Day 1 – Monday, June 26, 2023

Left Auburn at 8:30 am leaving Viktor, Jess, Bailey, Oscar and Fenway to take care of the house. Drove to Pompton Lakes, New Jersey, and left our car at my cousins Joe and Judy Messineo’s house (actually in the church parking lot next door). Uber to Newark Airport. Pizza and Chicken Parm at airport restaurant. Flight left a bit late of its 5:40 scheduled departure. Watched Gran Torino on the plane.

Our first friend of the trip—this little guy who was sitting in front of us. A perfect traveler who loved smiling. Great start!

Arrived Lisbon airport early morning. Less than one hour layover for flight to Naples.

Day 2 – Tuesday, June 27, 2023

Took shuttle bus to car rental area. Managed to get 58 pound overweight bag (charged $140 at airport for it) onto and off of bus. At Avis Rental, we were helped by the wonderful Angelo! Our second friend. He was extremely pleasant, funny, and helpful. They first had us in a car without GPS and we were going to have to pay 17 Euro per day for phone with GPS. But because we were dropping car off in Germany, couldn’t do that. Then we were going to get a GPS only unit for 14 Euros per day. But Angelo kept researching to get us a better deal and a better. He upgraded us twice as we waited and we ended up with a beautiful white Peugot wagon with built-in GPS.

Some early frustration trying to get out of Naples area. Santo was tense driving, I was trying to direct with a GPS I was still figuring out. Drivers were racing around us on both sides, honking their horns. Finally got onto the motorway where things were actually much saner and Santo began relaxing at the wheel—so much so that the car-lady kept telling him to keep his hands on the wheel. “Two wives for the price of one,” I said.

Heading east, we were quickly stunned by the magnificent views all around us. Steep mountain peaks, very close, very tall, green with dramatic rock formations at the very tops. Reminded me of the mountains at Zion Nation Park. The views just kept coming—deep valleys, dotted with red tile roofs, green and stone mountains, some scarred with quarries. “Marble?” we wondered. We went in and out of tunnel after tunnel, over bridge after bridge, going straight through the mountainous terrain. I had never pictured Italy like this. Not sure what I DID picture. But the majesty, the beauty, and the drama, combined with pastoral beauty, awed us for two hours as we made our way to Avigliano.

As we entered Potenza and approach the city of Potenza, the landscape shifted. The mountains, though just as high, rounded out at the tops and the valleys were gentler, dotted with more farmland—as well as probably hundreds of white wind turbines. At first they bothered me, ruining this beautiful landscape. But Santo pointed out that we could still see all the beauty. SO TRUE! It doesn’t seem possible, but the views got more and more stunning as we neared Avigliano. Once off the highway, we drove narrow, twisting roads to the town. At one point we saw a sign pointing to Avigliano on the right, but the GPS told us to go left. We followed the GPS for another 12 km or so and arrived in a small rural area with a few houses. On the street where our B&B was supposed to be, we searched for the name: L’Arco Once Bed & Breafast. There was nothing around that look like any kind of business, except for a small bar with tables outside at the corner of the road. We pulled over and called the number I ad for L’Arco. A woman answered. She spoke no English. I spoke no Italian. We could not understand one another. It became increasingly frustrating, though she was trying so hard to figure out where we were and how to help us find them. Finally, I hung up, since it seem useless to stay on the line. We decided to go into the bar to ask for directions. The old men sitting at the outdoor tables looked at us curiously as we went to the door on the right. Inside, there was a woman behind the counter. She didn’t speak Enlish. We pointed to the address of L’Arco on my confirmation. Then a man came over and they spoke to one another in Italian, then to us. “No, no,” they said. “Non Avigliano. Possidente. Non Avigiliano.” We manged to understand that Avigliano was about 12 km away.

We had been travelling for over 24 hours, were exhausted, hungry, and desperately thirsty. Back in the car, the woman from L’Arco called us back. Her husband had Google translate on his phone and we were trying to understand what he was saying. Santo said he thought the man was coming out to meet us. But we were 12 m away!!! We hung up again, and decided to use the GPS on Santo’s phone, instead of the one in the car which couldn’t seem to locate the ACTUAL L’Arco. Santo had data on his phone; I didn’t (that’s another story!). He was able to locate the address and we started again for Avigliano.

