ITALIA: June 21, 2007

Imagine, if you will, a strange land full of trickery and delight. Delight, that is, if you were reading about it or watching some fetching cartoon about it. Today we went down the rabbit hole, we went through the looking glass, people. And I’m here to tell you, messiah-like, that living it is not nearly as enjoyable as witnessing it happen to other people.

Given all the good fortune we’ve experienced in Italy thus far, it seems only apt that there’d be one day of payback, and we have only ourselves to blame. Babel-like, we set our sights too high. Looking back, we have named it il Giorno del Circolo, because we simply could not escape circles--directional, mental and traffic. The day started with trying to drive a memorized local route to Firenze. After about an hour of confusing signage and increasingly rural roads, we found ourselves on what had to have been one of the highest mountain cities in Umbria, Allarona. We stopped to take in an amazing expanse and ask for directions. Turns out we had driven a good hour around a gigantic, rural circle, to find ourselves only 20 klicks from Orvieto once again. So we returned to Orvieto (with some further difficulty, I might add) to get our bearings and decided to head out to Firenze on the autostrada (uninitiated Americani, read: “interstate”). Of course, we had planned to stop in an intermediate town for lunch, but the hour was late and after a little under an hour on the autostrada David suggested we stop at one of the pull-off stations for eats. It’s tough to get lost when you go nowhere, after all.

And boy, are the service stations off the autostrada nowhere. It was bizarrely uplifting cum depressing to see this side of Italy, or perhaps greater Europe. It told me that the pervasive (invasive) culture of convenience is not limited to America’s purple-mountained majesty. The whole establishment was hoisted above the autostrada, so you could be rocked to dreamy consumption by the coastal sounds of cars topping out at 100 mph. It was the most expensive and least satisfying meal I’ve ever had in Italy, though it still beat anything I could have gotten in such an establishment in my native land. So there’s hope yet for Italia. After this strange meal, it was back on the road.

But now for a town called Arrezzo, which none of us had been to before. We decided we were so behind, and perhaps we didn’t have the courage and stamina at that point to take on Firenze. Arrezzo is one of the towns we looked into as having theatre festivals when we were applying for grants to travel here, so it seemed logical that we might find an interesting environment there. Off we went, little aware of what we were in for.

Arrezzo is a town I think I might enjoy under other circumstances. It’s fairly small, but big enough to hold a lot of history and contemporary entertainments. It felt a bit like a university town, with some 3,000 years of history behind it. We dove in and visited the largest park and a giant cathedral, but quickly had to get back to the car as we could only pay for a couple of hours of parking at a time (circles). On our second trip we wound our way around until we finally found an exhibit of Piero della Francesca in a local museum. A famous renaissance artist, he lived in the town for some time. Oddly enough, most of his extant work is in frescoes…the which you can’t exactly export to museums. So, though it was very well done, the exhibit was something of a tease. Thereafter David suggested we find dinner in Fiesole, a neighboring town of Firenze. (I think he was generally disappointed with Arrezzo.) Feeling at least somewhat successful with having found the exhibit, we agreed, hoping it would fulfill some of our Firenze jones. The bells of the church whose lot we parked in heralded us out of town as we headed out in the car…once again.

Fiesole was quite easy to find, in spite of some anxiety owing to signage on the way. I bought a road map of all of Italy at the service station (How’s that for an investment in the future?), so we at least had some perspective on where we were headed this time. It is a town on a high hill (mountain?) to the northeast of Firenze, with a beautiful view of the city. We had a very lavish dinner—with complementary champagne, of all things—at an outdoor restaurant with a view of the city below, a place David had had dinner at ten years prior. The dinner rejuvenated us so that we felt empowered to seek out a great gelato place David remembered from the same era, in Firenze.

Mistake.

We had ourselves quite a little drive around the city, ensnared continually by traffic circles with little-to-no indication of where we wished to end up. I suppose we spent the better part of an hour trying to locate the general area we hoped to inhabit, with no success. We just couldn’t catch a break, so we eventually just tried to find the autostrada again, which led us to some very interesting parts of town. Heather: “Is she for sale?” Jeff: “I think so.” Two blocks later eliminated all doubt, as a bevy of scantily (or non) clad roadside stress-relievers dotted our periphery. In case your needs should ever lay in such a direction whilst in Florence, head to where the buses park between routes. It’s like a supermarket over there.

