I don’t think I shall ever tire of seeing Italy’s breathless panoramas. Last weekend I went with a group from my school on a “Tuscan Getaway” trip. We spent Friday in Siena, visiting the “most beautiful cathedral in Italy.” Apparently, the people of Siena used to have many wars with the Florentines, and so had a fierce sense of competition bred into them. Therefore, when Florence claimed to be building the biggest cathedral in Italy, Siena decided to challenge them. They had built the skeleton of a huge addition that would have doubled the size of the cathedral when the Plague arrived, and all their workers died, and construction was forced to stop. After the Plague, they revised their goal, and decided that if Florence would have the biggest cathedral, then Siena would have the most beautiful. And so it is. Mosaics cover the floor, and while these are usually covered with protective cardboard most of tourist season, they were luckily uncovered when we were there. Siena is also where Saint Catherine was born and spent her years. She is an important saint, as she was the first women saint who claimed to have the power to speak directly to God, and she also convinced the Pope to move from his exile in France to Rome and the Vatican, which was another bold move that women had never been allowed to do. When she died, the Vatican claimed her body, but the people of Siena protested and so it was decided that her body would be exhumed, and divided to please everyone who wanted the honor of housing her body. So Siena has her head and her right pinkie in the church where she was a Domenican. Of course pictures aren’t allowed, so you’ll have to see this oddity yourself someday.

Then from there we drove to our agriturismo in Volterra where we spent both Friday and Saturday nights. We ate dinner at the ristorante at the agriturismo, drinking wine and sharing thoughts. The ristorante wasn’t as cozy as the agriturismo I went to with my Creative Writing class – it didn’t have the immediacy of knowing exactly where the food came from, and the down-to-earth, simplistic style of eating as the other one. However, it was cozy, the food was good, and the compagna (countryside) surrounding this agriturismo was the most beautiful that I have seen. I’m aware that I keep saying that with every new weekend at yet another countryside place, and every new blog that accompanies it, and I’m sure I’m losing credit as a writer here, but honestly, this was the most beautiful scenery I’ve seen yet. At the risk of boring you with yet another waxing description of the countryside, however, I will restrain myself, and let you imagine it with help from the pictures. It was in the Chianti region and I could see San Gimignano’s towers protruding through the haze on a distant hill. The quietness of the country speaks to me more clearly than anything else. So I’ll try to be quiet here, and even though pictures hardly ever give a beautiful place justice, or at least mine, I’ll let them speak for themselves.

The next day we spent in San Gimignano, standing looking up and out, with our mouths gaping, “catching flies,” as my grandpa Lyle used to say. The towers are amazing, the punti di visto, or points of view, even more so. It was very touristy, and there were lots of shops that had the same sort of gifts, but I enjoyed it, because many of those shops had local handpainted ceramics, which I have become obsessed with. The Raffaellesco style is my particular favorite. Perugia has a ceramics “market,” if you could call it that – it’s tiny, with just a handful of people, but they carefully display ceramic plate after plate on the back steps of the cathedral, the colors popping out against the drab stone steps. I’ve already spent money here, and while I can’t buy any more lest I not have a way to get them home in one piece, I still stop by to admire the new creations whenever they’re out.

We left the agriturismo in the morning on Sunday and made our way to Cortona, but first stopped at a tiny little village called Monteriggione. It’s like a magical moment caught in the generations past – the town hasn’t grown past it’s tall, imposing city walls, and it’s so tiny it’s amazing it even has city walls. We stayed for about an hour, and got coffee, gifts, and had just enough time to see a bride draped in a very traditional-looking crisp, white wedding dress, hooking arms with her father to walk into the town church and down the aisle. Fitting goodbye for this fairy-tale town from the past.

Then on to Cortona – this was again, pretty touristy, and had many English-speaking people wandering about the various shops, but it surprisingly didn’t have gaudy, dime-a-dozen tourist trap shops that so many cities have. Instead, it had more artist’s shops and galleries, not only ceramics, but watercolors, leather-bound books, photography, and other artsy trinkets. I loved Cortona, as it was a city around the same size as Perugia, but felt less stuffy, and, even more amazing, had grass! In Perugia, it’s almost all pavement and cobblestones, but here, there were houses with little square patches of grass-lawns! Cortona is nestled in the side of a big hill, yet another Italian city that you have to wind around and around in your car, getting green with carsickness before you reach the beautiful punto di visto at the city center, which of course, is always at the top of the hill. From Cortona, you can see the glimmering reflection of Lake Trasimeno in the distance, and the hazy blue, spongey mountains crowding the horizon. I drank in all the beautiful views and fresh air that I could before climbing back on to the miserable bus for another queasy car ride back to dear ol’ Perugia.

This weekend, I simply stayed put. It was a relaxing weekend, even though it was the weekend before midterms. However, I already had my Italian midterm, and the midterms that were due Monday for me were a large charcoal drawing for my Drawing class, and a six to seven page paper for my Creative Writing: Italy of the Imagination class, both of which I considered to be “fun” assignments. I spent four hours on Friday doing my drawing – I’ve come to love this class. I can go into the art room a wound-up ball of stress, and after three hours of drawing, I come away humming and smiling as I bounce home. I wrote the rest of my paper Saturday and Sunday, taking my time, letting it digest, allowing time for re-writes. I tentatively started a fiction piece after finishing the beautifully written “Under the Tuscan Sun” by Frances Mayes. I discovered Philip Rothdke’s beautiful poetry while surfing poets.org, and later, listened to the classic Fleetwood Mac, covering all genres, capturing all moods. I worked out, something I’ve started up again since coming to Italy – it’s nothing drastic, just the half-an-hour conditioning routine I did when I was in gymnastics. Just something to make me feel less guilty about the occasional gelato and crepe con nutella!

Saturday I got the craving for my mother’s bubbling, crumbly apple pie, for Grandpa Lyle’s sweet, heavenly, quickly-eaten apple butter, for tongue-warming, chunky applesauce. Unfortunately, I do not know how to make apple butter, and ovens are a rare find in Italy, so pie was also out of the question. So I decided to make applesauce. However, I didn’t have all the ingredients, and of course, by the time I realized this, it was dead-smack in the middle of la pausa, when all the shops close down from 1-4 pm for lunch.

While I waited, I decided to make torta al testo, the simple Umbrian flat bread that I learned to make at an azienda one of my first weekends here. All it takes is a couple handfuls of flour in a pile on the table, and then make a hole in the center of the mound. Pour into this hole a package of yeast. Around the edges, sprinkle a teaspoon or so of salt, and then drizzle a bit of olive oil over the flour. Then start to mix it with a fork, pulling the outer edges in towards the center, adding water as needed. When it gets doughy, knead it for a little while (not long, probably five minutes tops), and then roll it out with a rolling pin, or in my case, an olive oil bottle, as my beloved rolling pin is currently sitting safely at home with all my other kitchen things. Next, sprinkle a little flour on both sides before putting it on a testo, which is the cooking stone that Italians use over an open fire, or, in my poor college student fashion, a huge frying pan over the stove - works just fine! Just let it bake/cook for a little while on one side, then flip it when necessary. The whole process takes all of about 25 minutes, and is considerably cheaper than the torta al testo-style flatbreads I could buy in the grocery store! When it’s done, you can slice it open and melt cheese in the middle with vegetables or anything your watering mouth desires.