It's looking a lot like... Natale!

IT IS SUNDAY night in Anghiari. The Processione della Madonna di Loreto emerges from the small Chiesa della Badia, with priests and parishioners winding their way past various vignettes – ‘living paintings’ that tell the story of the life of St Joseph, including the birth of Jesus Christ.

I am swept along with it too, enjoying the singing and understanding phrases here and there: “Maria, prega per noi e perdona i nostri peccati.” (“Mary, pray for us and forgive our sins.”) It’s fabulous, and so many people know all the words.

The ‘actors’ in the scenes seem oblivious to the cold. They have been outside rehearsing and waiting for the past hour for the church service to conclude. The children are serious about their roles, particularly when it comes to the message about pace (peace, above right), which brings a tear to my eye.

Hundreds of sightseers came into Anghiari on the weekend. It's suddenly jumping again thanks to the Vinicoli, an annual two-day wine-tasting event. Quiet as a tomb for a couple of weeks (even the Caffe Garibaldi was closed!), the village swarms with visitors now, many wearing maroon sacks around their necks as they visit the stalls – as well as thick coats, beanies, mittens, boots and scarves. (I didn't get their names, but they were very sweet.)

The maroon sacks hold one wine glass each, ready for the tastings.

Friday, December 8, was the Festa della l’Immacolata Concezione, a public holiday celebrating the day the Virgin Mary conceived Jesus. (That I hadn’t realised it was such a short pregnancy tells you a lot about my religious education.)

It is the day that gives the green light to Christmas celebrations, when Italians traditionally decorate the tree, build the crib, shop for gifts and have the first meal of the holidays with their families.

For me, it was the day of my very best, most memorable meal so far in Italy, thanks to my new friend Massimo (below, left, at Vestri, a wonderful chocolate shop we visited after lunch). Massimo introduced me to Osteria Le Civette in nearby Citerna. Assolutamente squisito! The restaurant serves innovative food that ventures away from the strictly Italian, bringing in Asian and French influences (for example, a ‘bao’ was on the menu and a ‘tartare’). My absolute favourite dish was their take on vitello tonnato (below, right), and I recalled those exciting days in Sydney in the ‘70s and ‘80s when I first learned about this dish thanks to brilliant restaurants such as Natalino’s and Buon Ricordo. (The middle picture shows the Tartare di Fassona Piemontese, Funghi Confit, la sua Maionese e Castagne Fritte.)

Massimo, a Roman who lived in Dublin for many years, has made his home in Anghiari for the last two. Bilingual, he is a great guide, very knowledgeable as well as funny and cheeky. We get along well, despite his mocking of my many mistakes when I attempt to speak Italian (my verbs need a lot of work), although he does say they are ‘cute’. ("I am way too old to be ‘cute’," I say.). Could it have been a compliment when he said he wished I had a second daughter given that my first and only one is already taken? In return, I wish Massimo were at least 15 years older! È la vita!

Reading matters

Changing the subject completely, I am thrilled to have found Shooting An Elephant and Other Essays by George Orwell in the slim English-language section of the local library.

What a treat. His account of his school days, boarding since the age of eight in what can only be described as barbaric conditions explained to me a lot about his cynical view of the world. (Freezing cold showers and an attitude that it was a good thing if a child left the table as hungry as when he sat down were just two of the hideous tortures. Poor little things.)

He can also make me laugh, such as when describing the English. Perhaps my English friends will recognise these traits among some of their compatriots. Certainly Meryl, an Englishwoman who has lived in Anghiari for 38 years and ran the library for a long time, agreed immediately with his assessment when I read her this extract:

“Even when they are obliged to live abroad for years they refuse either to accustom themselves to foreign food or to learn foreign languages. Nearly every Englishman of working-class origin considers it effeminate to pronounce a foreign word correctly.”

Hilarious. And Meryl says this is still the case today.

(Yes, I'm aware that many Australians come from that stock too, including me.)

Love this fruit tree

Bare of leaves, the tree is very photogenic against the stone of this medieval town, and it turns out the fruit is quite delicious too. I did not know it before but it is called Kaki Mela here, the flesh almost mango in its texture, not quite, the skin as smooth only thinner. It is a persimmon, originating in China. Must pick some again soon.

To like, to love, to care, etc

Some time ago when I was busy with my own work and interests, not tuning in or responding much to social media, a friend said my lack of 'likes' on posts was a matter of "withholding dopamine". Yikes. That was going a bit far, I thought, and shouldn't we be a bit less dependent on the socials? But... I have to say I love receiving your likes, loves, whatevers. Thank you, thank you – for coming along with me. It means a lot, even if you have never met me, which is certainly the case for several of my 'friends'. It is encouraging and supportive, and meant as such. I get it. We should all support each other. Grazie.

Arrivederci; alla prossima

That’s enough from me for this time. My friends in Australia will no doubt be happy to know that, despite wondering what the hell I was doing here a few weeks ago, to my surprise I am starting to feel at home. Suddenly, my date of departure seems unfortunately close (just after Christmas), but it will be good to swim in the sea again. (I know you’re sweltering there, but the temperature in my kitchen when I finally got out of bed today was 11.7 degrees.)

Till next time, much love to you all, and thank you, again, for coming along with me. •