The day after school got out, we left Perugia for our longest trip of the year. This morning we’re in Ferrara, sleeping in after six days of heavy sight-seeing. Soon we will head to Sardinia for our second week.
The end of the school year is another cause for celebration.
Italian students and families commemorate with a big get-together centering (of course) around food.
Tuesday night was the sixth grade party. We heard that it went so late that only two kids showed up for school on Wednesday. However, we weren’t there; Tom didn’t want to go. He said he would rather go to Rome for the day where he can buy glow-in-the-dark sling shot rockets from the unlicensed street vendors. Since we all wanted to go to Rome, we took advantage of his request for a final visit. Tom got his rockets but also got a talking-to by the police. He’s getting use to it.
Ray’s party was yesterday. This group of families is especially close since many elementary schools in Italy assign teachers in first grade who stick with the same kids for five years. Even though Ray joined the class in its last year, he fit in well. In the end, he made good friends.
The festa was held at Il Pioppo, an agriturismo outside Perugia where the ingredients are sourced right there on the farm. And this was no light summer lunch. Our plates were filled to capacity. We started with a black truffle pasta tossed with the chef’s homemade tagliatelle followed by a second pasta course with tomato and sausage. Then we had a plate of roast pork and sauted greens and finally jam crostatas. Pitchers of wine and sparkling water were abundant. The kids’ menu was equally huge but styled to suit their tastes. However, with a pool and grassy field, they chose not to linger at the table.
While the kids played, some of the parents told us about a new thing that schools are doing in Italy. It’s called “American graduation” and it entails a celebration after eighth grade and another one after high school. Previously, a graduation ceremony was held only after someone finished college, but several schools are importing our excuse to pomp and circumstance more often. We told them that American kids even get to wear graduation caps when they finish preschool and fifth grade. That made everyone laugh.
by guest blogger Ray
Tomorrow is our last day of school. Yeah! So today our teachers let us go outside. One of my favorite games to play with my classmates is nascondino. It’s a running game of hide-and-seek. Only today, it wasn’t very fun. When I was it, I tried to catch two of my friends. While I was running, I bumped into someone, fell and hit the pavement. When I stood up and saw all the blood, I thought my nose was bleeding and I wondered why my mouth felt like sand paper. The teachers ran over, and when they saw me, they gasped and covered their mouths. Then I had a feeling that I broke my teeth. Everyone stopped playing and came over to help. A teacher walked me inside and got me some water. Another teacher collected my teeth off the ground. Someone called my parents. Unfortunately, they were in Deruta so it took awhile for them to get me.
Mom and Dad came, they were worried. The teachers told them to take me to the emergency room. The hospital was 20 minutes away. It was a big place, and it took a long time to find the dentist department. After my mom signed some papers, they took us to a room, and a doctor and two nurses started working on my teeth. I was scared. I thought there would be a lot of pain, and I thought it was going to take a long time. First they cleaned my mouth. I tried to relax, but it was hard so I clenched my hands over my legs. The doctor was nice and tried to speak English to me, but after he heard me speak in Italian, we decided to talk in Italian. He sanded down my teeth with an electric tool. That was the most painful part. Then he glued my old teeth back on and added a little bit of fake tooth to fill in the missing parts.
We weren’t there very long. I was glad when it was done. It only cost 26 euros! (But I didn’t have to pay.)
The doctor told me to be very careful with my teeth. He said to eat soft foods (like gelato) for a week and to not chomp with my front teeth.
We drove back to our apartment for lunch. By now, school was over. All my friends and my teachers started calling. Everyone was wondering if I was okay. I told them that I felt good and that I would definitely be at school for the last day. I’m excited for tomorrow because after school, everyone is meeting for lunch at a restaurant in the country that has a swimming pool.
There was some kind of unexplainable, weird energy enveloping us this weekend that began once we set out on our trip to Spello. We found ourselves constantly torn between feeling cursed and somehow protected.
We chose to visit Spello because of its acclaimed Infiorita, an annual flower festival in which the town stays up all night carpeting the streets with intricate mosaics made entirely out of flower petals. This year, the Infiorita fell on Luke’s birthday. On Sunday, he would have been 14. After looking for something special to do in honor of our son, we decided that a city covered in flowers would be a safe and sweet setting for our love and sadness.
