Pretorio, which is a mid-sized central square highlighted by the fountain built in 1473:

The whole town is a sort-of oval, with streets circling up and around and back in and occasionally under:

Even the sturdiest of towns needs help here and there though, so Nat pitched in and held up one wall:

When wandering through Panicale, you come across amazing vistas, a few cute ristorantes (most sadly closed when we were there—November is when many restaurateurs take vacations), enchanting houses, and the Church of San Michele Arcangelo (dating back to the 10th to 11th century):

which houses some good frescos and other art (not photographable though), and a doorway that’s welcoming even though the sculptured ladies above it are chilly:

There were a few other churches to see, and a host of views over the valleys surrounding Panicale, but my favorite part of the town was the little Piazza Masolino, which was at the highest part of the town. Unavailable for cars, and home to a church-turned-museum, this little piazza has a number of small apartments facing in to it, all built within the old city walls. This picture is when walking out, so doesn’t do it justice:

The Piazza Masolino to me is a wonderful example of Umbrian hill town life. If I was ever able to buy a spot in Italy and didn’t have dogs (a lot of if-ing I guess), it would be in a square like this, calm, historic, with just enough space to dream about the years that were there before you. Oh, of course, the fact that it has a view over lake Traismeno doesn’t stink, either:

Sun and Clouds and Fog Over Lake Trasimeno

We haven’t mentioned it much (outside of ferrying across it with Keith and Tasha), but we live fairly close (about 20 minutes here or there) to the largest lake in central Italy, Lago Trasimeno. Not only a lovely lake, it’s also the site of a famous battle between Hannibal and the Romans, where Hannibal mopped up the floor (or the lake) with the Romans due to some fancy strategizing and a serious ambush. It also has lots of nice towns around and near it, and yesterday we were heading out to visit two of them (Panicale and Castiglione del Lago both of which I’ll write about later). On our drive, we had to pull over though, because the views of the lake and the islands on it as we wound around the mountain drive were amazing (these two pics in no way do it justice, but at least you’ll get an idea of our lake and the skies and the vistas. Oh, one pic’s just of the lake, and one’s a closer up shot of Isola Maggiore):

Cielo Chiaro Vistas, Part 2

Now, I wanted to put up a few more pics of Cielo Chiaro, our house here in San Marino (which isn’t even really a cluster of houses, but a loose designation for a rural neighborhood on the top of a hill), but I don’t want it to seem like I’m saying “nah-nah-nah, look at our Italian house.” Really, I just want my mom (and Nat’s mom) to realize that we’re not in a complete Italian remote ruralness, and that we do have a charming house, with running water, and some grounds to walk the hounds on in the morning. With that, here’s a look at the hounds (that’s Sookie and Rory, if you’ve forgotten) regular hang out space, which is a big, about twenty-five yard-square fenced-in area (Andrew and Marianne put up a new fence before we got here) that they run around (you can see them barely in this pic):

Out the back gate of Sookie and Rory’s yard you can see a view (this is a long view) of the pool (sadly closed, but we walk around it every day), and the long yard, and a little of the top yard (notice the many olive trees):

Beneath the pool is another yard, and the little house, which used to be a pig shed (really), but now is almost rentable and a really sweet little one-bedroom number with new fixtures (you can see it through the trees here):

Back up at the house, here’s a view through one of the front windows into the dining room and living room (you can’t really see the complete living room area, but I liked the view through the window):

In the living room, we have a little wood-burning stove, which we’ve utilized almost every night since mid-October. It reminds me a lot of growing up on old farmhouses back in Kansas (buying old farmhouses seemed to be the family addiction for a few years), when sometimes during ice storms electricity would go out, and we’d only have the wood-burning stove for heat. Here, our electricity is fine, but expensive, and the stove is so warm and homey:

All that fire can make you thirsty though, which is why it’s nice we have a full, handy, cute, kitchen close by:

Of course, the kitchen is also necessary for all those Cielo Chiaro specials we’ve been cooking up.

PS: Want to stay in Cielo Chiaro your-own-self (after we've gone, that is)? Check out the Cielo Chiaro page on the Amici Villas site.

Cielo Chiaro Vistas, Part 1

Cielo Chiaro means, in Italian, clear skies, and we’ve had mostly clear skies so far while being here. This has afforded us the chance to take a number of pictures of the house and the surroundings, none of which do it justice. And it’s not just that we’re poor photographers (though I’m no Melissa Punch). The way the house is built, it’s divided, sharing a wall with another separate address. This seems to be a regular occurrence in Italy (we’ve had this happen in past Amici spots we’ve stayed at), not just in towns an cities, which might seem obvious, but also in the country, such as we’re in now. But even though we share a wall, I haven’t yet heard anything via the wall from our neighbors (I think most of the shared-ness is against our bathroom and the “cantina” below it--the “cantina” here being not a mess hall/dining area, but a storage area that’s almost underground, like a below-the-house storage area. An area that would, by the by, make a good set for a horror movie). Because of this sharing, it’s hard to get a feel for our “house,” Cielo Chiaro and show it completely in manner that fits its graceful and understated design. But I’m going to give it a shot anyway, and give some of the views around it (I’ll do it in multiple posts, like a slow unveiling. Because there is no need to rush things).  Let’s start with the driveway, where you can see both our leased Peugeot and the iron gates, which make me feel slightly regal each time I drive through them (I’d probably feel that way even more if I didn’t have a problem opening them each time. I know there’s a trick to unsticking the latch, but it’s one I haven’t gleamed yet):

From the driveway, you can either walk up the stairs and in the front door, or walk around the front corner of the house, which will take you either to the big fenced in dog yard (pics of that in a second post), down the lane to the little house (which is almost ready for visitors) and the extended yard, or around the house to the spooky cantina (one of the ornamentations the house had that I enjoy, both for their solidity and their rustic feel are the wooden-slatted shutters on view in this pic):

Walking inside, you pass through the hall, and then on your right through the common room/dining room (which I’m skipping for now), and then in its left corner go into the “master” bedroom. It’s the master bedroom cause it’s the one we sleep in (and we rule), because it’s the one bedroom with one bigger bed instead of two smaller ones, because the bed has a mosquito netting (and mosquitos go for the masters), and most of all because it has a balcony. It’s not a giant balcony, but big enough for two (or two dogs and a person or two), has a wrought railing, and two tall, elegant, doors with two of the above-mentioned shutters on the outside. Here’s the view looking through the bedroom:

and here’s the view when standing on the balcony in the middle of morning, when there’s still a hint of fog on the hills and the sun is beginning to take control of the day:

Of course, it’d be enjoyable to stand on the balcony from dawn until dusk to watch the Umbrian day unfold like a green blanket, but it seems the dogs are barking, so I’ll walk back inside (if anyone notices that the master bedroom is a little less than masterfully clean, remember, we’re still unpacking. Or just messy):