I took over the driving once we got going on some local roads out of town. It was nearing 1:00 AM at this point, and eventually I found the autostrada near Siena, and eventually we coursed our way into our driveway, at just about 3:00 AM. Where did we go wrong (apart from, directionally, ever which way)? That’s a tale for another time. For now, we’ll just put this day to rest.

ITALIA: June 20, 2007

Okay: I was a bit hasty when I encouraged you to avoid thinking of Bevagna’s “Medieval Festival” as though it were an American “Renaissance Festival.” The similarities are, in fact, quite arresting. The only distinctions appear to be that 1) The Medieval Festival is taking place in a town of the appropriate age, and 2) A Renaissance Festival includes dragon puppets and magic satchels and things of this nature. In all other things the two resemble one another quite closely. This town has even erected some pseudo-historical structures constructed from cast fiberglass and molded polystyrene, the ethos behind which we have been scratching our heads about all the live-long day.

It has been a long day. So long, in fact, that by 5:00 we had had enough and David rented us a room in a nunnery ("get thee to"), and we had a nap. It was well worth it. Prior to that, the day started at 6:30 in the morning in order to try to arrive in Bevagna on time to meet Andrea and Natsuko when they got there. The drive was intense—almost two hours, and full of the most winding roads I’ve ever driven on. I’m pretty certain there were a couple of times there when we traveled back in time a little, the road curled back on itself so impossibly. We split the drive with a quick stop for breakfast and a walk in Todi. We didn’t stay long. My impression is that the city is built on a spire. You walk steeply uphill to its center, and jog in a sort of controlled fall to get back to where you parked. When we got through all that, we didn’t land in Bevagna until 11:00ish.

When we met up with Andrea and Natsuko in the central piazza, we all five promptly headed off to a bar for l’acqua and caffe. It was an incredibly hot day, just getting warmed up. When we could justify sitting under umbrellas no more, we headed off to visit with one of Andrea’s friends who was also working in his quarter. The “Medieval Festival,” it seems, actually dates back to the time it honors. Bevagna is divided into four quarters known as gaiti, or gates, which refers to the town having essentially four walls, each with its own entrance. Back in the day, the gaiti were fiercely competitive. Each had there own church, their own laws, etcetera. It got so territorial at times that the gaiti would put up chains across their borders, and anyone caught on the wrong side would be killed. (Suddenly Romeo & Juliet becomes credible in a whole new way.) The festival continues in this tradition with—we hope—less bloodshed, by forming itself as a competition in authenticity and entertainment between the four quarters. Andrea’s role in all this was to a play a sort of wandering clown for Gaite Sant Giorgio.

His friend whom first we met is a painter of icons and frescoes. This was an amazing visit. We went into the workshop he had set up for the event, and it’s hard to imagine anything more genuine. I couldn’t stop taking pictures. Essentially, he gave us the full tour and lecture on his technique, hours before he would be expected to do it for the public. From color making to charcoal graphing to gold leafing, it was fascinating. I couldn’t even understand a fifth of what the guy was actually saying, and it was still fascinating.

Afterwards we all went to lunch together in the main courtyard of Sant Giorgio, where later that night the quarter’s feats would be held. Sheets were hung at intervals, over tables still stacked atop with their benches, and we met other performers and artisans of the gaite who were there for their midday meal. And, essentially, we were served a full Italian meal with wine amidst really charming and interesting people…for free. Guests of Andrea. This is the least of what we owe this man. It was a marvelous meal. After that we followed the man in charge of running the coin-stamping site into his cool basement workshop, were he minted each of us a medieval Perugian coin. Then Andrea walked us around the town to visit the other quarters, the outlet for the town’s water supply and one of the churches. Finally it was time for him to prepare for the evening at his digs in the quarter’s nunnery. (Get thee to one, go!) This was when our fatigue drove us to rent rooms there, and we napped until past 7:00.