On Friday, we packed our bags and headed out. First I wheeled my suitcase to the post office where I mailed a letter. Then I met Matt and the boys for our drive. We arrived in Spello nearly an hour later. That’s when it began. Matt started unloading the car and then portentously asked why my suitcase wasn’t in the trunk. I could feel my heart sink. As I retraced my steps I realized I must have left it sitting in the post office. I pictured it there, all by itself with my computer inside (loaded with every digital picture I’ve taken since we arrived) and also packed with several other material possessions with which I’m attached. We had no choice but to immediately go look for it. The ride was grueling as I tried to come to terms with my stupidity and the loss of my belongings. I imagined the rest of the year without writing emails or a blog. I dreaded having to buy a new computer. The questions ended when we entered the post office and saw my black suitcase standing in the middle of the room right where I left it. It had apparently remained untouched for two hours. We marveled at our astounding luck before once again driving to Spello.
That night in our hotel, after we were all sound asleep, my phone rang. It was the landlord of our next-door neighbor in Perugia. She said her tenant had just called because he was worried; our apartment door has been wide open all day. He had finally decided to shut it, but was wondering if we were okay. In my foggy haze, I imagined robbers had forced their way in and were emptying our cupboards and drawers in search of something valuable. I woke Matt and we assessed the likelihood of a break-in. We considered the timing and the difficulty of getting past our thickly bolted door at the top of our six story building. We decided it was most probable that one of us (me) accidently left the door open on our way out and that there was no need to hurry back to Perugia. Needless to say, sleep was elusive.
There would be more suspense; but first, the beautiful flower mosaics of Spello:
Saturday was full of activity. In the evening, teams of artists began constructing their pictures. Many groups set up long tents over their work and hung electric lights inside to illuminate their progress through the night. The streets were lined with children, parents and grandparents sorting flowers by color and cutting petals into different sizes.
Visitors from all over Umbria and beyond crowded the space to see how the garden art was made. The designs were first drawn on paper, which was stuck to the ground. Flowers were then arranged on top according to the color that was specified by the artists. As the night went on and more and more petals were laid out, unbelievably detailed scenes emerged.
By 8am the next morning, only the finishing touches remained. Finally once the tents were removed, everyone could see the stunning work that was created during the night.
The disheartening aspect of this tradition is the bishop’s procession. Just three hours after the mosaics are complete, a holy entourage exits the church of Santa Maria Maggiore and gets to walk over all the pictures. With these footsteps, the painstaking work is ruined. Even though this procession is all part of the festival, it seemed such an appalling demonstration of disrespect. It was upsetting to watch even though the mosaics were made for that purpose.
It was around this time that the four of us separated. Matt and Tom went to get a coffee and play cribbage while Ray and I toured the streets. When we rejoined, Matt gave me a disparaging look and told me his phone had been stolen. He had left it for a few minutes on a cafe table, and then it was gone. He asked around, but had no luck. We immediately tried calling his number, but there was no answer. Next we sent texts to his phone in both English and Italian asking whoever had it to please, please, please give it back. Before admitting defeat, we returned to the cafe, at which point, one of the servers brought it to us saying it had just been turned in. We couldn’t believe it.
Afterwards, we sat to a long lunch outside in the sun. We considered staying another night but decided to go home and check on the apartment. On our way out of town we passed the disheveled mosaics and shook our heads at the scattered pedals. You could see the imprint of the shoes that walked all over the mosaics. Matt and I both commented that it reminded us of the picture on the infinite “Footprints” cards we received after Luke died (the ones that talk about the single set of footprints in times of difficulty because God must be carrying you.) But instead of prints left on sand, these were on the flowers of Spello.
It did seem symbolic; we admitted to having the most incredible luck here and couldn’t help but feel the presence of something protective. Back in Perugia, Matt and I entered the apartment first and did a quick scan of the rooms. It seemed as if no robbers had busted in and that every instance of this weekend’s suspense resulted in a positive outcome
I started tutoring last February. Once a week, I give English lessons and teach American culture to a 17-year-old who is preparing for his senior year in the United States. I met him after visiting with a ceramic artist in Perugia who mentioned that her son was planning a year abroad as a foreign exchange student and needed someone to help him improve his language skills. It sounded fun, so I volunteered.
This student, Giovanni, is another one of those people I am so glad to have met. I love Tuesday afternoons. Our weekly sessions turn out to be just as culturally insighful to me as we contrast the differences of growing up in two different countries. Tom and Ray also look forward to these days because Giovanni can relate with their homework rants and complaints about mean teachers.
