Reminiscing in Calcata -- Rome, Italy

The noblest pleasure is the joy of understanding. 

~Leonardo da Vinci 

Monday = I flew into Rome.

Tuesday = I went on a massive tour of Rome with Terril. It was so extensive that my animated friend said, “If you only had one day in Rome, you’d be good.” And she was right. I would be SO good.

Wednesday = I walked around by myself for four hours, got stupidly lost, botched joining my host for lunch (due to a miscommunication about where we were to meet) and went to an thought-provoking photography exhibition inspired by a woman’s experience in Syria. Terril invited my host and me to attend this event, so I happily donned my green dress and went out with Leonardo. After gazing at the disturbing images (lots of dead babies) for as long as we could, we headed down the street to get some dinner. Leonardo has been a remarkably generous host, and told me “not to think about” the bill and that I should “save my money for teaching in Korea”. It’s a crazy sensation to know someone for only a few days and have them understand me so well. Of course, anyone who reads my blog probably understands me pretty darn well -- which is a whole other kind of weird. When we arrived home from dinner, I checked my facebook and noticed a couple of messages from Terril, informing me about all the dignitaries (princes and princesses and soap opera stars) who had been present at the exhibition.

“Wow... I suppose I should have worn my nice socks.”

And yesterday. Yesterday was yet another of those idyllic days where I wanted to slow down time and make the few hours last forever. If I could divide my life into chapters and read the most beautiful over and over again (like I do with certain books), this would be one of the chapters with pages stained and crumpled from continued turning. 

I packed my purse with my camera, kindle and umbrella and ambled off to the Flaminio train station at 8:00. My train to Calcata and Terril left at 8:55, and although I knew it would only take me half an hour to walk, I didn’t want to risk getting stuck in the queue for tickets or somehow getting lost along the way.

The journey to Calcata was uneventful and the scenery was spectacular – although I am forever overly concerned about getting off at the correct stop and don’t enjoy the scenery as much as I should. And I always stand up and wait by the doors long before my stop, which just makes me tired and stressed and causes people to give me bemused, questioning looks.

It’s going to be so nice to travel with Baris next week. I won’t have to worry about stops because I’ll have a travel buddy to tell me I’m right, it’s all okay, and to cool my jets already.

Terril met me at Rignano Flaminio station, engulfed me a full-fledged, refreshing American style hug, and then drove us to Calcata. As she’s lived in Italy for over three years now, her English is punctuated by Italian words and short phrases. She apologized for her eclectic vocab, but I adore this manner of assimilation.

Take what feels good. Absorb what resonates best. Why else would we strive to learn new things if not to use them to express ourselves more honestly?

Italian sounds like it feels good with Terril. The lively quality matches her energy and the words roll so naturally out of her mouth that you can tell they’ve made roots.

The way Terril sounds in Italian is the way I wanted to sound in French. In fact, I thought I sounded just fine, but then Baris playfully laughed at me for my American accent and I got so insecure that I stopped speaking French for a while. Now I speak it again, but I make no pretensions about sounding good. None at all.

Which is probably for the best.

We stopped briefly for a cappuccino and an espresso at one of the local bars/cafés (like you do in Italy) before walking up to her spectacular, cozy apartment in her remote castle village.

Calcata is small, magical, exquisite. It’s what Devil’s Tower would be like if someone randomly decided to plop a tiny limestone village on top. Its full-time residents (grand total of under fifty) are eccentric, artistic, welcoming and fun.  People are always going to and from the big cities, but Calcata seems to supply everything (except a pharmacy) one would need to survive quite contentedly.  Lovely restaurants, cafés, a tiny theatre, art studios, a community building/concert hall, the national park office – I suppose a grocery store would be somewhat necessary, but even with its meager fifty residents, Calcata seemed to have more life than Rome.

Thursday was a bittersweet occasion, as one of the long-term residents of this charming castle village would soon retire to the sea, and Terril (because she’s one of the active creators I so admire) had planned a going-away lunch in the community building/concert hall where all of this woman’s friends could bring food, wine and good luck parting words.

Terril and I got to bring the tiramisu -- which is somewhat strange as both of us are sensitive to gluten, so neither of us could eat it. But cooking is always fun and cooking with Terril is great fun. Especially when she started slicing off pieces of stellar, stinky cheese from her birthday trip to France.

GOD, I LOVE CHEESE.

“Terril, I... I don’t even know what to say...Jesus, I...” words are hard when cheese is that amazing.

“Just say, “mmmmhhh...”” Terril suggested through a mouthful of delicious mold.

“But... but that’s not enough. What’s happening in my mouth is too good for “mmmhhh...””

Tiramisu finished, properly oohed and aahed over and carefully placed in the fridge, my friend led me to the concert room where fifteen of us had gathered for the surprise going away lunch (pranzo).

The guest of honor was supposed to arrive at 13:00.

13:00 came and went.

13:10 came and went.

13:20 came and went.

Terril joked about being hungry enough to eat a chair.

13:30 came and someone called the guest to casually ask what she was doing.

Apparently, she’d just finished eating lunch.

Terril’s shoulders drooped. “I’d been planning this for weeks...”

I didn’t know how to react, but everyone else did.

“Only in Calcata!”

“What do we do now?”

“Mangiare!” the group responded with an exasperated laugh.

The food was delectable (which was a good thing because the Italian mother figures kept piling more of it onto my overburdened plate) and my wine cup was never empty. People sitting near did their best to engage me in English (which I always appreciate) and the meal ended with an espresso and many, many kisses.

Moving was hard and I found myself desperate for a siesta – but Terril had promised to take me on a short hike to show me some Etruscan caves, and there was no way in hell I was going to let a little something like an enormous Italian lunch belly and wine induced brain fog get in the way of a hike and some Etruscan cave exploration.

view of Calcata

Terril.

Etruscan cave. Thousands of years old.

Model of Calcata

I found a scarab! They're supposed to bring good luck. Once again, my wish was not granted. C'est la vie.

One of the best parts about meeting up with Terril has been the reminiscing. We attended CMU together for a couple of years, and it was SO nice to be able to say, “HA! Remember when Orton forgot to give Morrow the cue to shoot the gun?”

“yeah, and he just walked off stage?”

“And Gabbi lost it.”

I’m so used to traveling without community that this sort of name recognition was something special. I found myself wanting to gossip about inane topics just because, "I remember!" felt so satisfying and grounding.

The caves are thousands of years old and remind me slightly of American Indian cliff dwellings, due to how they're built into the side of the mountain. Wild boar inhabit the area and we saw their digging and prints throughout the entire hike. Although wild boars are on my challenge list for Italy, neither Terril nor I possessed the faintest desire to encounter the dangerous animals during our excursion.

As boars saunter down to the river at dusk, we rushed back to Calcata before the sun set entirely. 

But it was a close call. 

"You smell that?" Terril asked after we crossed the river. 

"What?"

"The wet dog odor?"

"Yup." 

"That's cinghiale. We need to hurry." 

I nodded silently and picked up the pace, walking as quickly as physically possible without breaking into a full-fledged run. Images of crazed Italian wild boar with a hankering for human flesh galloping wildly out of the brush flitted through my mind. 

That would be an unfortunate way to go. Unfortunate, but probably just -- what with all the sausage I've been consuming lately. I probably deserve some good mauling. 

I was not mauled, however. Terril and I made it back to her apartment, I picked up my things, and Osvaldo drove us down to the train station.

Leonardo had purchased some gluten-free pasta and was busily preparing tomato sauce when I blew into the flat at 20:15. Everything smelled of garlic and tomato and olive oil. 

Have I mentioned that I love Italy?