So elegant and refined...

I had to make friends with Lorenzo. I had no choice. He looms there at my bedroom window, watches over me at night, keeps time like a town crier. When he speaks, all is well.

“Lorenzo”, I have it on good authority, was long ago the town’s pet name for il campano, the bell tower that in modern times was fitted with a clock. Lorenzo chimes the hour, then chimes the hour again four minutes later (due to a recent fault), and the half-hour (the same number of chimes all over again, plus a tinny “clang” at the end to indicate the half). Imagine, if you will, what that’s like at midnight. And half-past midnight.

I want to remain charmed by Lorenzo. He is so elegant and refined, and we are such close neighbours. So I now wear tappi (ear plugs) in order to sleep without having to knock myself out. And I close the shutters against his dazzling light. Absolute bliss. Amo di nuovo Lorenzo.

Romantic souls at home who imagined me doing a kind of “Eat, Pray, Love” thing during this journey might be disappointed. (Anyway, the writer, Elizabeth Gilbert, was considerably younger than me, and the love affair still didn’t work out in the end.) I don’t believe I will ever find another love, and I am not looking for it.

What I do find heart-warming is interacting with the mature gents at il bar – my neighbour Giorgio, statuesque Vasco and others who are so warm and welcoming, in an avuncular kind of way. I would like to have the same interaction with women, but it just isn’t generally their custom to hang out like this. (I’m not being disingenuous here: of course I realise older men are much more charmed by a slightly younger foreign newcomer than women are ever likely to be; just don't get too romantic about it.)

I signori gather at either the Caffé Garibaldi or the Caffé dello Sport every morning and then again in the evening after they have been home for lunch and possibly a snooze. There they shoot the breeze with each other or use the café’s wifi (Giorgio leaves his laptop at the Garibaldi, which he calls “my office”) and, most importantly, belong. I go to one or the other café each morning for a coffee after breakfast and now, after a month here, the baristas know my order. “Il solito, per favore” (“The usual, please”) – which in my case is “un caffe latte con doppio caffe”. And sometimes, not always, a "piccolina pasta" (little pastry).

Recently I sat with Vasco while he endured my excruciating attempts to speak Italian. I was curious about his life. He is 83, has a 53-year-old son in Anghiari and is still good friends with his wife, from whom he is separated. So we have things in common. In my enthusiasm I opened my phone to show him a photo of my daughter. Mistake. I had forgotten for the moment that Vasco is blind. “Non posso vedere.” (“I can’t see.”) Oh Earth, please open up and swallow me.

The next time I saw him I used the translation app on my phone to ask him a bit more. I had assumed he was born blind, but no. It only happened late in his life as a result of contracting glaucoma, the dreaded eye disease.

“Brutta," he says. It literally means “ugly”, but he’s saying “It’s tough”. We talk about how precious sight is. Yes, he says. I can’t read, I can’t watch television… His watch speaks the time when he touches it. My heart goes out to him. As if old age’s increasing physical limitations aren't hard enough to endure…

Anghiari went from being a quiet little hamlet to a buzzing tourist mecca recently, particularly on April 25, Liberation Day (liberation from the fascists in WWII). It was also the start of Anghiari's annual Mostra Mercato dell'Artigianato (the craft market exhibition).

Artisan crafts that are typical of the region are displayed and pop-up shops appear in nooks all around the historical centre of town – beautiful parquetry, lace-making, jewellery, ceramics, paintings, wooden children’s toys, clothing and leatherwork among them.

Last year I bought my leather jacket here. When I tried it on, the sleeves were far too long. No problem. After being measured up for the adjustment, I was told to come back the next day to pick it up, which I did. Perfetto! I have loved it ever since.

This year my eye is captured by some modern lighting in the form of an espaliered olive tree light against a wall. So tempting, but definitely too cumbersome and expensive to send back to Australia. A photo will have to suffice.

I also enjoy visiting the little Museo della Beccacia (Museum of the Woodcock) which, you won’t be surprised to learn, is “the first and only museum of its kind in the world”! It’s all about better hunting practices and the need to preserve the woodcock, la regina dei boschi (the queen of the woods), whose “presence indicates the quality of the biodiversity more than any other animal”.

Today is May 1, or La Festa dei Lavori (Labor Day) and the last day of the mostra, so things are about to change again in Anghiari.

Small victories in my everyday life

• Understanding the cash-register man at the supermarket without having to ask him to repeat it slowly or show me the bill. “Cinquantatre euro ottantasette.” No problema. Fifty-three euros eighty-seven coming up. • Figuring out how to operate the machines at the laundromat and then – and then! – explaining it to some puzzled native-speakers who arrived after me. Yes!

• Not being intimidated by my friend Ann’s insistence on buying local (Tuscan) wine when I know I love Nero D’avola (Sicilian) as well as wine from Montepulciano. (Thank you, Ann, for driving us to Sansepolcro for shopping, and for everything.)

I know, small things… But that is how life is when you wander around not really being able to read all the signs. A la prossima (till next time). xxx