I wake up to a fresh morning, as my new friend Dasha would say. It is cool and crisp unlike the day's heat that will surely come. Giuseppe is the only one up at this time. He is a happy small-statured Italian man. His face is covered in deep creases. He has done the work of the farm for over twenty years now. He works all day, pausing only for lunch. There is no siesta for Giuseppe as there is for everyone else on the farm and in the village. He works through the heat of the day and into the evening. He greets me this morning and asks how I am. My Italian phrases are growing. I answer and ask him as well. I then return to my room and do some yoga.
It is finally breakfast time on the farm and I have my first introduction to Italian sweet breakfast. Sourdough bread, Nutella, jam and sweet biscuits are served as well as coffee and tea. Not exactly what I would choose. There are fresh plums from the trees. I eat mostly fruit. Antonella comes downstairs and asks all of us who are gathered at the table what are our plans for the day. I say I plan to hike to the castle. A group from Detroit is planning on hiking to the waterfall. They ask if I would like to join them but I have promised to save the waterfall for Bernadette's day off. After several of their party drop out they decide to join me on the hike to the castle instead. I am blessed by their presence.
According to the map the hike takes 45 minutes from Sora. Sora is a 25 minute hike from the farm, (45 on the return uphill). Since it is a short hike we do not leave early and the day becomes hot quickly.
As we enter Sora we ask for directions. A kind man who only speaks Italian guides us to the path up which is easier to go up than down. He instructs us to take the stairs down not up. Antonella's map says to go the opposite way. We choose the way the man describe and are thankful later.
On the way up this large mountain which has both a castle and church on the top, are the stations of the cross. As I said before it seems to be a theme of my Italian adventure. We stop at each one and attempt to decipher the meanings. The ladies that I am with; Dellashon, Cathy, Chris and Lisa are all Catholic but they do not remember all of the stations. I am only mildly aware of the stations because of being surrounded by Catholics growing up. One is particularly disturbing to me Jesus is being pulled by a man and both of their faces are frightening.
After we climb the stations of the cross we find the path to the castle. It is lined with white rock for the first portion. It climbs the mountain slowly zigzagging. Trees drape over the path but every few turns there is a panoramic view of the city below, the farm and other hillside towns. We stop and take pictures and rest and drink. The day is hot and we are thankful for the shade.
Lisa and I decide to take the lead and figure out how close we are to the top. The other ladies are pressing on but struggling. We take off at a quicker pace and are rewarded by reaching the top within a few turns. We head back down encouraging the others. We rest at the top and take in the views. The castle is just down the path and so we head on. The stone of the castle has held well. There are broken portions but some areas are fully intact. I find the dinning area, obvious because of its huge brick oven and long hall. The ceiling is domed. It is cool inside the castle and offer a nice respite. We didn't bring a flashlight or we could have explore the lower levels. Still we venture until we can see no longer. Next we climb the walls and walk the perimeter. The Cyprus trees sway from side to side. I step carefully because there are holes, obviously used as a cooling system, in the top of the wall. In fact the way the castle is set up offers a break from the heat of the day. Most of the rooms are cool. We look out the arrow loops. I imagine a century on guard but I also wonder who would be willing to follow the path we took just to attack a small castle.
After we have had our fill we turn to head back down. This time we will pass by the church and take the steps back into Sora. We all hope aloud that there will be water at the church. The climb down the old rock stairs is not easy. The steps are gigantic sometimes requiring you to sit. We arrive at the church, take some photos and search for water. As we round a corner the caretaker greets us. He welcomes us into the church through a side door which leads to his kitchen. He pours us water and speaks to us extensively in Italian. He is not alone, there are four men sitting in the kitchen area. We refill our water bottles and then he asks if we would like to see the inside of the church. We are thrilled. He leads down the hallway and into the sanctuary. This church is dedicated to Mary and this happens to be the day of one of the celebrations of Mary. He hands each of us a card explaining the holiday. We ask about the large statue of Mary and he explains that five times per year the townspeople bring her down the stairs and back up. Tonight's celebration is not that kind, simply a gathering. We find out our journey down includes 300 plus steps, a familiar pattern to me already. We finish conversing with him and head out refreshed and satisfied to have been blessed to see inside and hear the history.
We make it to town hoping for some lunch only to find it is siesta. We can get water and there is one grocery store open on the other end of town. We were hoping to rest, eat and have some wine in celebration of our achievement. It was not meant to be. We head to the store and pick up fruit, bread and water. It is nourishment but not satisfying. It makes the walk back to the farm more difficult and tiring.
I return just in time for my pasta making class. I am joined by two ladies from Virginia; mother and daughter. We will make fettuccine, Maria tells us. She brings out four large wooden boards, slated with pegs. She brings out the ingredients. Fresh eggs from the farm, flour and semolina. She also brings a little water. The process is simple. She puts three heaping scoops of flour in a pile before us. We make a pit in the center which she quickly fills with a small amount of semolina. We are then instructed to break four eggs in the middle of the pit without allowing them to overflow. None of us except Maria are successful at that. We all chase the eggs with our flour trying to incorporate all of it. We mix the dough with our hands, add water and flour only when told to by Maria. Eventually it is the right consistency and we roll it with three foot rollers. We use a knife to cut the pasta and then lay it on the board. Next we join her in the kitchen to make the sauce. She uses a half a pound of butter at least. The butter is pure white reminding me that American yellow butter has been modified. We cut up mushrooms and herbs. These go directly into the sauce. Maria offers us wine to celebrate the making of the pasta and then shoos us out of her kitchen. She is anxious to finish the work of dinner making on her own. We drink and leave and later eat the pasta we have made. It is not the best pasta I have had but it will do. I am hungry from a long day and eager for two days from now when I will hike with Bernadette to the waterfall.
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