Orvieto and Civita

Hi again it's me. Monday 15 Feb. I was up earlier than Sheila this morning. I showered, and while Sheila did the same, I packed. One day here was far too short a stay. We went downstairs to a little family owned restaurant, and had the typical Italian breakfast: croisants and coffee. We wished Alejandro, the waiter, farewell and went back to the room to pay our bill. People are quite interested in what we're doing. Serrina the innkeeper asked us about our travels and engaged us for a löng time. She allowed us to store our luggage for the morning while we looked the town over. We walked around this ancient city. The day was sunny and relatively warm so we strolled around outside the walls built for security over a thousand years ago. I was struck by how little we've learned. Walls never work. This place was conquered again and again, and if I can get in... We stopped into a local butcher shop and bought stuff for the bus ride to Civita: a ball of spinach the size of a baseball, a roll that looked like a small bagel, and some wild boar sausage-a local delicacy. We visited the local duomo(cathederal) which has carvings done on the front of the church depicting everything from the creation of man to the last judgement. It's impressive. The church is built on this site as the result of a miracle. As the story goes, a priest skeptical of the factuality of communion--turning bread into the body of Christ? C'mon. Well, he was offering communion, and the bread started to bleed down his arms and onto the sleeves of his robe. The pope happened to be nearby, heard the story, came to see it, and ordered a church built on the spot. Pieces ofthe bloody cloth are enshrined in the cathedral. That's the story anyway. While we waited for the bus, we ate our lunch and drank some wine from a waterbottle. All we really needed to complete the stereotype was a shopping cart. Earlier we had purchased our bus ticket from a local tabacci shop (that's tobacco for those of you who don't speak Italian as well as I do) Anyway, these places are all over in Italy and they seem to exist for the purpose of selling tobacco naturallyenough, magazines, bus/train tickets and as an employment venue for people who have some genetic defect--no personality. They never seem to smile. They act as if you're bothering them by asking to buy a ticket somewhere. It reminds me of trying to get a part at a Sears service center. It's been quite entertaining, and Sheila an I have laughed about it more than once. We boarded the bus to Bagnoregio di Civita. By the time we got to the town, it had clouded up and began to rain. As usual we had to orient ourselves to a new environment. Once we did we schlepped our bags the roughly 1.5 kilometers to the city of Civita. This place was once an Etruscan city connected to Bagnoregio, but it was built on sandstone. Over the centuries, the sandstone eroded leaving Civita standing atop a mesa. No vehicles are allowed in the town that supports all of nine permanent residents That's right, nine. We had reservations at the little Civita hotel and restaurant. It has 3 or 4 rooms--small rooms. We were greeted by Franco Salla a larger than life guy wearing a Yankees baseball cap. In a voice too loud for the room he said, ``Come in. Come in. Take off your packs. Have some wine. Have some wine. Nina, get some wine.´´ he boomed to the young lady .Our reputation had evidently preceeded us. Just as I was beginning to think he said everything twice he engaged us in conversation asking us where we were from where we were going and how long we planned to travel in Europe. We had a good conversation with just enough ribald humor to keep him entertained. We polished off a liter of wine at no charge, and he left leaving us with Gina, the only innkeeper. Sheila and I had the place to ourselves. We went out to look the town over. That took us about thirty minutes. The town is picturesque. I'll give it that, but it is not worth an overnight unless you find Franco irresistable. At 19:00 our dinner was ready lovingly prepared by Gina. We were alone in the place. It was kind of creepy really--ancient stone walls, a huge soot stained fireplace, great wooden beams, and pictures of Franco with Rick Steves around hanging on the walls. Dinner was great. We took Gina's recommendation:bread, wine, Pasta al mushrooms, medallions of pork in a delicious sauce. The dinner is over and there's nothing to do except listen to the churchbells. The church is occupied by a solitary priest. Beginning at about 6:oo, he rings the bell every 15 minutes. He ministers to 9 people, rings the churchbell every 15 minutes. Whatever he's paid, I'm sure it's too much.More to come. Love to you all.