Charlie – an Italian pizzeria of course!

Seven hours is a long day in a smallish car with five people.  Even longer when you don’t get on the road until after noon.  But when you wake up to the sounds of a waterfall in the Swiss Alps – hike you must.  A quick disclosure:  Brett does all road trip driving.  There are many reasons for this, but the simplest of which is:  It’s better for everyone.  It’s possible that I got my driving skills from my Italian side.

After 450 mind-numbing kilometers going South on the A-1 through Italy, we finally exited the toll road in Orvieto.  Orvieto is a spectacular Umbrian hilltown set up on a volcanic turf which is perfectly placed between Rome and Florence, making it a popular tourist destination.   It was also the closest big town to where we were staying 35 minutes away in Morruzze (a town of 30 people.) 

The owner (an American living in London) of the place we were staying in Morruzze recommended a pizzeria in Orvieto for dinner.   The recommendation came with the warning that despite its bad name and website, the pizza was really good.  Thank goodness for that disclosure because after hours dreaming of our first bite of authentic Italian pizza, a place called “Charlie” would not have hit our radar.  “Betty” (our GPS) freaked out when we punched in Charlie’s address, taking us up narrow cobblestone streets/alleys that didn’t appear meant for cars or cars with concerned passenger wives.

As Orvieto is an old hill town, cars are more or less prohibited.  The guidebooks told us so.  Our American host told us so.  And even if you were to try, finding a (legal) parking space is a gamble you’d only take when desperately hungry and tired.   Also, there were bikes on top of our car and a driver with dogged belief in his ability to find a parking space.  Betty (though she was doubted) proved reliable once again bringing us to the summit.  After a brief search, we found an (illegal resident only) parking space.  Conflicted about whether to stay or go, a jovial gentleman resident greeted us and sanctioned our short term parking stay.  We Italians may not be able to drive, but we sure do know how to make someone feel welcome.

(Note: We went back to Orvieto a couple of times during our visit.  The second time we went back, we parked at the train station and took a funicular up to the top.  That was easy, until we tried to come down and discovered that the funicular closes at 7:30pm and taxi drivers aren’t interested in the fare to bring you back down.  There is a shuttle bus that apparently goes down hourly, but they must have been off schedule (or off duty) that night.  When all else fails (and it did), stick out your thumb and when that fails, have your son stand next to you and stick out his.   The third time we went back, we parked below the city on the other side of town and took a series of escalators up to the top.  The escalators were also closed when we tried to come down, but we found the elevator!  We tried not to think about how far our elevator was going and how likely it was to get stuck.   Transit mishaps aside, we found Orvieto to be a town with just the right balance between urban center and tourist center.  Unlike Todi which we thought much more touristy, Orvieto is a must do if you are in Umbria and if you are traveling to Rome or Florence probably even worth the 1+ hour and 1.5 hour train rides, respectively.   If you go, take the escalators!)

Back to our first night in Orvieto...  Unlike the previous night in Switzerland, we found Charlie within ten minutes of parking.   And it WAS perfect.   Well-cooked wood oven pizza with fresh toppings on a slightly doughy crust with a crisp glass of Orvieto Classico white wine eaten outside in a large outdoor dining courtyard … we would have loved this place had it been called Godfathers.   It was so good, we came back another night (or two.)

As we were inhaling our pizzas over candlelight in the courtyard, Lawton leaned it to say: “I decided something.  I want …” Another pizza, I thought? “I want to make a commitment to Jesus.”  There had been no talk about God leading up to that moment, no dinner time prayer, no Crucifix within sight.  It seemed to come out of the blue, and yet his words and eyes were earnest.   “What made you decide that now?” Brett asked.   “Because I want to stop making mistakes,” he said.   Now there are days that Lawton has his fair share of getting in trouble.  This was not one of them, which made the decision and confession that much more sincere.

If only we could make our mistakes go away.  But a life without mistakes is a life without grace.  I made my commitment to Jesus as a youth, back when I had a shallow understanding of my sin and barely a hint of God’s unconditional love for me.  After all these years walking with Him, I’m more aware of my sin and shortcomings but also more convinced of his unconditional love.  He does make all things new every morning, and so with that explained in our best six year old vocabulary, we all put our pizza down and Lawton prayed to commit his life to Jesus.   Over candlelight at a place called Charlie. 

After dinner, we found gelato and Brett pulled up the car in this plaza to pick us up.  The surrealness of this photo – an illegal car on a cliff-edged remnant of where four volcanoes erupted years ago – a hint that though we should be banned, God invites up out of the mess to the hilltop to see what we couldn’t see before.  Some of us take the speedy funicular up, some of us take the slower escalator up, and some of us follow a person like Betty we aren’t sure is going to get us to the top.  But however we get here, the view from the summit is worth the journey.