When we woke, famished, the evening’s festivities were just getting under way. David couldn’t wait for one of the feasts to squelch his hunger, and we weren’t in a hurry to disagree (though I admit I might have waited for the experience) so we dove into the only open restaurant we could find in town. While there, Andrea found us, and whilst in character. He had donned a medieval tunic and accentuated it with his customary (and costume-ry) props, like a helmet and the collapsible sword I used for a scythe in our clown piece, and an ashtray breastplate, and was wearing a Pantalone mask. He was wildly funny, carousing with every person in reach like a drunken soldier on holiday. We agreed to meet up later for a drink, and we were off to the central piazza again to people-watch during passagiata. Everyone was out to impress that night, from packs of pre-teen boys to elderly couples walking hand-in-hand. We agreed that the festival was really just an excuse for a super-passagiata.

After wine with Andrea and Natsuko David decided he was feeling spry and we left our monastical digs to drive the two hours back to the agriturismo. I was asleep before we got out of Toscana. The love of this country wears me right out.

ITALIA: June 19, 2007

I’m allergic to Italy.

There’s really not much I can do for it. I could conceivably go to an Italian allergist, but the need to communicate in specific nouns baffles me even in contemplation. Something here—and I do so hope it’s just the current season and living in an agriturismo—is making me congested, sneezy, water-eyed and headachedy. No fair. No. Fair. In addition, I am like Nutella™ for every G.D. creepy crawly that inhabits this country. I don’t know if it has to do with my sheet-white flesh, or some biochemical odor, or what, but I have about three or four new mosquito, spider and ant bites daily. Finally, I tan like a little bitch. (You may have noticed an effort on my part to avoid using specifically explicit language in this ‘blog. It’s a conscious decision, and I adhere to it even in breaking it. Sometimes the colloquial is the only language to express an abstract idea with sufficient specificity.) I tan like a little bitch—like the new convict who lets an old-timer beat him on the first day then spends the rest of his term conning cigarettes off other felons for said old-timer. The only parts of my body accustomed to absorbing vitamin D are my face and forearms, and somehow the rest of me is covered by clothing at the peak opportunities for breaking the curse. The end result is that I have a farmer’s tan that degrades into a partial wife-beater tan, and my legs either burn irreparably or never change from lily, making me at best a perpetual mood ring of melatonin.

In spite of all this, I love this country. The more I see of it and experience it, the more I love it. New, old; refined, decrepit. Love it.

Today we began with a light breakfast, than headed straight of to il lago. It was a lovely day for it; not too sunny, but warm. The weather is growing altogether (“the weather is warming”) warmer here as we move past the actual one-year anniversary of our arrival last year, June 17/18. As soon as we hit the lake, I took off on a jog, which I needed in part because I strained my right hamstring during our impromptu clown performance yesterday. (How do you like that, Todd? Twenty-four hours missing you and already I’m experiencing sympathy pains.) It was great. I headed out to a nearby harbor town, walked the piers for a bit, then jogged back. It helped clear my sinuses, further convincing me my difficulties are allergic, not viral. We must have spent a good three hours at the lake, during which I mostly sunned, but you can’t go there and not surround yourself with that clear water at least once.

We were directionless thereafter—a first for us since arriving. I admit my impatience with that encroached a bit on my experience of our time, but overall it was great to have such a day. We drove around an unfamiliar side of the lake seeking a boat tour, but could find none that would allow us to stop at an island as we desired. So we drove from town to town, admiring architecture and vistas while all of Italy enjoyed its afternoon siesta. David began seeking out properties for sale, rather in earnest. This is a possibility he’s always flirted with, and it was bitter-sweet to see him taking specific, albeit preliminary, action toward it.

Eventually, after some acqua frizzante and cappuccino, we directed ourselves to the mountain town of Pitigliano. We were rather famished, having had a movement-filled day and skipping lunch (never again), but the city would prove more distracting than our hunger. It’s gorgeous, if just a bit touristi moded. It’s in Toscana (Tuscany, tu Americani [I know: you’re smarter than I am.]) We walked the long and short of it. It’s one of these cities that dates back to the Etruscan era, carved out of the rock of the mountain itself. The clock tower is fascinating; it’s clearly an Etruscan structure that has been enveloped at its bottom half by the stucco of the Catholic church constructed next to it. From one side of the town you can see a vast, lush valley with multiple waterfalls ensconced. The walls tower over the valley on three sides, and some version of Italian crows (smaller, with silver–gray heads) circle at the city’s height and make their homes in holes in the outer wall. If I hadn’t fallen in love with Orvieto first, Pitigliano would have swept me off my feet.

