My airport hotel was the most nondescript atrium glass architectural mess I'd ever seen, but they served amber beer. So, I didn't care about aesthetics. I took my dinner up to my room and stretched out on the king-sized bed after I found out their free taxi shuttle wouldn't be running in time to take me to the airport. I 'd take a taxi at 4:00 a.m. for my 6:15 flight. What's another 50 CHF?
Check-in was easy on Easy Jet. I waited to be pulled out of line for customs in Rome, but there was no hassle at all. I had a good seat and a relaxed luggage examination. Nobody threw away any of my liquids, nobody stole my phone, and nothing exciting happened. That was exciting.
I walked off the plane in Terminal 1 past the long lines at customs in Terminal 3 and realized that my intra-Europe flight didn't have the tight security controls of flights from non-EU countries. This is a good thing to note. I found the La Romita Art School meeting point and slowly the gang got together. It's slow traveling with a group, but I was happy to be speaking English and everyone was just as nervous as I. I sensed we all had a bit of imposter syndrome but Luciano, our Italian driver, made everybody feel at ease. Somehow he stowed everyone's bags and I ended up being the copilot. The fancy Mercedes van/bus leaned on every corner, so I was grateful I wouldn't have to fight car sickness.
I practiced my Italian with Luciano all the way to Terni. When we finally got to Terni and drove up to the La Romita monastery, there was a bit of an issue about rooms. Mine was on the first floor and tiny, but it had a bed, small closet, a chest of drawers and a mirror. The tile floors were cool to the touch, and the window had double-shutters for the hot days to come.
We met in the dining room for lunch and were introduced to Alessandro, the eventual heir to the family monastery, and Edmund, the Executive Director. Alessandro lives in the Chicago area, and his daughter came along for his annual month in Italy. They looked very American. Edmund, on the other hand, looked very Italian, with linen pants, shirt, thick black glasses, long hair, and stylish matching shoes. He was elegant, articulate, and I suspected a bit goofy. I was surprised to learn he lives in the US 6 months out of the year, and in Italy 6 months out of the year. I planned to learn more about this. Maybe he had the right lifestyle figured out. Both men were full of enthusiasm and I thanked Alessandro for letting me in off of the waiting list. If the food at lunch was any indication, we are going to eat well. My pants probably wouldn't fit by the time the 12 days were over.
I organized my room, looked at the poems I'd brought (they weren't good enough, I decided), and wandered outside. Two dogs were lounging around, and I remembered hearing they were rescued hunting dogs. They were shy, dirty, and friendly. I was so happy to see some canines. The formal gardens and olive groves were simple and lovely, and I thought, No wonder everyone thinks this place is special. It's perfect.
At 7:00, we met for dinner and Edmund told us about the table wines. The white wine was "from a grape found only in Abruzzo and Puglia, called Cococciola." He compared it to Sauvignon Blanc. Cantina Frentana made it. The red wine was "Montepulciano d'Abruzzo, from the region of Chieti and Pescara, on the east coast." Both were outstanding and the carafes disappeared in about an hour. I enjoyed getting to know people from Israel, Boston, New Orleans, New York, New Jersey, Seattle, Portland, LA, and the Bay.
Our teachers, Kim from Oakland, CA, and Flower from NOLA, were very engaging and social. Happy poets are the best kind of people. I was starting to get excited, and that was before I learned the traditional Italian card game "Scopa." We went outside to the cabana and the gang started dealing. Every time someone hit a Scopa, I started singing to the tune of Barry Manilow's Copacabana. Yes, the wine was very good tonight.
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