Once in the town, we took narrow, twisting roads with many hairpin turns as we scaled the mountain to near the top. At the town square—a cobblestone area with a statue of Emanuele Gianturco, tables and chairs, benches, one store, and one coffee shop—the GPS told us to turn left. Where it told us to turn looked like a sidewalk, cobbled-stoned just like the square, and I shouted at Santo, “Stop, that’s not a road.” “I think it is,” he answered. “See the benches are facing towards the square.” “OK,” I said, still hesitant, as he turned. Indeed there were cars parked ahead of us on this “road.” A man approached as we neared the end where an arched portal blocked our path. It was the owner of L’Arco Bed & Breakfast waiting for us. He pointed to a place where we should park—very small, and Santo had to get so close to the stone wall on his left to keep the car out of the roadway that he could barely get out. We had to set the cardboard clock dial on the inside of the windshield to the time of our arrival (17:00). We could leave the car til 9 am, then we could re-set the dial to 9 and stay one more hour (all parking in the town during the day is 60 minutes only).

Our host lead us through the stone portal, up a small incline to the B&B. Rosaria, his wife, was waiting for us inside and immediately got us both waters, which we needed desperately. We managed to communicate that I wanted sparking water and Santo still water. We sat in the small breakfast area trying to communicate with our hosts. We had decided to go to dinner right away since we were so hungry, then just crash after dinner for the night. We ask them to recommend a restaurant and they offered to call for us. “Si,” we said. “Grazie.” When they were on the phone, I knew they were asking us what time we wanted and we tried to say now. I remembered the word for soon: “presto.” But the first reservation was at 8 pm (20:00). OK. We’ll rest a bit first, then go. The restaurant is a short walk from the B&B.

Finally we were alone in our beautiful room—large, clean, “minimalist” room with large bed, sofa, desk, armoir, all in white, beige and brown. There was a lovely bathroom all in marble with walk in shower and bidet. And two balconies overlooking the hillside town on one side and a lush green mountain on the other.

We took a minute to take it all in, then we crashed. It felt SO GOOD to have my body lying down. It had been about 27 hours since we left Auburn. We set the alarm for 7:40 and both slept until it went off.

We walked to the restaurant—Osteria Gagliardi. We asked for a table inside, though there were several people sitting at the outside tables. When they realized we didn’t speak Italian, they get the waiter who spoke the best English and he was very helpful with the menu—and everything else. Pietro made recommendations for food and wine and explained everything as best he could. Apparently, baccala (cod fish) is the specialty of Avigliano (odd since it isn’t on the coast). There was baccala in everything: appetizers, pastas, entrees. I was surprised it didn’t show up in the desserts. The appetizer he recommended had five different items—all with baccala. Then we each had a pasta dish. Mine was homemade pasta with a mushroom sauce. The past was very heavy and the sauce rich. I think too rich for me, because my stomach started to hurt, even though I had taken a Lactaid. By the time our entrée came, I really didn’t feel like eating. I didn’t have any of my baccala dish (plain baccala with a dried pepper on top), but had some of Santo’s pork dish.

Unbelievably, Santo wanted to order dessert. Probably because they were only 2 Euros each! We ordered a cannoli and Mille-feuille (what we would call a Napolitan). I can’t believe I had some of each—they were just too good. But we did take half of both home, along with the other food we didn’t finish.

As we were leaving, we talked a bit with the owner, and Pietro, and said how great Pietro had been. We talked about my family being from here, that my name was Mecca, and we thought the mayor was named Mecca. It took a while (and Google translate) to communicate what “mayor” was. Pietro didn’t know if that was his name, but he went in the back to ask someone for us. We didn’t know that was what he was doing, so we left. He came out after us to share the information that, indeed, the mayor was named Mecca! He also told us he was not working the next day, but would be working Thursday. We felt he wanted us to come back. Our third friend.

On the walk back to our hotel, we stopped to sit on a bench in the cobbled square. A group of boys were playing some made-up game with a soccer ball, a source of endless fascination for Santo. I thought it was cute how much he enjoyed it. I think it reminded him of his own childhood.

Back in the room, Santo went straight to bed. I wanted to figure out why I didn’t have any data, though Santo did. I called Spectrum and was on the phone with them for probably 45 minutes with no luck fixing the problem. Frustrated. Also, my computer would not connect to L’Arco’s wifi. Another frustration. I had no internet on my phone or computer. I was in withdrawal. And I wanted to check several things for the trip. Went to bed frustrated and feeling stupid. No maps, no Google translate, no internet for anything. I read for bit, as tired as I was, and finally was able to sleep.

