The bells are ringing, but they seem to do that regularly here in Lucca and likely all over Italy. Normally, I think of hearing them to mark an occasion, but here a passing cloud or gust of unexpected wind is all the justification needed, clearly testimony to my ignorance of local custom.
The kitchen in my little space is where I spend my time. I keep the door open, so the outside and inside are not separated, a wonderful habit picked up by living in Kauai, where I never want to shut out the beautiful face of the island. So, here I sit, serenaded by the washing machine washing part of the extensive wardrobe packed for the trip. I am thinking about how I finished up last night’s note, with the idea that we took an unexpected detour on the way back from the mountains, at least it was for me.
We drove through one small village after another and occasionally a slightly larger one slipped into the view through the windshield. The road flattened as we drove closer to the Versilia coast line, the mystery destination, until I dared to ask where we were going. Of course, we went through the translation dance of me asking Madalina in English, who translated back into Italian, so Lenuta could partially answer my question in her fractured English. Just as I had no idea I was spending the night in the cabin, I was equally surprised to find out about this excursion.
We ended up at what looked like Italy’s version of the Hamptons, Forte Dei Marmi. Closest to the beach were large entry signs for different access points to the sea. Unlike Kauai, much of the beach was the private real estate of these “clubs”. I am not terribly sure of how it is set up there and I don’t want to waste my time finding out, so I can then waste your time with explanations. What is never hard to mistake is the look of money and it was there in all its high priced elegance.
The streets were filled with designer names like Michael Kors and Gucci and all the names you see in the heavily scented, excessively glossy magazines, where all the woman are pencil thin and all the young men have forgotten to shave. Style was everywhere and I marveled at it. People likely spent a great deal of time in front of the mirror, to look as if they just threw some clothes together. If I loosely tied a sweater over my shoulders, I’d look like a slob. It was like one of those magazines came to life in an IMAX homage to style.
We had lunch in one of the many casually elegant restaurants perfectly placed along the sea side. I had a large plate of assorted fried fish, none of which looked at all familiar. I definitely noticed some zucchini, hiding out amongst headless bodies of little fish. I thought about ordering a hamburger, but I wanted to be one with shouldered, sweater men and designer, draped women.
There is a wonderful diversity to this country, at least what I have scene so far in my limited exposure. It is fabulously modern and respectfully traditional, joined together in a seamless grace.
The mystery ride continued and we headed back to Lucca, with me sitting in the back seat, not having the vaguest idea where we were. Lenuta and Madalina continued their highly animated conversation, only stopping to check their phones for what seemed like an endless flow of very important information.
When I got back to my all purpose kitchen, it was time to recount the story of the ride to the cabin the day before and the last story was its by product.
Today, I got back to the good old routine with a sit, some improvised yoga and finally the run on the wall, which was far more familiar than the first time. I got back here and thought I’d finish the story I began when I returned from mountains and the sea last night. It is my last full day in Lucca and I will be going out soon to roam around town for a while. I may give us a break and not write later, but who knows what will happen this afternoon.
Tomorrow, I leave here for an entirely different adventure, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.