Perhaps most exciting about our visit was also our most accidental. On the walk in from parking, we noticed a poster in a shop window for a local production of Othello going on the 22^nd and 23^rd. I suggested we could catch it, setting our imaginations in motion, but without any real information to sustain the fantasy. On our second trip through the city gates, after circling the place once idly sightseeing, Heather noticed a sign of a pair of doors for a theatre. David poked his head in, but said the lights were off. As we left, a man popped his head out the door, so we spoke to him. Turns out we had found the back door, and this was indeed the theatre producing Othello this weekend. We inquired about tickets, and he popped in to find someone who could help us. He returned to tell us she was coming, and in the awkward, semi-improvised chit-chat of differing nationalities David asked him if he worked for the theatre. No, no, he said, “Lavoro attoro.” Oh really, what part? “Otello.” So the lead actor and house manager sold us tickets in the balcony for the Friday evening show, at 9 Euro a head. We left wishing him “in bocca al lupo,” and hoping for ourselves we could corner him afterward to talk to him about our purpose here.

Even on our day off, we managed to conduct some exciting business. Plus I finally get to see a show in Italy. Tomorrow we’re off to a new city to see Andrea perform in a medieval festival, an all-day affair I encourage you not to think of as an American Renaissance Festival. I now make my way quasi-drunkenly under the covers, sniffling and sneezing contentedly.

ITALIA: June 18, 2007

This morning we awoke early to take Todd to the train into Rome, where he would catch the subway to the airport, where he would fly to Perugia, where he would then fly on to America. He had about three hours of sleep the night before, so hopefully he is able to sleep on the longer leg of his flight. We have a similar timing for our flight out next week, and I’m not looking forward to it. To depart at 2:00 in the afternoon, spend eight hours in the air and arrive at 5:00 in the afternoon is not only weird, it’s exhausting. They’d best not expect much from Todd at work tomorrow, or me next week.

It’s sad to have him go. Everything is a lot quieter, and we’re all adjusting gradually to the energy shift. We truly do adjust in his absence. Heather and I become more outspoken, and David takes more (albeit calmer) prerogative, but it’s never as adventurous or—frankly speaking—dangerous when Todd is absent, and as students of theatre we miss that when it’s gone. We’ll try to promise him not to have too much fun without him, but it will be a challenge. We are in Italy.

The rest of the morning was spent in Orvieto, dropping off laundry (YAY!) and visiting the farmacia and an internet café. I was supposed to have posted last week’s entries today, in fact, but changed bags and neglected to bring my wireless card. Hence the entry bearing this same date, yet containing nothing but an apology. When I finally do post these entries (under one entry, methinks) I’ll have to attach pretty much all of the existing labels, and maybe a few more.

Lunch was at our old favorite for it last year (mainly “favorite” because they made a deal with the language school that included free wine), Antica Cantina. The owner didn’t seem to recognize us, but he’s something of a craggy sort and may have just been under-whelmed to see us again. Afterward we picked up our laundry and arrived at Piazza Cahen to meet Andrea somewhat early, so we had a walk around a park attached to the piazza that overlooks what I believe is the south end of Orvieto. It was gorgeous. I’ve never seen it before. We quickly found Andrea and headed back to Teatro Boni to try on his props-acting workshop for size.

So much happened, it’s hard to encapsulate it all. (Sorry Todd—we really tried not to have anything worth noting happen after you had to leave.) We took our time warming up, which Andrea left to us, wanting to experience our style again, and we moved into partner stretching with him. This may have been pushing it a bit. The last, wherein you lift you partner, back-to-back, proved to be a bit much for him as a base. He didn’t seem seriously hurt, fortunately. We rapidly moved on to his workshop. He laid out a variety of props, both mundane and somewhat constructed to his purposes, and instructed us to take our time choosing one, then exploring it in our own isolation. He had several helpful (not to mention original) suggestions on how to approach this discovery, including to find all the sounds it can make and to consider the materials it is constructed of and where they come from. He went off to do some business for the theatre, which ended up taking longer than expected. That was fine with us. The music he put on ran out while we never did find an end to the exploration of our respective objects. It was the kind of work you never really find time for in a rehearsal process…but probably should.

