cannara

there is not much to cannara but what there is is swell --- it's a medieval town situated in the middle of a broad floodplain, historically part of a lake with the improbable name of lacus clitorious, partially drained by the romans, but not completely drained until the middle ages
had the great good fortune to have a wonderful place to stay just at the edge of town and people who knew their way around ---

i stayed in the little guest house behind the main house, all of which was operated by the owners for agricultural tourism

directly across the road was the local cemetery, replete with dark italian cypress and a little flower stand that opened daily (none of that plastic bullshit with which we desecrate our cemeteries

in addition to my friends from stateside (who were already over there), we had an author (civil action, the lost painting, which i read before coming over and was really good) and his artist wife; and an abc journalist and his italian wife, who is a journalist with la repubblica, and their six-yr-old twins --- normally i don't much care for young-uns, but these two were wonderful --- zachary, with the dark hair, instantly took a liking to me, talking up a storm (they're already bilingual and are about to start french), and grabbing me by the hand to show me something ---- sweeties

every day began with cappuccino at the village shop, where everybody knew everybody else, including my friend frances ("ah, francesca!", followed by kisses and animated conversation of which i understood very little) --- what a trip that was

note: i got a little bogged down with the blogging while i was over there, so i'm playing catch-up

he's catching up on the news i guess

every single thing you see in italy is different, from plants and the dirt to gas stations