It is 8:30 Saturday morning and I am sitting up on the rooftop deck overlooking the main street in town. There is little traffic this morning and instead I hear the sounds of the town waking up, shutters opening to let in the warm morning sunlight, older men and women out sweeping off their front stoop eradicating the dust that collected over the previous day. A town employee, in his orange jumpsuit, has arrived and is raking and sweeping the town park that is kitty corner to my place. The birds are singing and the pace here is slow and relaxed. A man walks by pushing his beautiful blonde daughter in her stroller and stops to chat with the man sweeping the park. The church bell rings to indicate the half hour.
There is a huge chestnut tree across the road from me and the edges of the leaves have taken on an orange brown hue reminding me that fall is near. The chestnuts are a bright light green colour which stands out against the rusty leaves. I have also noticed that there are fig trees everywhere and their fruit is scattered beneath them in a sweet sticky mess. I wonder why no one is harvesting the fruit.
It seems that life here is marked by set rituals and routines. The same things occur in the street below me, at the same time, every day. Even the rhythmic sound of horses’ hooves clopping along the street seems to be a regular thing, so much so that I find myself waiting for the clip clop sound. The town’s people, particularly the elderly, go for their afternoon walk after lunch and find a shady bench to sit and rest awhile. Some need the assistance of younger residents to hobble along to their favourite resting spot; others shuffle along on their own. All are friendly and warmly smile and greet anyone crossing their path. In the morning the women make their way to the small co-op grocery carrying their canvas bags. They stop on the street corners to greet their friends and chat for awhile. In the early evening, before dinner, the parents bring their children to the village park to play. I can hear their laughter from my kitchen window. The parents, and grandparents, spend the time catching up with their friends in animated conversations. The Italians are a passionate people and openly express their thoughts and feelings with their voices and their gestures . Without understanding their language, it is still clear to me that they genuinely care about one another.
I am completely charmed by this village, its ambiance, its people, and the rhythm of life here. It is very seductive in its simplicity. It wraps you in a warm blanket of acceptance, peace and tranquility.
The village itself is obviously ancient. The houses are built of a combination of clay brick and sandstone, almost as if whatever fit the space was used in building the walls. The roofs are weathered terra cotta tiles covered in moss and lichen. Brick and stone chimneys interrupt the skyline with their clay top hats. It seems so out of place to see satellite dishes and TV antennas here.
The surrounding countryside is breathtakingly beautiful and it is not uncommon to see the townspeople standing at the walls surrounding the village just taking in the beauty surrounding them. It is hard to turn away from it; the gray-green colour of the olive groves, the dark cypress trees lining the crests of the many roiling hills, the unique colour of the furrowed fields. The beauty of it all is so intoxicating, it invites you to drink it in, to let it captivate your heart and soul, to appreciate the centuries of time that have left it unchanged. Farming here continues as it has for centuries, using ancient methods and traditions. From my bedroom balcony the village of Montisi is visible on the crest of a hill a few kilometres away. The sound of a rooster’s crow breaks the silence in the valley. This could be a scene from centuries past as there is no indication of present times.
The church bells are sounding, reminding me that I have things to do today and it is already 10:00 AM. Time to make my way to the hotel to access the internet to post this message and check my email.
Ciao for now
Diane
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