When in Rome .... Solvitur Ambulando

Ahh, Bella Roma!  It is as wonderful and rich a city as everyone says.  Five days is hardly enough time to even take in all the piazzas and fountains.  Though I was there over twenty years ago, it felt both new being there with my husband and children and also familiar with the warmth and charm of the Italian people.  My maternal grandfather was 100% Italian, and it’s the part of my ethnicity that I most relate to.  Though my skin is not olive, olive oil runs through my veins.  I talk with my hands, I love a good meal, and mi familia is the most important.  And my face has been known to get red when angry.   But I will forgive you and forgetaboutit two minutes later.

For this trip, we decided to go broad instead of deep.  With over two thousand years of history and more churches than days of the year, we decided we would skim the surface – see the sites but not tour them.  Quinn just finished doing a paper on ancient Rome and so we promised that we would save some of the touring for another trip when he can join us.  Plus, given that our six and nine year old boys can’t even stand at the Trevi Fountain without tackling each other or competing for “longest coin throw” – we decided that touring the Vatican Museum would be a risk not yet worth taking.  But you bet your Roman artichokes that we stepped into Vatican City so that the boys could log their ninth country visited. 

Stationed at a wonderful rental apartment (the best!) between Piazza del Popolo and Piazza de Spagna, we loosely followed the Doris Kindersly Eyewitness Travel Rome Guidebook (a must have if you are going to Rome) and diligently followed my friend Gretchen Harmon’s day to day itinerary, restaurant and shopping lists.  Gretchen and her family lived in Rome for two years and following her tips and recommendations helped to make “big Rome” feel more like “neighborhood Rome.”    We knew where to find the leather goods (boots have been added to the collection), the cashmere (too rich for my olive oil blood), the hip teen clothes, and the best bakery in all of Rome (which we frequently often enough that they knew us.)  Watching Brett hold court with a group of high school boys who were practicing their English (who he is now friends with on Facebook) was worth an admissions price under the heading of “Experiencing Rome.”   Our apartment is owned by the delightfully charming Giacomo who invited us to dinner in his home on Friday night with his wife Betta and three children (of similar ages to ours.)  We had such a grand time that we spent Sunday morning again together, but this time touring the National Etruscan Museum on the outskirts of Rome to learn more about the pre-Roman civilizations.  Nothing was broken. 

We ate and ate.  The food was consistently good and fresh if not spectacular.  I have high expectations when it comes to pasta.  We lingered over meals and played “Would You Rather:”

“Would you rather be roommates with Damarcus Cousins or Metta World Peace?” (Colin)

“Would you rather be teammates with NBA Player 1 or NBA Player 2?” (Colin)

Sub in different NBA player names, and repeat ad infinitum.  But wait for the gem.

“Would you rather be famous and an overrated knucklehead or really talented but poor?” (Colin)

And then there’s Lawton who was trying to get the hang of the game.

“Would you rather eat the rottenest blueberries or rottenest apricots?” (Lawton)

“Would you rather eat broken glass or knives?” (Lawton)

“Would you rather jump off a roller coaster or apartment building? Both landing on pavement.”  (Lawton)

“Would you rather marry a shark with sharp teeth or a snake?” (Lawton)

Would you rather sit on a snake or a porcupine?” (Lawton)

“Would you rather see a gross giant or Zombie?” (Lawton)

Brett responds: “Gross giant, but would you rather smell a Gross Giant’s smelly feet or swanus?”

It did get better.

“Would you rather have two great teachers and two bad teachers or four average teachers?” (Kate)

Okay, that was a little abrupt.

“Would you rather tour a church or a castle?” (Kate)

Lawton responds: “Are there knights in the castle and dragons in the church?”

Circle back.

“Would you rather have hops or speed? (Kate)

Rome is a wonderful walking city and public transportation is not its strength (we Seattleites empathize),  so we experienced Rome by walking.   Like crazy walking considering we have a six year old.  Fueled by at least two gelato stops every day, we estimate that we walked a cumulative of close to thirty miles.  There is a phrase in Latin called “Solvitur Ambulando” which means “it is solved by walking.”  We heard it first from our interim Pastor, and have since adopted it as a family mantra.  It proved very useful in the decision of moving to Europe, and even more useful in the times when things got a little hairy.   When things are breaking down, we keep walking – both literally and figuratively.  Some of us are better at adapting to new surroundings than others, and some need a “break in period” – so forward progress is the thing we do to hasten getting to the other side.   It also helps when you turn over the map and let someone else lead for a while.  We did that with each of the boys, and I’m pretty sure that the “follow the leader” game is perhaps the thing they will remember most.  The Pantheon was on the former side of the break in period, and our nine year old lead us back there for a “do-over” before taking us on a circuitous but outstanding route to the Colosseum.  I know having him walk us around -- revisiting the place where we needed an olive branch extended -- in deep love with his new favorite city, was the thing I will remember most.  I will try not to remember that Brett used the word swanus at the dinner table.

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