When Andrea did return to break us from our trance, we discovered we were joined in the audience by the director of their current show (a Plautus play), Cesare, and a secretary of the theatre, Hanna. I swear, none of we three had any idea they had come in. I still wonder how long they watched us “exploring.” Andrea’s next assignment was to demonstrate three alternative uses for the objects we had chosen. David’s whisk and pot top became a wine bottle and tray, a mirror and comb, and a paintbrush and palette. Heather’s thermal blanket became a superhero cape, a cobra, jiffy pop and a balloon. My round wicker basket became (I couldn’t resist over committing) a helmet, ear horn, parachute, canoe and combination back hump and/or knap sack. Then Andrea, in what seems to be his inimitable style, requested we improvise a monologue incorporating our respective prop(s). I lucked out and got to go last on this, giving me the most time to think, and constructed a story (of a football player surviving a plane crash in the Himalayas) that I ended up actually feeling fairly satisfied with. It was a good day; good to see we could keep moving forward with Andrea in spite of losing our Alpha Communicator, and the workshop ended happily on all sides.

Actually, we had another surprise, as Andrea requested we present something of our work for Cesare and Hanna at the end of the workshop. Heather and I were quite taken aback. We couldn’t see doing the Valentino excerpt without Todd, and our other piece, the one that only involves we two (Death + a Maiden) is prop heavy, and timed in large part by a soundtrack. In the spirit of the workshop (and, I suppose, Italy) however, we attempted it. Heather used a milk crate for a chair, a sort of slender boa for a hair bow and a toilet scrubber for a mirror. I used the thermal blanket for a cloak, a collapsible Chinese long sword for a scythe and a spaghetti spatula for flowers. Sans music, which was a first for us, and sans rehearsal (read: fight call) of the acrobalance and momentum moves involved. It went great, all things considered, was well-received and full of discovery for us both. Plus we got another piece of "Zuppa in Italia" ("Italia della Zuppa"?) on film, impromptu though it may have been.

The adventure did not end with our day’s “rehearsal.” Afterward we five, plus another friend of the theatre, joined up for drinks at a local bar (“bar” in Italy is what we’d think of in America as a café) and getting-to-know-you. Then the subject of an amphitheater in town came up. It was being restored, and they hoped we could see it, though they joked it might mean “breaking in.” Well, we drove across town, and the place was indeed locked up. To my surprise, we actually did break in. At the encouragement of the others, Andrea, Heather, David and I climbed over an eight-foot wall and walked about the amphitheatre. It was heavily under (re)construction, with a giant, net-covered scaffolding in front of the yawning proscenium arch, but you could see how wonderful it would be. On the way back to Orvieto, after goodbyes to our new friends, we fantasized about Aquapendente’s first annual Shakespeare festival opening with our clown production of Romeo & Juliet, or Measure for Measure.

The day ended quietly, with we three opting to make a dinner of leftovers back at home base after dropping Andrea off. Night settles on slowly now, for a change, and with utterly allergic sinuses but completely fulfilled heart and stomach, I’m off to read Coarse Acting until I fall into increasingly vivid dreams.

ITALIA: June 17, 2007

Today—Todd’s last day—though we had grand plans involving visiting lots of people and spending time at il lago di Bolsena, we ended up spending most of the first part of the day sitting around the table on our patio and discussing Zuppa at large and our fall plans in specific. This fall’s show ties in so many elements and so much community involvement that it’s almost ridiculously ambitious. We’ll begin by teaming up with Marywood University’s theatre students (and possibly students from the Scranton State School for the Deaf, though finding sufficient resources for that is looking difficult) to teach them busking and street theatre. (Which we’ve never actually taught before. Heather is fond of quoting Kurt Vonnegut…approximately: I call all my workshops this, then talk about whatever I feel like.) After a week of this, the students will perform on Labor Day at a street fair held in Scranton. From that experience we go on to select the more promising performers to be cast in roles in Prohibitive Standards, and train them for the next week in our distinctive style of commedia dell’arte. “Distinctive” is a nice word, and I’m sticking to it as my catch-all adjective.

