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Astonishingly , Acquapendente has links to Britain , for it was settled on the Via Francigena , an ancient road and pilgrimage route that starts in Canterbury , England and runs through France and Switzerland to Rome and the on to Apulia where the religious devote would board ships for the Holy Lands . It was my first introduction to the religious aspects of regional Italian life ; many more examples would come in the following days .
My own pilgrimage was somewhat complete when rounding a corner we entered my father ’ s paternal street . A nervousness swept in , voices behind walls felt familiar , I could image my young father , his brother and parents packing their limited belongings for a voyage to a land so different and so far away . It all felt so surreal , so otherworldly , how could I comprehend what it must ’ ve been like to be a child and dragged away from what my short life had known . My friends , my world , my existence , taken away .
In front of an ancient looking wooden doorway , I stood in disbelief , shock , happiness , sadness , a flood of emotions washing over me . Voices behind the door went silent as the residents had heard footsteps and unfamiliar chattering ’ s outside . I wanted to knock , to introduce myself , yet something prevented action , my pilgrimage had taken me so far around the world , how could an explorer get so far and then fail . I shrugged with sadness and walked away .
Piazza Girolamo Fabrizio beckoned , a good pastry and a better coffee , I was shocked to find it was just two short streets away , there ’ s no doubt my family would ’ ve spent many days doing what we were .
Cigar smoke clung to the air , a sweet sickly aroma that felt so inviting . Fresh coffee occasionally intruded completing the aromatic masterpiece . Old men sat , smoking , sipping coffee , discussing the worlds political situation , a world confined to the walled township . The occasional word was familiar , yet I could understand next to nothing of the conversation . It mattered little as here I was a part of their world and their community , a community that I would later understand is as diverse as the nation of Italy itself , a nation that is united yet divided by so many walled townships . It all felt wonderful .
Nostalgia that I never knew crept into my being and I felt that something was so absolutely right with what I was a part of . I felt saddened that my father and my family had never kept alive the traditions of his , of our , Acquapendente life . As a child he had slipped into the Australian way to forgo his heritage and by being here , in Acquapendente , I was hopeful that I was able to slip , if but just a little , of that heritage into my future .
Looking down at my coffee I realised it had been barely touched , I ’ d been sipping and perhaps that was the first steps to being an Italian , enjoying the finer things at a much more relaxed pace . Ah , Acquapendente … la dolce vita … MG
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