We got up at 9 AM to catch the 10 AM bus to San Benedetto. Maya, Bill and I had sat up late the night before drinking wine and discussing politics and religion. There were no taxis at our usual spot, then we walked to another that always seemed to have many taxis and there were none there. It raised the anxiety level just a notch. One always remembers the good vacation times and how easy it is. We forget dragging the bags, missing the buses, dealing with dirty clothes and frustrated attemps to communicate. We arrived at Tibertini Bus Station just five minutes before ten. A nice woman helped us find our stall. By 10 o'clock Italian time (10:15 AM) our bus finally rolled in. I immediately fell asleep for a good hour and woke to the giant snow dotted Appenini about an hour later.
Lamberto and his cousin Titziana met us at the bus stop in S. B., gave a short tour around the town and took us to his home for a "light" lunch. Monica created an amazing array of dishes- first pesto with a lovely noodle that I not seen before. I though that this was the end of pranzo. Then came dish after dish with cheeses, meats, sauces, vegitables, salads- just a wonderful spread.
Ascoli Piceni is a midevil city with a wonderful central sqaure, a formitable Italian Gothic Church dating back to 1200, a few Romanesque Churches with distinctive towers and a Roman Bridge. Many of the facades of the houses had little sayings above the portals dating back to midevil times. Titziana ran into a friend that she had not seen since her days at the university.
Then we drove through miles and miles of Mache hillsides and farms, steep canyons, olive trees and vineyards.
I hope that I have this information correct, but for years when Lomberto was young his parents had a connection with Ripatransone- Lamberto had visited there often as a child and his parents, apparently lived there at one time. ( I am self- conscious as I write because if I do not get the fact correct, Lamberto will read it and I hope, correct me.) He took to to the smallest street in Italy. Riccardo, his son, joked about this. He said that many places claimed to be the narrowest street in Italy. You can decide from the photo.
In the middle of the downtown there was a sign in Italian, "Sculpturer in Wood". I walked over to the little shop and could hardly see anything through the window. Lamberto said, "Do you want to meet him?" I said, "sure." He rang the doorbell and from above out pokes the head of an older man. He asks the man in Italian if we can see his show. The man says, "si." and comes downstairs. His shop is a treat. Many works of wood of all kinds: couples, animals, religious works, building, street scenes all in wood. The man is gentle kind and good humored.
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