16. Letter Home; Off to Castellina in Chianti

Letter home:  Rome remains as beautiful as I remember from 1967.  There are water fountains everywhere, big and small; and churches everywhere, and monuments everywhere.  There is action in the streets with millions of tiny Fiats inching their way in traffic.  There are no lanes, it is more like sand getting out of an hour glass.  There is double parking everywhere, sometimes triple parking; the little scooters are the real way to travel, always moving to the front of any stoppage, and apparently not bound by traffic signals.  Frequent Carbineri or Polizia sirens as they rush through traffic.  The diesel smell.  One forgets how common the sight is of nuns and priests.  We (at least I) followed the Italian custom of pasta to start and a meat dish afterwards.  Lots of veal, but good steak and chicken, and always vino roso!  We had some showers, but nothing to stop us from seeing the major sights.  Cathy learned that Caesar's Palace did not originate the Circus Maximus!

We had the papal audience on April 1st covered three ways: Bishop Walsh (thank you!), Monsignor O'Leary and Father Forrester, but it was the Father Forrester's connection, Signora Bartoli, with the Jesuit Bureau in Vatican City that was the easiest connection.  (I asked Father Forrester, back from the hospital the day I called: "Is that B as in boy or D as in dog?", to which he replied, "B as in barstool."  He sounds very good!)  Mrs. Bartoli advised us to sit near the aisle, and after the Pope's homily, he walked down the aisle, stopping occasionally along the way to speak to people, some of whom were quite overcome.  Although Robert, Mara and Jeffrey were caught up in an enormous squeeze, they each managed to shake the pope's hand; he looks very tired and gray.  We have ordered the pictures to bring home. 

 Our main rule in Rome (besides "Look Out!" when you cross the street) was gelato every day.  On the downside, Thomas, Mara and Robert came down with sore throats, and we had some figuring on how to get Thomas to take the penicillin tablets (smushed, with chocolate, with Ribena syrup [the black currant juice]; it was hit and miss.)

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Saturday 4 April.  Roma to Castellina in Chianti, Tuscany.  I begin the morning on a "Great Waldo," as Cathy says: looking for an ATM machine that will accept my Barclay's Visa debit card or Valley Bank card.  We passed one several days ago, and I am off early on my mission for cash.  The owner of the nearby bar has taken a liking to us, especially Thomas ("piccolo").  He has pizza and sandwiches waiting for us in the morning, even though the bar doesn't open until noon.  We knock three times, the shutter lifts and we are allowed inside to pick up our picnic lunch.

We leave the pensione at 11:40 and on our way out of town I attempt to find the San Sebastian catacombs, but it's like Milano.  Somewhere I miss a turn and we are not where we're supposed to be, indeed far from it, and it's time to be on the road.  We are on the Motorway at 12:30.  The drive north is uneventful and we do not have much trouble at all finding our "villa," which is not far from the little town of Castellina in Chianti (il gallo nero, the black rooster, is the well known symbol of the region).  We are about halfway between Florence, to the north, and Sienna, to the south.  Our villa is really an apartment (Appt 13, Fatt Poggio al Sorbo, Castellina in Chianti) and is located at the bottom of a very steep dirt road, past grape vines not yet green, at the end of a small promontory above the middle of a valley.  We seem to be the only ones about, despite the presence of a small house and winery and three other apartments in our building, which is across the courtyard from the main house.  Fearful of Sunday closing, we make a quick trip to the neighborhood market and are home again in our two bedroom flat by 5:40 after a 219 mile drive.