Day 3 – Wednesday June 28, 2023

Didn’t walk up until after 9 am but felt pretty well rested. Got a shower—ahhhhh! and dressed in fresh clean clothes. Checked out the beautiful day from our balcony, then we headed to breakfast. The B&B had given us vouchers for breakfast at the little coffee place on the square where they sold espresso and pastries. We each got a croissant and coffee, mine with warmed milk that I poured in myself. The croissants were filled with a delicious lemon filling and were flaky and fresh. I continued trying to connect to the internet and continued to be frustrated. I knew I needed to move on, but it was hard. Santo had reset our car clock to 9, so we needed to leave by about 10 am.

Our destination for the day was Sterpito, the “township” that appeared on Grandma’s birth certificate. It turns out there are two Sterpitos—Sterpito di Sotto and Sterpito di Sopra. We set the GPS first for Sterpito di Sotto. We wound up and down the mountains, beautiful views on all sides.

The roads got narrower and twistier as we drove, eventually turning to gravel and dirt. One road was dirt with grass growing in the line between the tires, deeply rutted. Suddenly the road seemed to just end. We thought maybe it was just taking a sharp downhill turn, but when I got out to look, the road was just gone—there were a few stones showing where it had collapsed, probably decades ago, and then just tall grasses and weeds. The road was so narrow there was no way to turn around without getting stuck in the mud on either side of the road. So Santo had to back all the way up to the turn. Not wanting to go back the way we came, we set our destination to Sterpito di Sopra instead.

We were in rural country now. We saw two women with babushkas, one with a quad cane, walking up one of the steep roads alongside a field. They were carrying something, but I couldn’t see what. I was reminded of great grandma Sileo, who went up the mountain beyond Dunmore’s Hill Section to pick blueberries, then carried them in a large basket on her head into Dunmore to sell. No wonder! This is where she came from. She was used to climbing mountains.

After a few kilometers of fields, with a few wooded areas interspersed, we came to the “location” in the GPS. It was a very small village square on the right. A very large broad tree shaded the gravel area. A few wooden benches circled the tree. A white-haired gentlemen was sitting on one of the benches and saw us park on the gravel near the road. I tried to work Google translate on Santo’s phone as we got out so I could talk to him and explain that my grandmother had been born here. A small black-and-brown (feral?) dog greeted us—so gentle and sweet. My fourth friend!

The man got up to greet us, coming to Santo first. Santo was trying to explain about my grandmother, then I tried. Finally I pulled up the picture of her birth certificate on my phone and tried to show him where it indicated Sterpito and Avigliano. Soon some other men came over—it seemed as if he had silently summoned him, or maybe they had just seen these strangers in the large Peugot talking to their friend. The first two men were in short-sleeved dress shirts. The third arrived dressed more in work clothes, looking like he had just come from the farm. We finally got Google translate to work in conversation mode and were able to have them them talk into it, then we would use it to talk back. I told them the family names—Sileo, Summa, Mecca. Sileos, they seemed to be indicating, came from Meccadinardo in Filiano, about 5 km away. But Mecca! Two of the men were Meccas! And the third, the farmer, said his mother was a Mecca. He left for a few minutes while we continued to talk to the other men. When he came back, he had in his hand a light brown egg. He handed it to me. A gift. It was warm. “Fresh,” he indicated in Italian. I think he had gone and plucked it from beneath a roosting chicken. Before we left, I asked if we could take a picture of all of us. We stood while Santo snapped the picture. “Familia,” I said. “We’re familia.” They smiled, some with toothless grins. “Grazie! Chiao! Grazie!” was all I could said as I took my egg and headed back to the car.

Friends five, six, and seven.

Driving down the road after setting the GPS to Meccadinardo, we drove past the first man walking on the left side of the road and yelled “Grazie” out the window one more time.

Before long, we saw the sign saying “Meccadinardo.” Just past the sign was a large open park with a playground, grassy areas, and lots of shade trees and benches. Our GPS still did not indicate that we had “arrived” so we continued. It was just trying to get us to the center spot of the town, a residential intersection. So we decided to go back to the park to figure out our next steps.

