Soul Consuming Jazz

Last night Sandro and I rode through the countryside in his failing blue van. He yells "cautione (definitely not spelled right) as he revs the engine and barrels up the hills to avoid stalling halfway to the top. We drive through mountains and past the expanses of twinkling lights down below on the steady climb to the medievl town of Fara Sabina. With each sharp turn he sounds the horn to alert oncoming cars of his passage and with every twist of the road I get thrown from side to side-from Sandro's arm to the opposite door. I love it...exhilirating knowing that if I don't pay attention I might end up on the floor. We arrived at the main road to Fara only to see a long line of cars, like impatient first graders waiting for recess. We parked along the side of the road and made the long trek up the many hills to the heart of the beating town. As we approached the stone wall that encompasses the tree lined walkway, our friends called down from up above (my bike riding friends, their father the veterinarian and their beautiful mother). Along the walkway were children winding in and out of legs, stands selling beautiful wood carved bowls, glass blown jewelry and pocket knifes and the always present gelato stands. Before venturing to the music we stopped in the bar for the delightfully painful Grippa and a chat with some friends. The walk to the center of Fara Sabina is like nothing I have ever seen before. Picture the most romantic cobblestoned, narrow street and wooden doored town that you only see in movies, and that is Fara Sabina. We walked through a high arched iron gateway and entered into beauty incarnate. The cobblstones made it dreadfully hard to walk in so high heeled boots but of course I didnt mind and with the throngs of Italians we made our way through tiny streets, high stone buildings and brightly colored laundry flapping in the wind. I told Sandro that someday this is the place I will live. I have to. I need to. Its imperative to my being that I someday reside in the dreamlike streets of Fara Sabina. Vines and red flowers hung from iron windows and children fled behind large oak doors while the nonna's of town yelled from the windows and smiled on all the passerby. We made it to the center of the village where a large stage was set up, facing hundreds of cheering, beer drinking europeans. Everywhere people were drinking and smoking and dancing along with the trombones, saxophones and jazzy guitars. It was too easy to get lost in the music. I sat on the steps of an old medieval house, consumed in jazz, beer in hand, watching the most beauiful people on earth sway to the music. When I walk through the streets and the crowds I constantly get stared down by the women and of course I thought: "they've spotted me! The imposter...what the hell is an American doing here at our jazz festival?" But before I could dwell on this further, Sandro pointed out this fact and told me all the women are "inviduous", by which he means envious. HAHA at least its better than all the woman wanting to expose me as a fraud. We made our way back down the stone streets to the walkway where a 10 piece jazz/funk band was playing and dancing funky music. I don't understand people who dont dance to this kind of music...the music forces you to tap your feet, then move your hips and finally let lose and let the music take over your body. I stood by myself, next to an exuberant french lady and we danced like fools to the beautiful music. It was beautiful. When the music was finally finished I sat on the stone ledge, feet hanging precariously over the ledge, watching the moon high above and the lights of Rome and the countryside. I'm quite sure that life cant get any better. Well actually maybe if you were all here it would be perfect.

Once again I have more to write but Ill finish later.

Love, love, love, always,
Bella