When we first met, we started with the basics. I tried to give Giovanni an overview of American culture by suggesting that he watch Forrest Gump, Crash and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off as well as some Vietnam movies. Then we converted the metric system into American units. That way, if someone asks Giovanni how tall his is, he can say 5’11 instead of 180 centimeters. We also looked into Fahrenheit so he knows to bring a jacket if it’s under 60 degrees or to bring a swimming suit if it’s in the 80s.
Since he likes to cook and is a little worried about adjusting to American cusine, we spend time in the kitchen. One of the first questions he asked was how to make coffee in the USA. He’s never heard of drip or a French press so I showed him some pictures on the internet and explained the process while naturally making coffee for ourseves with the traditional Italian moka machine.
In preparation for dinning out, we pulled up some menus from typical American restaurants and sorted through the various dishes and discriptions. Among the most confusing aspects of a meal was the amount of choices in salad dressings. Italians use only oil and vinegar. This led me to pull up a photo of a grocery store with an entire aisle dedicated to salad dressings. I tried describing the flavors of 1000 island, ranch, French and Russian. I also cautioned him about seeking out “Italian” restaurants. After looking at a few menus, it became evident that we all have different interpretations of true Italian cooking. Giovanni has never heard of fettuccini alfredo and he sternly insists that carbonara sauce never has shrimp or chicken in it. Besides salad dressing and Americanized pasta, I explained some other novelties such as the bagel, the club sandwich and several possible answers to “How would you like your eggs?” Later we looked at recipes and translated the following abbreviations: pkg, tsp, tbl, and gal.
One of my favorite days was when we read emails from some high school students. I enlisted the help of relatives and former babysitters from home who then wrote Giovanni letters describing school in America. Beyond the classes, sports and social functions, they naturally used common phrases that were unfamiliar (but necessary to learn) such as “hang out, “a bummer” and “pretty cool.” Giovanni even started a pen pal relationship with one of these high schoolers from Portland.
Finally, this week, Giovanni received the news he’d been waiting for all year – his American destination. I was really happy to hear that out of all the towns in the United States, it turns out he is going to live with a family in a small, seaside town in Oregon just five hours from our home near Seattle. This means we will easily be able to visit him next year.
It’s grey and cold in Perugia today. We only have five weeks left before we pack up and fly home.
I can’t help getting into reflective moods these days. I think about regrets and highlights. I think about the year in Italy nearing its end. I think about coming home.
Lately, whenever we bump into people, they ask us questions about our experience here and our return to America.
Several have asked us if we wish we could stay longer. The thought of leaving gives me knots in my stomach; however, I think a year is probably just right. We’ve seen the four seasons, experienced all the holidays and worked through an entire school year. We’ve had enough time to really get to know Perugia, see most of Umbria and visit 18 cities outside this region (with six more planned). We’ve lived big, and we’ve embraced each day. We’ve been observers of the Italian culture for nearly 11 months. However, by the end of June, I’ll be ready to return to where I belong. I’ll be ready to be part of my own culture and be with friends/family who really know us.
Another common question people ask is what our favorite Italian cities are. This is a tricky one to answer because Italians act offended if their hometown is not the favorite. So naturally, we agree with them. Secretly, Ray likes Florence, Tom likes Lucca, Matt and I like Rome the best.
A few weeks ago, someone asked us to describe our impressions of Italy. He wanted to know the little things that surprised us or struck us as unexpected. As an example, he commented that on a trip to America, he was amazed that people bought milk in one-gallon containers. How would you ever finish it before it expires? he asked. He also thought Costco was weird. After thinking about this question, we listed our observations:
May 15th marks the annual ceri races in the Umbrian town of Gubbio (just an hour away from Perugia). This is one of Italy’s longest standing celebrations. Since 1160, this festival has taken place year after year uninterrupted. The frenzy, the intensity, the color, the history, the dedication, the passion (as well as the insanity) of the Gubbian citizens are legendary. We’ve been hearing about it since we arrived in July. Some have said it is the most spectacular event in all of Italy. So, last Wednesday we joined the party.
Although the details of the origin are in doubt, the holiday is clearly recognized as a tribute to St. Ubaldo, Gubbio’s patron saint, who died in 1159. Since the one-year anniversary of his death, the citizens have raced through the town carrying three mammoth pillars (representing ceri or candles) with statues of saints on top. The rules of the race are strict. The two-mile trek begins in the center of town. Groups of men run through the course carry the saints in formation. St. Ubaldo must always be in the lead followed by St. Giorgio and then St. Antonio. The whole point of the race is to get the three 600-pound ceri through the town and to St. Ubaldo’s church on the top of Mt. Ingino. Speed and complete physical exertion are expected by the honored men who carry these statues.
