Spoleto

I am just finishing my eighth month of living here. When I think about the time, it is a strange thing. I feel like these past months have gone by so quickly, yet at the same time I look back at each moment and the people I have gotten to know, and feel like it's been so much longer. Knowing that I don't have much time left here has motivated me even more to savor each moment. And I've been busy! 

"The past, present, and future are strange things. What a bizarre concept it is to divide time into these three categories. I've found that once something happens it isn't really part of your "past". It is contributing to your "present" and is vital to the formation of your future. There is no distinction. Once something happens it is part of you and you are a part of it. We don't really ever leave things behind. We just learn to respond to them in different ways"

When the warmer weather came, and by warmer I mean it wasn't snowing anymore,  I took a day trip to a little town called Spoleto. The sleepy town is located just about in the middle of Italy, coming to life only for the annual festival that brings together international performers of music, dance, and theatre. Our visit gave us a chance to get in touch with nature again, something we are desperately lacking in Florence. Hiking around the trails, getting lost on the windy streets, and enjoying the sun made up a great day. My favorite part was an old bridge across the deep gorge, Ponte delle Torre (Bridge of Towers), a 13-century Roman aqueduct.   

A Long Winter and a Taste of Spring

"It's hard to say when exactly winter arrived. The decline was gradual, like that of a person into old age, inconspicuous from day to day until the season became an established, relentless reality. First came the dip in the evening temperatures..."* the fall of the leaves, and the changing of the clocks- though there were still occasional moments of hope that winter was just a myth, mornings where it was still possible to leave the house without five socks, thermals and gloves and the sky was clear and bright. But all that disappeared as the did the days of the calendar. Soon, I felt the sting of the cold whipping across my face, the joys of the heater, and jealous of those Italian women with the big fur coats. I always thought I could move somewhere where it gets cold. I mean, I grew up in the foothills of California so I have at least a little clue of what it's like. But my memory must have left that detail out, that there is no escape from the harsh weather when always suffocated with layers upon layers. The heaping helpings of comfort… soup, tea and honey. But this week there has been a change in the air. The other day was a good one because it rained instead of snowed. An improvement. The streets are a little more crowded and I even saw my first pair of elbows the other day too. No more full-body suits needed to face the day. The trees are almost blooming. Spring is nearly here.

*I just found this book called The Art of Travel by Alain de Botton. It's a really interesting perspective on the analysis of why people travel. I've read another of his books and he is really enlightening. I would recommend it for sure!