Only the Truth is Funny

I am writing to you from Viterbo, Italy, so pardon the mistakes from this Italian keyboard. I have left Bernie for Ernie. In fact, I left the peace, serenity, and private double + bath of Montalcino for the noise, activity and bunk bed of a Roman suburb.

September 3rd is the religious festival celebrating the patron saint of Viterbo, Santa Rosa. There is a structure that is nearly four stories high that will be paraded through town by 150 men. The monument to Santa Rosa (who I am told will weep rosewater) is reconstructed every several years; last year it was new, so the Pope himself--Popemobile, too--came to help in the celebration!! Sidewalks are being roped off as we speak, and prime parking spots are giving way to bleachers. Ernie, whose blog I follow at left, is the big brother of a dear friend, and who is also teaching math here at a study abroad program for American students.

Ernie picked me up from the train station last night, and I was so glad to see another familiar face here. (I will have to back track later on my time in Montalcino with the family Rogers.) We left the train station to head to the main bus stop (he really is a Grade A tour guide) and along the way I saw the first thing that I don't understand. The following description should now end in the word that it does and yet it does: an open-toe, stiletto-heel, suede boot. Boot. Boot? Really? Ernie assured me that I would find more things that I do not understand and encouraged to make note of them. Number two on the list? The short bus we took home. Seating only nine passengers, it qualifies as the smallest public transportation vehicle I have ever been in.

Ernie has a flat in town above the school where he teaches. However, he has made an effort to move out of his comfort zone and challenge himself (a nice reminder for us all, no?) and is living at least part time with a host family. The bus dropped us off, and we walked along a dark road for about a kilometer until we reached the house. Skeptical, I asked Ernie where was he taking me exactly? Doubts of seeing my mother and Greece again danced through my thoughts, and then we saw the gate. His host mother, Anna, lives high above the walled city, protected by the sweetest German Shepherd you'll ever meet. Ernesto is sharing his small space with me, which puts me on the top bunk (really? really.). Apparently later today we will be shopping to make the place a little less Spartan and a little cozier. I will let you know how that goes, especially as Ernie is relying on ME to lead the charge.

I met Anna, and she ushered us immediately to the kitchen for dinner--stuffed tomatoes, roast potatoes, and a tortilla with argula and sour cream. Part of the dinner ritual is watching local Italian TV. The show Anna and Ernie follow takes place in an outdoor ampitheatre--naturally--with an aged Italian host in brightly colored button-down shirts--of course--and features older women dancing to songs, we believe, they themselves choose. As the train was late, we caught the program nearing its end. We saw a few grandmas compete (think Dancing with the Stars without the Stars, or the professional partners, or the glamour...), the most alarming of which was a lady in her 70s who started dancing on a chair, then zipped away her dress to show a two-piece, satin pink number with fishnets to boot, while dancing to the theme song--and no, I really am not making this up--the theme song to The Pink Panther. She continued dancing with the chair, and sometimes it wasn't her face that was captured by the camera. In competition with her was a very enthusiastic lady (same vintage) in a ruffled black and white skirt who could not stop smiling while shaking her hips ergo ruffles, and another, even older lady, who was so very short but wearing European-issue-for-older-ladies black, open-toe slingback lifts to help, which didn't. While the Macarena was playing, she shrugged her shoulders and put her hands behind her head, but did not accomplish much else because she was--as I imagine based solely on the fact that she seemed to be lacking most of her teeth--so very old. With the crowning of the winner, Signora Pink Panther, came our brightly colored host, an attractive young lady (who earlier in the program was dressed as an accordion next to a guy who was dressed as a popular Italian dessert), and a mascot of some sort that resembled the big purple thing from McDonalds.

My condolences to Peter Sellers.

More to come...