Sorry I haven't written in awhile. Words come to me like hunger comes to the body, they come univited into my mind--when I am working in the fields, or riding in the van, and then full inspiration hits and I write it all down. Maybe its because Ive been so busy this past week that the words haven't come, but anyways, all that matters is they are here now....
Clothes don't make the man. Sandro said this to me and I have to agree that nothing could be truer. When I first met Sandro, I failed to really see him and instead saw his outward appearance, his house and his fields. What I have come to see is that none of this truly reflects who he is as a person (and this applies to everyone I meet). It is the relationships people make, their perspectives on life and their abilities to feel compassion and empathy... these are what make a person.
Italy, and Europe for that matter, are very different than America in terms of physical culture. Here I am strange for shaving my armpits and twice I have been told that wearing a bra all the time (especially my sports bras) are not good for me, so I have adopted my lifestyle to the italians and I go braless and wear no makeup, sadly I cant bring myself to not shave (thats a little too much for me). It is amazing to be so natural, to not worry about perfecting myself with eyeliner and mascara and wash my hair daily, and yet be told that I am the most beautiful, gorgeous and free. This is one thing we Americans fear--a fear of the natural.
The hot summer heat brought with it two traveling gypsies who have taken residence at the farm on Via Fontevecchia. They have been together for nine years, and together they travel the world in their van that they converted into a home. Veronica is from the south of Italy while her partner, Kevin, is a native of england. I tell them that their love is an inspiration. They love eachother with such incredible passion, even after spending no more than two days apart for the last decade. You don't meet many people who have both fully realized their dreams and live it everyday. Veronica is like no one I have ever met before. She is both spiritual and grounded, concerned with the soul and the spirit and listening to what your heart tells you. She is an incredibly confident person and in just two weeks she has already helped me to understand myself better and to go after what I want it life, even if it might not be the easiest choice. Kevin is also very spiritual and like Veronica, he is incredibly easy to talk to. The only thing that surpises me about Kevin, is his sometimes sexist comments (of which he means no harm). Little comments that inspire a superiority/inferiority essence easily get on my nerves, and sometimes I have to struggle to keep my anger down. But besides a few miguided words, Kevin is a wonderful person who inspires me to follow my dreams take life with an open mind.
Here is a snippet from a journal entry that I wrote two days ago:
As I write this I am sitting in a jungle listening to birds singing in the distance and basking in the soft glow of the sun that streams through the canopy. Garet and Sandro are nearby, creating structure to the garden that is my jungle. I smoke bamboo cigarettes and sip water from glass bottles as I listen to them speak the world's most beautiful language.
The other day I was driven through mountain roads and past herds of cows and sheep to the home of my ancestors. Abruzzi was more beautiful than I could have ever imafined and I now understand my love for the natural, for the mountains and for a simple life. I was surrounded on all sides by rocky blue mountains that rose to the heavens and rolling green pastures that inspired a desire to walk among its grasses for the rest of my days. We arrived at a spot in the center of the mountains where hundreds upon hundreds of people were gathered to celebrate the festival of sheep and to eat the food that uplifts the soul. All was white, green and blue--the herds of sheep led by their faithful Maremma sheep dogs, the unspoiled grass wrought by the hands of God and the endless sky which was dotted with octopus and flying rainbows.
The Abruzese had erected lines of cloud white tents from which smoky scents of fresh meat and the sweet perfume of honey wafted into the cool breeze. Upon entering the crowds of people, Sandro declared that it was time to eat and time to drink (even though it was only 10 in the morning). He waited among the throngs of italians, waiting impatiently for his fresh meat panini. While I waited for my lunch, I listened to the preists chanting prayers to the crows and watched red, white and green billow in the breeze. Sandro returned from the chaos with a fresh proscuitto panini and gorgeous white bread and a bottle of local wine for us all to share. Less than two hours later it was time to eat again and we sat on the side of a grassy hill, watching the sheep down below and eating more proscuitto with pecorine cheese. You have not had cheese until you have had this. Made from sheep, it is a soft, moldable yellow/white spread that is so strong it could transform the taste of any food. We slathered it on our sandwiches and the delightfully pungent taste and smell of this cheese was so good that if I had died sitting on that hill, I would've died in heaven. God must trucks full of this cheese in heaven. We once again walked among the people, petting beautiful dogs, taking pictures and drinking wine from the bottle. This didn't last, because before too long, it was again time to eat. We made our way to the top of the hill, to a large pasture, where a small wooden meat shop stood. People were everywhere, walking among the vendors, grilling their food and sitting at wooden tables eating grilled corn on the cob and meat, meat, meat. Sandro and his brother, Massamiliano braved the crowds of people waiting for their fresh meat while Alessandra (Max's girlfriend) and I sat outside listening to the music. Everywhere were old men belting out songs of love and passion, while playing accordions and fiddles and harmonicas. My favorite song had the repetitive chorus of "ti amo, ti amo, ti amo" (I love you) and I made sure to film this beautiful performance. When the men returned, we took our sheep meat on sticks to a nearby grill and cooked them until they were smoky black. We feasted on our fresh lunch with wine and cheese and laughed at the rambunctious Abruzese (singing and dancing like today was the happiest days of their lives). Sandro and his brother called it the sheep woodstock and I can imagine that this festival was very similar to the famous music festival (just without the drugs).
Ill write more soon, about planting the fieds, peppers as green as the grass of Abruzzi and delicious fried zuchini flowers...
Love you all,
Bela
Roman Countryside
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