The town divides itself into teams. Citizens can choose the saint for whom they will cheer. Nearly every man, woman and child in Gubbio was dressed in the traditional color of their saint. Yellow stands for St Ubaldo, the patron of masons (in addition to the patron of the whole town); blue is for St. George, the saint of craftsmen and merchants; and black is for St. Antonio, protector of farm workers. Everyone is united in color by tying a red scarf around the waist and neck.
While the actual race doesn’t begin until 6pm, the day is filled with pageantry and ritual. We missed a couple of the highlights, but made it in time for one of the special events of the day, “the exhibition” which is the procession through town to visit all the people who are too old or tired or sick to attend the race. The exhibition also passes by the homes of former ceri-carriers. Up and down the narrow streets, men display the ornate wooden pillars to the windows of the townspeople. Crowds follow.
After a communal lunch, the athletes of each team meet in Piazza Grande. At 6pm, the captains of the celebration ride horseback down the road signaling that the race will begin. By now the race course is packed with spectators. Thousands of people line the streets. It feels exciting and dangerous. The boys said that the pull of the crowds reminded them of an undertow at the beach. It got the blood pulsing. There’s a fine line between curiosity and panic, and when you hit it just right, you feel completely alive. That’s what this day did to me.
After the saints passed us on the hill running towards the finish line, we made our way back to the town square then headed home. However, the Gubbians told us that some of the most lively hours of the day begin after the races when the bars and restaurants and piazzas fill up all night with festivity. We couldn’t stay; it was getting late, and we had to drive back to Perugia.
Before leaving, we did make a stop at the Fontana dei Matti which, legend has it, will give one the propensity for insanity (like the local townspeople) if circled counterclockwise three times while being simultaneously splashed by a Gubbian.
Ray decided to give it a try.
We try not to miss a single invitation to have dinner at an Italian’s home. Despite the effort it takes to eat an ungodly amount of food, in the end, it’s worth it. In the end, an invitation means we get to participate in one of Italy’s greatest rituals: surrounding a table with great people then completely covering it with platters of regional food cooked with family recipes. By now we’ve learned the etiquette: Ignore the hostess when she says “bring nothing” because “something” is expected whether it is a dessert, a bottle of wine, flowers (or all three.) We also know to expect a late night. Finally, there is no helping the hostess clean up. I’ve never seen an Italian guest even make an offer. And any attempt from us has been quickly refused. The rest goes without saying: eat a lot (always clean your plate) and accept seconds (say, “Bis, per favore!) if you want to compliment the cook.
Tonight we are having a guest for lunch. My friend Stacia is taking a little R&R from her sailing job in Sardinia. We want to show her some of the things we’ve learned to make. I will try to replicate Chiara’s chicken. She told me that the best way to add favor and keep the chicken moist is by making little incisions in the meet and stuffing it with lardo. By the way, lardo is not lard (but it’s close). It is not rendered or hydrogenated like the familiar lard from Grandma’s kitchen. There are two kinds found in Italy. The first is a Tuscan specialty: cured and seasoned fat from the back of a pig. It’s common over here. In fact, we’ve ordered it in a restaurant where it comes in thin slivers on top of bruschetta. DE-licious. The second kind of lardo is what we use to stuff this chicken. It is ground and seasoned pork fat. It tastes like like the white part of bacon. In fact, that might make a good substitute if you can’t find it in an Italian specialty store.
Umbrian Roasted Chicken.
Begin by combining chopped rosemary, salt, 1 clove of minced garlic and 2 tablespoons lardo
Generously sprinkle a chicken all over with a tablespoon of salt, a generous amount of pepper and two cloves of finely chopped garlic.
Next, make six slits into the bird. Try to cut where the legs and wings join the body as well as into the breast (see below).
Stuff the lardo mixture into the incisions.
Lay several rosemary branches alongside the chicken and tie with string.
Set into a pan and drizzle with a little olive oil and then pour a half bottle of white wine over the chicken.
Cook in a 425 degree oven (220 degree celsius) for two hours. Flip the chicken every 45 minutes then spoon the liquid from the pan on top. If you need more liquid, add more wine or water.
When it’s done, cool for a while. Chiara cooked the chicken before we arrived and we ate it at room temperature. She showed me how to cut it up with a scissors which was so much easier than using a knife.