It was after 1 pm, we were hungry, having just had a croissant for breakfast, so decided to try to find a restaurant nearby for lunch. Santo located a place called La Taverna, which was in Lagopesole, on the way back to Avigliano. It was a short drive and we found the restaurant in a residential area and parked the car. La Taverna had some outdoor tables, all empty. A young woman with an infant was coming out the door on the left (what looked like a residence) and Santo pointed to the door on the right, asking if this was where we should go. “Prego,” she said, waving her arm to the entrance. She told us to pick a table. It was a little while before anyone came over, but in the meantime the couple at the next table struck up a conversation. The menu was via a QR code which Santo entered into his phone. The man did not know how to do this and came to ask for help. I tried to find the QR reader on his phone, or the App Store, but didn’t have any luck. Santo was going to show him the menu on our phone, but then the waiter came and helped them by describing the menu in Italian. We translated items using Google translate, then pointed to them on the menu. Learning from the night before not to order too much, we just each got a ”Secondi” and “Pane.” Santo got lamb chops, I got a pork dish with peppers and almonds. Both servings were large and delicious, and the bread was wonderful. We were going to get dessert, but realized we still had half our desserts from the night before in our room.

We continued to talk intermittently to the couple next to us, mostly on their initiation. The woman spoke a little English. I got up to go to their table so I could hear her better. They asked where we were from, told us where they were from (a town south of Salerno that was of archaeological significance and worth a visit). They seemed to just want to connect and I realized then that no one hated us because we were American and couldn’t speak Italian.

Friends eight and nine.

Leaving La Taverna, we headed back to Avigliano. I didn’t feel a need to visit the other Sterpito. I had already found Grandma here.

We went back by a different route with views of the mountainous area. We continued to be awed. It was almost 3:30 when we got back to Avigliano. We got near the hotel where we had parked before but there were no vacant spaces so we decided to drive around. Bad decision. After about an hour of driving around and around and around, up and up, then down one street that was so narrow, with cars parked on the sides, that we had to turn both mirrors in and I had to get in front of the car and direct Santo as he literally inched his way through. Harrowing. We were never so happy as to exit that street to an only slightly wider one. At one point when we were getting fairly close to the square again, the right turn we were supposed to make was closed! More driving around, with an increasing dread that we literally could not get there from here. Finally, we decided to drive away from Avigliano and try to enter the town from another direction. Miraculously, this worked and we made it back to the square. We decided we would just sit there and wait until a parking space opened. A truck was park near where we had parked the day before. Santo got out to talk to the workers around the truck to ask where we could park. It turned out they were leaving in 5 minutes and then we could take their large spot. They helped direct Santo into the tight spot. All the men hovering around the square were always helpful as we tried to maneuver our large vehicle. They always had buongiornos for us, and buonaseras in the evening.

Back in the room, Santo headed straight for bed. I was determined to figure out my internet issue with Spectrum, knowing only then would I truly relax. After 1 hour and 50 minutes on the phone with Spectrum trying one thing after another after another with no luck, I gave up. The girl, Tammy, had tried so hard and was so sympathetic. It was miserable and frustrating, but because of her it was not as awful as it could have been, even if she wasn’t ultimately able to help. My eleventh friend.

Once off the phone, I wanted to head to the square and sit outside with my computer. I had figured out that at least I could connect my computer to Santo’s hot spot so I could FINALLY do something on my computer. Santo wanted me to stay and lay down with him to be with me, and I felt bad, but I really needed to get out of the room and be on my own with my laptop for a bit. That, oddly, is how I relax. I spent the time enjoying the beautiful weather, the views of both town and hills, and the church bells. All while researching restaurants for dinner. I didn’t want to go back to the place we had been last night—just didn’t want more baccala, and something simpler. I found two pizza places. The one that looked better was a 17-minute walk but that could have been up and down hills. The other was only a 3 minute walk down the street where the Farmacia we could see from our hotel was. I convinced Santo to at least check it out before going back to the first restaurant, which is what he wanted to do.

When we walked out of L’Arco, I wanted to turn left to go beyond the B&B where we had not been before. It was only a few steps to the corner, and as we approached Santo said, “There’s music. I hear music.” He followed the music around the corner and in front of us was the façade of a large church. That is where the music was coming from. The doors were open and we entered and sat in the back pew. The choir was rehearsing up front and the sound was just glorious. There were only twelve people, 9 women and 3 men, but the sound was that of a celestial choir. We moved closer and Santo was able to get a video of them singing. The church was ringed with gorgeous, ornate statues (why did the America churches remove all our statues?!). I knelt to say a prayer and started crying as I thanked my long-ago relatives from this place – for me! Then I walked around and took some pictures of the statues before we left.

