My last few days in Monterchi fly by. We have decided to go out for pizza at the local ristorante on Thursday night and then on Friday Lucie is going to cook her famous whole roast chicken and then chocolate pudding with cream for dessert (they call all desserts pudding, we would call this chocolate lava cake). After a hard morning and afternoon of translation work for Lucie, a long day of chainsawing and hauling down wood for Peter and a scattered day of shelling walnuts, doing dishes and cleaning for me, we are all ready to head down to town and be waited on. I haven't written yet about Lucie's driveway - it is such a ride that they really should charge to go up and down. It is not paved in any way and is covered with large rocks and pitted with massive potholes. The first night I arrived with Lucie she told me about the drive up and how it was so hard on the car that they drive up it backwards. I assumed she was being sarcastic and laughed it off. She wasn't kidding. So this night, as with every night, we throw ourselves down the mountain in their Renult Kangaroo which no longer has an odometer, speedometer or interior lights working at all. But it's a good car and they love how it has endured all they have put it through.
At the pizzeria, we order a pizza for each of us, sauteed spinach and chips (French fries). This is what they always order much to the dismay of the locals seated around. Wine with chips! Pizza with spinach! What's wrong with you people?!?! No sooner have we completed our order then two of Peter and Lucie's friends walk though the door -Trevor and Mary. Both in their late 70's, Trevor convinced Mary to move from England to Italy over six years ago by promising her she would never have to cook or clean again. And ever since then, she hasn't so it's no suprise to see them out tonight. We pull up a table and they put in their order, similar to ours but Trevor has ordered a bottle of wine just for himself as well as a tripe dish. Tripe in tomato sauce - I can not imagine a worse combination. The wine in itself is a sight to behold. Locally made, of course, the liter bottle is only 1.50 euro each and given to us in reused glass water bottles with a screw top. We eat and chat, ordering dessert and then...... Say it with me... Limencello. A darn good limencello too, I give it a B+ personally. As we wrap up, we need to stop by Trevor and Mary's place to pick up some things they wanted to give to Lucie and instead of a quick stop we are there for well over an hour. Mary takes us down memory lane showing us some of the many books she has illustrated over the years while Trevor hands out little glasses of grappa or limencello. I can say that the next morning contained the worst hang over I have had since being in Italy. But other than good fun and a hangover, something else has come out of the night: Lucie and I have decided I must stay for another night. The bringolie festival is Saturday and I can't miss that! I alter my hostel reservation and the matter is settled.
Friday flies by and before you know it, it's Saturday and is my last day with them. Lucie and I hang out reading books by the fireplace or taking a walk in the woods with the cats following behind us. Little Pip even gets some exercise, hopping his little pudgy body over rocks and through the grass. And he certainly can use the walk. All we can say when we see Pip is that it looks like he has swallowed a balloon, his little midsction is plumping out so much. But he's adorable and a great snuggler, so nothing else matters. I also do Peter and Lucie a huge favor - in their eyes, I can't imagine any one else being happy about me lending this particular service - by cutting their hair. I haven't cut hair since AmeriCorps ten years ago, but hell, it can't be that hard. And, to my quiet amazement, Peter's actually looks decent and Lucie's shortened layers have given her hair a new bounce. I will, however, not be quitting my day job.
Saturday night is the bringolie festival which I will explain since I had never heard of bringolie before that night. It is basically a fat spaghetti noodle that is made fresh in the nearby town of Angheari. The festival is geared entirely around this pasta and is virtually the same every year - pasta with with either Ragu or mushrooms as the first dish and then large slices of bread rubbed with garlic and drizzles in olive oil with grilled sliced sausage in between for the second. Heavenly I tell you. The atmosphere, despite being outside, is so welcoming and cozy between the massive fire they are using to cook the sausage links and the local red wine being consumed out of small plastic cups. It is the perfect night to summarize and solidify my stay in Italy.
On Sunday I am scheduled to catch the 3pm train from Arezzo to Rome. I make a fairly American style breakfast for everyone and then after a lovely lunch prepared by Lucie, she and I are off to the station at 2pm. I am not travelling lightly at this point. While I have lightened the load of my pack by leaving a few clothes with Lucie as well as a few bottles of wine and by just having used up some toilteries along the way, I have acquired twelve bottles of wine and several other gifts for people. I have reinforced a cardboard box several times with tape and wrapped each bottle individually in plastic, but nonetheless, between that, my pack and my courier bag, I am weighted down. At the station Lucie is sweet enough to park the car, come to the track with me and carry the wine onto the train. We say our sad goodbyes and I promise to come back someday - and I don't make empty promises. She gets off the train and to my amazement, my new friend stays at the train's side until it starts pulling away. She slowly walks with it for a bit, all the time us waving back and forth at each other until I can't see her anymore. With her out of sight, it is impossible for me not to slump down in my seat and cry.
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