To cut like Chiara, use a scissors strong enough to cut through bones. Her’s look like garden pruners. Begin by pulling the legs and wings away from the body and severing between the joints. Then, cut through the breast bone until the chicken is in two halves. From here, it’s very easy to cut away from the bone and serve it in pretty, small pieces.
Four hours later . . . Our guest arrived. We served prosciutto and melon, pasta carbonara, fava beans with artichokes and a platter of chicken. Matt and Stacia are sipping limoncello as I write these final words.
by guest blogger Tom
I just got back from an overnight trip with my class to southern Italy. We left on a Tuesday morning. I met my teacher and the other students at the bus stop at 7:00 am for a five-hour drive down to Pompeii to visit the ancient ruins.
During the bus ride down, kids listened to music on their phones to pass the time. I played Uno with my friend Luca. Halfway through the trip, we stopped at an Autogrill to eat lunch and buy a snack. I bought two big bags of marshmallows.
We stayed at the Hotel Vittoria near Naples. We arrived around noon and checked in. The hotel itself was good. I shared a room with Matteo and Giovanni. There were no teachers or chaperones in our room telling us when to go to bed so I stayed up until 1 am listening to music and watching a movie. Only one unfortunate thing happened while we were there. I was playing with a toy that Matteo brought. It was a squishy ball filled with powder that stretches into many different shapes. When I was trying to twist it into a face, it suddenly exploded and sent white powder everywhere. It was all over the beds, the chairs, the carpet and all over me. It took forever to clean up.
Unfortunately, the food wasn’t so great during the trip. We ate breakfast, lunch and dinner in the dining room of our hotel. Dinner was pasta with ragu, steak and potatoes and then gelato for dessert. Lunch was gnocchi, potatoes, chicken and gelato. For breakfast we were served a bagged croissant and a jar of pear juice. (American breakfasts are so much better.) During the trip, we stopped for a gelato break three times. Italian kids eat so much ice cream.
During our first afternoon, we went to look at the Pompeii ruins with a guide. Pompeii is an ancient city that was buried by ash in 79 AD after the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius. It was interesting for a little bit, but after a while it got hot and I became tired. At the end of the tour, we visited the museum which displays casts of humans who were buried by the ash. We also saw the houses and stores where those people lived and worked. We spent most of the day in Pompeii and got back to the hotel around 8pm
During the second day we visited Il Antro della Sibilla a Cuma which is a cluster of caves up in the hills. These caves used to be the homes of fortune tellers during the time of the ancient Romans. People could visit and ask the women (called sibyls) a question about their fate and the women would give them a vague answer. We spent about three hours up there looking at the caves. There were lots of plants and trees and geckos. And there was a great view of the ocean too.
Before we got on the bus to go back to Perugia, we stopped at another gelateria. I got a popsicle shaped as a watermelon with chocolate for the seeds. Then, we headed home. During the bus ride, we played “monkey in the middle” with a bottle of water, but after a while, the teacher told us to stop so we sat quietly until we arrived in Perugia. My parents and Ray were waiting for me. I went to sleep as soon as I got home, but I still felt tired for the next few days.
Rome is one of the oldest and biggest cities in all of Europe. It is the capital of Italy. It is crowded with tourists, residents, ruins and a whirl of streets, stores and steeples. One of my plans this year was to be able to visit without getting lost. Because Rome’s airport brings in most of our guests, we’ve made several trips to the eternal-ly confusing city. I have sometimes gone through two maps while I’m there. The first can become threadbare after just one long walk.
However, I love Rome. It might be my favorite city in all of Italy. When I’m there I feel happy and energetic and inspired. I always leave wanting more. After each trip, I feel like I’ve just begun.
This week was my fifth extended stay. I met my friend Stacia who arrived Sunday to begin a summer job sailing around Sardinia. During our three days together, we walked down miles of ancient alleys, past innumerable fountains and impromptu piazzas while frequently stopping for drinks and Roman artichokes along the way.
It was a perfect little vacation. The temperatures soared into the 80s; the monuments glowed; the Romans were good to us; and we never got lost. What a great feeling to finally grasp this place.
I kept my sense of direction by trying to visit familiar sights while keeping track of Il Vittoriano along the way. This giant, centrally located, relatively modern landmark is an unfortunate sore spot among Romans. They snidely call it “the wedding cake” or “the typewriter” and remark that the monstrous, snow-white facade is incongruent with the true Roman style. And furthermore, they complain, it blocks the view of the Colosseum. I’ve tried to not like this building because I thought it might help me fit in, but I’ve finally resigned to the opinion that it’s stunning (and easy to find.)