Our discussions of just what Prohibitive Standards will be will be posted to the show’s collaborative ‘blog in good time (read: when I get back to free interwebzitude), but in the meantime, here are some notes from the meeting (bear in mind that it ain’t over ‘til the commediani do their final pratfalls):

Style: Incorporating three styles—farce, seedy & bright commedia? Romance?

Devices/Settings: Vaudeville stage/cabaret appealing in that it gives an instant place for students with acts. The better can also interact with the main characters, perhaps evolve plotlines. Environmental seating for audience. Start with flashback to history behind scenario? Character who tells story, or backstory, who is unrecognized on some level. Masked? It’s a special place. Speakeasy? David inclined to no: too cliché, more interesting to acknowledge Prohibition as a law that just didn’t take. Well-funded refuge from the outside world? Train up and running in this time.

Plots: Coming of age amidst gangsters and vaudeville performers? The hard-bitten member of that world throwing him or herself in front of the train? Two brothers—Johnny Dangerously—living in the two worlds? Story of Jermyn (research)?

Todd’s involvement in the show at this stage is tenuous, bordering on completely impossible. I shan’t say much more about it at this stage, and hope for the best (for the show, selfishly) but we’re remaining open to a variety of possibilities. We will, however, have at least three central actors (I’m still hoping for four) plus whatever student actors we can effectively wrangle. I’m much more excited about the subject matter this year than I was for Operation Opera, and looking forward to the research that will be required of me for July and August. Hopefully I will feel more capable of the comedy by the end of that period as well. Something about my recent forays into drama and naturalism has me wanting to do something different with my comic performances. Not make them more serious, but somehow more nuanced, whilst retaining the absurd physical reality. How? Non lo so, ma forse…

Once we finally got off our butts, we were off into Orvieto to meet Andrea for a guided tour of some of the countryside. There’s a tremendous hike from the duomo to Porano that Todd and I wanted to make, but it would have been too much time, so instead we drove to a cappucine monastery on a hill opposite Orvieto. Andrea spoke with the padre, who then very kindly gave us a tour of the entire facility and sent us off with free postcards. Andrea took over as we marched up the mountain, admiring views and vegetation. We passed a middle-sized wheat field that whispered in the breeze, and farther along he took us into several Etruscan tombs. It was a beautiful jaunt, and further amplified my respect and admiration for Andrea as a person. Un molto gentile huomo.

We were fairly famished after our hike, and headed back into Orvieto for dinner. The restaurant we hoped for, Pizzeria Charlie (really—it’s good), was closed. In the nature of all things Italian we ended up at a restaurant we had all expressed a desire to get back to this trip, l’Antica Rupe (chiuso il Lunedi, per gl’informatzioni), with a beautiful terrace overlooking the duomo. There we learned the pope had flown by the city in his helicopter that day, which we just missed. (I want a helicopter I can call “my helicopter.”) Andrea left after a beer to attend to his pregnant wife, Natsuko, and after dinner we went to Piazza del Duomo for our favorite place for gelato. Sitting on the steps of the duomo as darkness fell, I thought about how blissful it would be to live in a place where the accustomed activity after dinner was to have a walk around to say hello to whomever you pass.

The night ended early in the interests of getting up early enough to get Todd to the train on time. My allergies were ballistic after all our time in the fields and woods, so I had a little of David’s Airborne® and retired to read some of Heather’s Coarse Acting scripts (if you’re in theatre and haven’t experienced Coarse Acting: go out, buy a book or two and lock yourself in a soundproof room to avoid irritating your neighbors with guffaws). I quickly drifted off, to wake suddenly to the sound of Todd’s packing, thinking I had already slept the night through and it was time to get up and out. But I was deceived. It was mezzonotte, and there were hours to go before goodbyes.