Villa Guardia

"For us to go to Italy and to penetrate into Italy is like a most fascinating act of self-discovery back, back down the old ways of time. Strange and wonderful chords awake in us, and vibrate again after many hundreds of years of complete forgetfulness"

-D.H. Lawrence

After spending a few days frolicking on the Ligurian coast (Italian Riviera, west of Genoa)--one night in the quaint town of Noli, and another in the bustling Diano Marina--we've headed inland to the small, quiet village of Villa Guardia (population: very few). It's a jumble of stone buildings, each with a terra cotta roof a different shade of orange, orange-red or red-brown, slanting this way and that. The tiny church steeple at one end of town is tall and pointed and has a bell that rings on the hour, in concert (or competition?) with other church bells from the surrounding hilltowns. Someone once told me that they made it a habit to take a big, deep breath when they heard church bells, and I have taken on this habit. There are still remains of the ancient entrance tower and wall that once surrounded the town. I can say with certainty that we are the only Americans in this village, which could turn out to be either charming or not, depending on how the week goes. So far, the town folk are a tight bunch.

The house we rented for the week, named Torre Rosso, is tall and narrow, with stone walls and tile floors, like most of the houses in the area. The first floor has a kitchen made for very small people with very tiny groceries--not the piles of food we procured at the large open market in Imperia. Being in Imperia on "market day" was lucky: we've learned from experience that everything in Italy closes down on Sunday (and some places are even closed from Saturday noon until Monday morning), so everyone races to buy their food and, more importantly, their alcohol on Saturday. By the way, I bought fresh vegetables and fruit (carrota, limone, etc.) NOT from a little old lady, but rather a tall, dark, strapping and handsome young gentleman with a wickedly dangerous smile who actually complimented me on my Italian (at least I think he complimented me...).

Anyway, also on the first floor of this ancient casa is a bathroom with a confusing toilet/bidet fixture that apparently allows one to "get it all done" at once, though we honestly can't figure out how.

On the second floor is our cool, comfortable bedroom, along with a living/dining room that has large iron-framed, south-facing windows looking out to the surrounding hillside.

On the third floor is a tiny bedroom for Jenna, where she can get impossibly messy with all her clothes, books, IPOD, camera, Barbies and babies. There's also a television set, and Jenna is earnestly studying her language skills via Italian cartoons--that is, when she's not begging for Nutella or gelato. Also on the upper floor is a large terrace, which looks down on the tiny Piazza Castello consisting of a bench, a few potted plants and, inexplicably, a small caged turtle. Jenna is fascinated with the turtle and is convinced it's been abandoned and needs food. The terrace looks south, toward the ocean (though the ocean is hidden behind the hills). We can look out across the rooftops, down along the river valley, and high up the naturally terraced and abundantly lush green hillside to Bestagno, another hilltown spilling along the next ridge. There's apparently a good reason why Italians built all these towns on hills (fortification/protection) but it seems like it would've been so much easier to build on flat ground.

After 3 days of pasta and pizza (and the accompanying "full" feeling), we were excited to finally cook for ourselves, and created a feast of grilled fish (of uncertain variety), rice pilaf and fresh asparagus for dinner. Savoring dinner with a cheap and delicious local wine, all was good in the Mitchem-McCall household.

Finally crawling into our comfortable bed after a long day was near perfect, when all of a sudden a flash of flapping black wings sent me screaming and diving under the covers. "Wow!" Jeff yelled, jumping up to study the thing that had flown into the netting above our bed, "that is the biggest bat I've ever seen. It even has big ears". Of course he speculated it was aiming for my hair. As the bat lay stunned and barely moving, brave Jeff siezed the opportunity and swatted the bat with a broom. It soured back out the window, where it lay stunned on the ground briefly, and then flew away.

NEXT UP: How to get a P.O. Box, a cell phone, and an official "Permesso di Soggiorno" document--when your language skills are still a bit iffy.