One of my favorite tourist stops in Rome is the glass elevator ride to the roof of the Vittoriano. From there, you can see everything. Stacia and I spent time up there taking photos and getting a lay of the land. Since Rome can often dwarf the wide-eyed tourist, we counteracted by playing “optical illusions” with the camera.
Later, we branched out from the safety of the beaming structure to mingle with a few more of Rome’s defining iconic anchors. We circled Bernini’s sculpture in Piazza Navona, ate gelato in Campo de’ Fiori, walked past the president’s palace at Piazza de’ Quirinale and then, after a look at the crumbling Teatro di Marcello, we ordered the best artichokes ever in the Jewish Ghetto. While we didn’t make any time for museums, some artists are hard to miss. Michelangelo, for one, is everywhere. We visited his Moses masterpiece in San Pietro in Vincoli and also climbed the steps to one of his architectural creations, Piazza del Campidoglio. Then we continued on to more picturesque moments in Rome:
On Tuesday afternoon, we packed up. After parting ways at the train station, I headed back to Perugia. Somehow Rome lingers. I know our traveling days are numbered so I immediately started planning another visit later this month, a quick 24 hour embrace; just one last time to touch the familiar and find something new.
One of the biggest differences between life in Bellevue, America and our year in Perugia is how much time our family spends together, most notably, how much time Matt and I spend together. It’s working out well; in fact, it’s even better than I expected. However, we each came with a list of individual goals and intentions to cultivate these separate interests. For Matt, these activities revolve around exercise. His first purchase in Italy was a used Cannondale road bike, and his first cycling destination was to Antognolla golf course, just 13 miles outside Perugia. Since then, he takes up to three trips a week through the back roads of the Umbrian hills and past the tiny country towns. After 10 months of hearing about the peace and beauty of these mornings, this week I decided to followed Matt and see what his “alone time” is all about.
by guest blogger Ray
Last Tuesday, Tom went with his class to Pompeii. (It’s a city that was buried a long time ago from ash when Mt. Vesuvius erupted.) So for two days, it was just me, Mom and Dad.
Tom left on a bus at 7am, and I went to school like usual from 8-1. I like school. I’ve made lots of new friends this year. Some are boys and some are girls. My least favorite class right now is Italian. We just finished a unit on journalism. Italians don’t have a “W” in their alphabet, but they still use “the 5 W’s” when studying newspaper articles. They pronounce it like, “oo, wat, were, win and wyee.” We had to read and write lots of articles. I’m glad we are finished. My favorite class is Math. I got a 9 out of 10 on my last test.
Anyway, after school my parents took me to Lago Trasimeno. This is a huge lake in Umbria that’s close to Perugia. When we got there, we found a little pebbly area near the water and skipped rocks for a while. I can skip a rock four times. My dad can skip a rock at least eight times. But my mom can’t skip at all.
We drove further on until we got to a restaurant called Faliero. This is a popular restaurant. Sometimes you have to wait more than an hour to order your food. We got there at 7:30 which is early for Italians, so we only waited 10 minutes. This place is famous for its “torta al testo” which is a triangular sandwich filled with sausages. That’s what I ordered. My mom and dad split one and had a plate of gnocchi too.
After dinner we drove home and watched an episode of Modern Family that we bought on iTunes.
The next day after school, we took another trip. This time we went to a city called Città di Castello. This is a small city about one hour away. First we went to a museum that was in an old tobacco drying warehouse. The whole building was full of paintings by an artist named Burri. He was an Italian captured in WWII by the Americans and put in prison. That’s where he got the idea to do art. His paintings are big and very different than other paintings we have seen in Italy. Most of them were very plain. None of them looked like anything I could recognize. We tried to find faces and heads in the paintings. One of the paintings looked like a human and the face of a dog, but it was hard to tell.
After the museum we started to walk around the city. First we went to a church. Then we walked past an old hospital. Next my legs started to get tired so we got gelato. My favorite flavor is still chocolate. Then we went to another church. It was more interesting than the last one because they had some candles to light. Right outside the church I saw a park and I played there for a while. I liked the swings the best. But my favorite part of the city was climbing the bell tower. There were a lot of stairs and a view on top. We were the only ones there.
We had dinner in Città di Castello and then had to drive back to Perugia to pick up Tom. His bus got in at 10:30 at night. I liked the trips we took. It was fun to see the lake and another city. But one of my favorite parts of Tom’s field trip was being able to use Tom’s Husky plate while he was gone.