Pratale

(Again, pretend this was posted Monday, November 3.)

Last week I took a train to Rome's Termini station, followed by a short subway ride to Tiburtina, and a longer bus ride to Umbria, just outside the town of Gubbio (north of Rome, in the mid-calf region of Italy).

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I was worried about getting off the bus in the right spot. After all, I had gotten lots of wrong directions walking around Rome. How could this driver possibly know which stone wall to let me off at? But he did. He knew the exact spot and with calls of "Grazie! Prego! Buonasera! Ciao ciao ciao!" he left me standing at the side of the road in the dark, under a streetlight but in the middle of nowhere. It was a beautiful night, but it had rained that morning and the wind was gusting. With my directions and headlamp (off but in my pocket), I left the streetlight behind and set off on a very dark 4km walk to the fork in the road (go right off the pavement), past five farmhouses (just far enough apart that in between every one I started wondering if I'd somehow taken a wrong turn and would have to sleep in the woods), into Ivo's farmyard and down the track to my destination: Pratale. I was greeted by a warm bowl of soup and a game of Jenga. Shortly after I arrived, the rain poured down.

Pratale is remote. I would have to hike those 4km back up and out and take a bus to town if I wanted to use the phone or internet. They do have electricity and indoor plumbing here, although they frequently forego the indoor toilet for the "ecological loo" to conserve water: they depend on rainwater collection and a solar pump, so water conservation is a daily matter here. Meals are cooked on a wood burning stove, and I helped make bread in the stone oven in the courtyard. Again, the food is tasty- hearty and filling, rivaled only by the spectacular views and rich conversations. Martin and Etain, my hosts here, are the most well-educated, wordly people you will ever meet living in the middle of nowhere with no car. They also have an extensive library. Etain started handing me books to read the first night here. I told she'd be lucky to get any work out of me if she kept it up. But they also have three Camargue horses, a native Italian breed, so I am happy to head for the hills, I m mean fields... because that means talking to the horses. Camargue horses are born solid chestnut, they eventually turn a speckled red roan, and finally mature to pure white. (Side note: I was picking a lot of chestnuts at Sebastiano's farm and one day, admiring the deep brown sheen with rich red tones, I realized with a start why chestnut colored horses are called chestnut....)

I have so much more to tell about Pratale, but I am getting woozy starting at this computer screen and I need to get out of this internet cafe. I leave you with some reading recommendations:
The Glass Palace - Amitov Ghosh (sweeping novel of historical fiction)
A Silent Joy: The Diaries of an Italian Hill Farm -Etain Addey (nonfiction, by my hostess here at Pratale)
Real Horsepower: Living and Working with Horses and Donkeys -Martin Lanz (my host)
The Revolution Will Not Be Microwaved: Inside America's Ungerground Food Movements - Sandor Ellix Katz
wild fementation! -Sandor Ellix Katz (learn to make your own bread, yogurt, beer, wine & kimchi!)