It was close to 9 pm when we got to the restaurant. There was just a lighted sign on the sidewalk: La Strettola Pizzeria. We had to turn down the narrow walk on the left, then up some stairs to the restaurant. It had a large patio seating area that was very inviting. We decided to stay.

At the top of the stairs, I said to the waiter standing there, “Due. For dinner.”

“You are American?” he said in English.

“Yes,” we said. “You speak English!”

“Actually, English is easier for me. I’m from Argentina and know English better than Italian.”

What luck! He was a young, handsome dark-haired man with a dashing streak of gray wearing a gray t-shirt that said “GRAD.” I think he enjoyed speaking to us in English as much as we enjoyed him. He helped us with the menu, at one point using his own Google translate to translate an Italian menu item into English! We both had salads (something green finally!) and a pizza with artichokes, olives, ham, and ricotta on a fabulous crust. We took 5 of the 12 pieces home. But we also ordered dessert. Santo got a pistachio souffle, I got a “gran limone” (big lemon) which was a real lemon filled with lemon sorbet. YUM! Gaston (like in Beauty and the Beast he told us), had relatives who had come from Italy and was trying to get his Italian citizenship so he could travel more easily in the EU. It expedited the process for him to live in Italy for a few months, which is what he was doing in Avigliano. His family was from a smaller village north of here, but there was no work there.

At the end of the evening, the owner came over. He also spoke English and we had a nice conversation with him. He was surprised we were driving. “In Italy?!” like we were crazy. Then he proceeded to tell us about a recent trip he had made to Bari and how crazy the drivers were. Before we left, we asked Gaston if he could ask the waitress to take a picture of the three of us. Then he sent me his phone number so could text him a copy of the picture. “If you’d like,” I had said. “Oh, yes, very much!” he had answered. Friend number twelve.

We made the short walk under a ¾ moon to L’Arco.

Three days. Twelve friends. Not bad.

Day 4 – Thursday, June 29

Another good night’s sleep. Breakfast in our little square. Felt strange to be there for the last time. In just 2 days, it had become “our” square. Had a double espresso with steamed milk and a sugared donut. Very light, like a Krispy Kreme but not as greasy. The day before, we had sent a message via Messenger to the mayor, noting that we had arrived and hoped to meet. I had communicated with him weeks before, and he said to just get in touch when we arrived. He answered later that afternoon asking where we were; we answered and asked when we could meet. Thursday morning, we still had not heard from him and kept checking Messenger as we sipped our espressos. I had sent a message at 9 am that we would be in Avigliano til 11 am if he wanted to meet us in the square. By 10:45, we were getting impatient to get on the road, so left for the 2-hour trip to Sassi di Matera, our next stopping point.  

Pretty quickly we moved away from the steep hills of Avigliano and travelled roads lined with vineyards, orchards, and wheat fields, with gentle hills in the background. When we first entered the city of Matera, we found ourselves in a swanky area with designer stores and high-end restaurants—this must be the “new Matera” above the Sassi. We had not expected this. The parking garage we had reserved was down a narrow alley just outside the main square of the Sassi: Piazza Vittoria Veneta. We packed our overnight bags from the car, then headed to the square and the (supposedly) 10-minute walk to our hotel: Il Palozzotta Residence & Winery. We must have taken a wrong turn, because we were meandering through the crazy maze of paths and stairs that is the Sassi for nearly half an hour. It was hot. We were carrying our bags, and we felt lost. I didn’t want to make a wrong turn and add to the number of stairs we were climbing only to have to go down and up again. Luckily, I was using my cane or I wouldn’t have made it. Finally we arrived at a corner, and when we looked to our right, saw the name of the hotel in large letters on a cream-colored wall. Hallelejuh!

We entered the lobby and entered the cave world! The creamy rounded walls curved this way and that all around us. A large cozy seating area offered me a place to collapse. The hostess was helping another family and offered us drinks while we waited: a glass of wine for Santo and an ice-cold sparkling water for me. Ahhhh! The other family was originally from Italy but now lived in North Carolina and spoke perfect English. Being in a country where I didn’t speak the language was so difficult for me. So refreshing to be able to really communicate.

