Checking In, Checking Out

Back to the hotel, I checked out and was given directions to the landlady's. It was a walkable distance, but I wanted to give up. Because the street signs were hard to locate and see. I hopped into a cab. The lady driver was nice, and told me it was impossible to drive into the place and it was only five minutes’ walk. For the first time I felt it was a blessing in disguise not to have my suitcase with me.

With lap top, hand luggage and a map, I made my way down more narrow steps, spooky dark lanes with a true medieval feel. I found my landlady's house in an historical building.

My landlady, who does not understand a word of English, showed me to my room, her kitchen, the bathroom, etc. It finally dawned on me - I am LIVING here - I need to buy supplies. So out I went to get basics – towels (had to use a dictionary for this one - it is a long word which I had not learnt), stocks for breakfast, etc.

I got back by 5.00 pm. Being new to this part of town, I did not want to venture out too late and returned after eating a small snack of sandwich and coke - my lunch cum dinner all rolled into one.

My landlady asked if I had bought stuff for tomorrow, for the shops would be closed, being a public holiday. I showed her my loaf of bread.

At 8.30 pm she knocked on my door, "May I come in? What are you doing?" "Oh, writing," I replied. "To whom?" "Er... boyfriend," I blurted out. Somehow that was the only Italian word that came out of my brain at that moment. I didn't know how to explain "blog" in Italian! She smiled knowingly and said, "Come, have some dessert." She had hand-made the pasta herself. Pasta? Dolci? Yes, cold pasta with choc and nut "sauce". The region's specialty, she said. She gave me a slab of cheese to go with it, and later a pear.

She then gave instructions for tomorrow. She would go out to the cemetery early in the morning to visit her husband's grave (1 Nov is the day to remember the dead) and would leave behind a cup of coffee for me in the morning.