Next holiday, perhaps...?
The neighbour’s awning
flaps in the breeze, the birds squawk occasionally in the distance and a Cinquecenta
rattles past below on the cobbled streets. Otherwise nothing. The only buzz
here comes from a bumblebee nestling into a cherry blossom. It is March, I am
on a roof top terrace with the sun beating down, my legs prepped for tanning
and the most glorious panoramic view looking over the valley.
The Sibillini Mountains form the backdrop of this vast landscape, peaked with February’s snow fall- what a difference a month makes- and blue in the haze of the sky. Below them are rolling, fecund hills scattered with peach, pear and olive trees, met with a trickling river at the foot of the valley. Each hill top has a small, stone village that looks as if it might tumble off, losing it’s balance, if the wind were to blow any harder.
The Sibillini Mountains form the backdrop of this vast landscape, peaked with February’s snow fall- what a difference a month makes- and blue in the haze of the sky. Below them are rolling, fecund hills scattered with peach, pear and olive trees, met with a trickling river at the foot of the valley. Each hill top has a small, stone village that looks as if it might tumble off, losing it’s balance, if the wind were to blow any harder.
Two
bell towers obscure my view, oddly spaced a mere 40 metres apart, but
beautifully designed- one topped by a weather vein and the other by the Virgin
Mary herself looking down on the village with a watchful eye. The locals, laid
back and very Italian, remain firmly footed in their winter. Whilst I am
breaking a sweat in shorts and a t-shirt, they trundle around their topsy-tervy
town donning their puffer jackets and polo necks, diving inside for warmth
wherever possible. Ridiculous. The old dears in the vegetable store exclaimed,
out of disbelief, to our Italian-speaking hosts that ‘those British’ are mad, ‘how
could they be wearing strapped tops and flip-flops in weather like this?’ But,
there’s no stopping us, however British and touristy we may look there is
nothing, and I mean nothing, getting in the way of my pasty, winter trodden
complexion and this positively Caribbean sun.
Thank you to my God
Parents for a lovely week with them in their beautiful holiday home…a week full
of fun, food and fantastic sun (mostly). Above are photos of barely a few of
the to-die-for meals we indulged in; Moules Mariniere by the sea, Beef covered
in balsamic, rocket and parmesan and the compulsory, twice a day injection of
real Italian ice cream. Oh, and
some sheep.