Our cave had a private entrance. Stepping inside, we were stunned by the size and beauty of the long cylindrical room. All creamy colors and golden lighting from small lights that dotted the nook, crannies, ceiling and floor of the cave. Our shower was in an open area against one wall with only a single large pane of glass separating it from the rest of the cave. The toilet and bidet were around the corner in a small nook—Santo hit his head the first time he tried to use it. The king-sized bed was nestled next to the curved wall. At the end of the cave near the entrance were two comfy chairs (COMFY CHAIRS!), a TV, fridge, and coffee maker. A heavy brown curtain hung from a pole and could be closed to give us privacy from the glass entrance door. This is what we had come to Matera for!

We were going to nap (hot and tired from the walk), but first I went to the lobby to ask for directions and recommendations. The hostess gave me a wonderful map and marked it up with the best routes, churches, etc. She made reservations for us at the restaurant and circled it on the map. Since the churches closed at 5 or 6 pm, we decided to do our walking tour first, then nap before our 9 pm dinner. We took the flat road that loops around the Sassi and runs along the deep canyon with prehistoric caves dotting the far side. We entered one of the many cave churches and enjoyed the muted frescoes from centuries past. The monotone cream color of the entire area was broken only by outcropping of flowers and small gnarled trees pushing through the stone.

After about 30 minutes, we came to a large, slightly more modern church surrounded by an open piazza. High above the piazza was a more ancient church carved into the rock. I wanted to climb up to see it, even though I was very hot and tired. Santo decided to stay in the piazza area and wait for me.

I started climbing, cane in hand, winding stairway after winding stairway. Each intersection offered a choice and I had no idea which way to go. I kept looking up to the church, and making my best guess. I went up then down then up, up, up, then down again. At some point I went inside a church (4 Euros). At first I was disappointed at its small size, but the magnificent frescoes more than made up for it. The midnight blues looked almost like velvet, deep and rich. More meandering after I left the church. Soon I was hopelessly lost. I began to feel a bit scared. Even if I wanted to give up, I knew finding a way down would be no easier. At one point when I reached a dead end in the maze and let out a large sigh, two women nearby looked at me. “I am lost,” I said. They tried to help (in Italian), but didn’t know their way either. I said, “It’s OK, I’ll just keep trying. Grazie!” I climbed a new set of stairs and noticed that they were behind me talking to someone else. They were asking directions for me! They were able to point me to a path towards the church. At this point, I was worried about Santo worrying about me. I tried to text and call him, but DAMN SPECTRUM!, my phone did not work. I had no way to get in touch with him. Now I was really scared. I honestly didn’t know if I would ever make it out of there and back to the road down below. Eventually, I saw down and to my right, the open piazza. And Santo! I was probably several stories above him but I shouted, “SANTO!” He heard me and waved. I kept going and came to an intersection. To my right were steps to the piazza. In front of me was a shop with gelato and drinks. I had to stop. I got an acqua gasata and guzzled it before the man was even able to wait on me. There was a chair in the small shop and my body fell into it. I was glad it took him several minutes to wait on me, though I was also worried about Santo worrying. I ordered a gelato amarena (black cherry), soft and delicious in a paper cup, which I ate with a wooden stick like the old Dixie Cups we got from the ice cream truck in Dunmore.

Still eating my gelato, I made it to the piazza. Never so relieved in my life! We went right back to the hotel, about a fifteen-minute walk without stops. When we were almost to the hotel, I saw the entrance to a church: Sant’Antonio. St. Anthony’s, like the Italian church in Dunmore. It cost nothing to enter. It was the cutest little church, set up with colorful chairs. There was a fresco at one end, and on the walls were posters for musical events that took place in the space. It was a hidden gem.

Back in our cool and comforting cave, we collapsed for a long nap, setting an alarm for 8:30. I woke up and knew I had to hop into the shower (or rather stroll behind the glass). Ahhhh! Refreshed, I dressed for dinner, and we took the short (3 minute) walk to Osteria al Casale. We had a table outside under golden lighting directly across from the canyon. Carpaccio, salad and pizza. Leaving the restaurant, we climbed to a church that offered a view of the entire Sassi.

With a nearly full moon overhead and the Sassi looking like an illuminated sand castle city, Santo and I held each other, grateful for this moment, this trip, this life.