We woke up to a breeze blowing the sheer curtains at the open window. The breakfast at Hotel Corso was lovely, with a large buffet of fruits, yogurt, cakes, pies, and croissants.
There were several tables set with only one other occupied by an Italian speaking family. I was brought a great cappuccino, and Bronwyn and Mom ordered hot tea.
After breakfast, we set off up the hill on Corso Cavour (Orvieto’s Main Street), toward Torre di Maurizio, or the clock tower, built in the 14 Century.
We felt calm and safe as we walked up the street, which was a big difference from how we felt in Rome. We stopped in several shops, Mom bought souvenirs for her younger grandkids, and Bronwyn and I bought a few keepsakes.
Each of us had fallen in love with Orvieto.
It was just a peaceful and beautiful place to be.
The streets were sparsely populated with calm people going about their life. In one of the stores, a tall man with a cowboy hat heard me talking to Bronwyn and said, “You must be from America.” He had a large Texan accent.
I looked down at my Brooks running shoes and replied, “It was my shoes that gave it away, wasn’t it.”
He heartily laughed and walked on.
We entered a lavender shop, and I bought a bottle of lavender oil. The cheery man handed Bronwyn a free bar of lavender soap after we paid, so she would have something from his store as well. People were kind in each store we visited.
There were so many picturesque shops with beautiful handmade pottery. I bought a few small pieces that I was sure wouldn’t break in my suitcase.
Every now and then, a car would drive along the narrow cobblestone street. It impressed me that the cars never hit anything, or anyone, at least that I saw. I didn’t see any dents or scratches in the cars that drove past us that would have indicated such a misfortune.
We stopped for lunch at a restaurant after reading its sign, “To live well, you have to eat well.”
That sounded reasonable to us.
So, we ate well, and then walked on.
Beyond the clock tower, the street became more active with people. There were stands with people selling flowers, including gorgeous sunflowers, and there were fruit stands. Most of the people who walked by us were dressed in summer casual wear, better than beach attire mind you, but still casual.
Then, every now and then, a man carrying a briefcase, wearing a three-piece suit, and good shoes (of course), would briskly walk by.
People were mostly casually dressed, and we found ourselves very at ease.
The street started to curve downhill, and I began to worry about my Mom being able to walk back to the hotel. With no traffic to speak of, there was also no chance of catching a taxi if she became too tired to walk back, so at the Piazza della Republic, I asked Mom if she wouldn’t mind if Bronwyn and I went on alone from there.
I mentioned she could slowly walk back to the hotel and stop for a cappuccino along the way, and we would meet her after we explored some more of the city. She wasn’t happy about having to turn around, but she begrudgingly went.
It was a good thing she turned around because the road got very hilly. It would have been too much for my Mom to walk.
We walked down the road to the edge of town at the Church of San Giovenale. Most of the buildings on that side of town appeared to be residential.
It must be inspiring to live there, with the view of the Umbrian hills out your window, and your own Etruscan cave for a cellar under your home.
We stood at the wall at the edge of town, and gazed out over fields of sunflowers, farms, a pool surrounded by Cyprus trees, and a giant abbey that looked more like a castle from where we stood. Birds flew above us, chirping frantically.
We walked around the perimeter of the town and turned left towards the center of town when we saw the Duomo. We searched for Mom, but of course, she wasn’t on the street we asked her to stay on. We headed back to the hotel and found her asleep on the bed in the hotel room, having had time to shop, repack her suitcase, and take a nap. It always amazes me how fast she can walk when we aren’t watching her.
We collected our things and checked out of our lovely hotel, Hotel Corso. I could have spent a week there.
Walking to the funicular, I thought about what a great decision it was to visit Orvieto. I would be back for another visit, I was certain of that.
I found Orvieto by chance when I began researching our trip to Italy, looking at stops the train made from Rome to Milan. I didn’t know a thing about it at first, and the more I read about Orvieto, the more impressed I became.
I mentioned to several people in passing during our stay in Italy that we would be staying in Orvieto, and oddly enough, some people didn’t even know where that was. Italians who knew where Orvieto was would say, “Why are you going there?” It made me feel like I might regret our visit. I thought it might be like someone going to America and visiting L.A., New York City, and Walhalla, South Carolina. Why would someone do that?
I was happy we were able to experience Orvieto.
We sat on a bench at the train station waiting for the train. There were several very relaxed people waiting with us. The sun was shining, and there was a breeze, of course.
I didn’t want to get on the train, but I did anyway.
The train had many stops between Orvieto and Milan, and it was four hours long. Our seats were separated, and Mom and I had the misfortune of sitting across from an amorous middle-aged man who talked constantly to a young very skinny, well-coiffed, well-dressed Italian woman who clearly did not like Americans.
They talked for four hours straight, with the woman feverishly talking with her hands that at times pointed to my Mom. I would raise my eyebrows, the man would look apologetic, and the woman would roll her eyes and keep talking.
Lovely? No, not in the least.
Bronwyn sat next to a young mother with an autistic child. I watched in awe as the Italian mom worked patiently with her son. Bronwyn slept.
I enjoyed watching the countryside roll by my train window when I was able to tune out the couple’s endless chatter across from me.
This train was, from what I could tell, nearly all local people. It was important for me that Bronwyn get a feel for what it was like to travel as an Italian.
A few stops before we were to get off, a family a few seats in front of us got up to get off the train. They turned around and waved goodbye to me and smiled kindly.
I thought that was odd.
The only reason I could come up with for their kindness was maybe they had to listen to the skinny girl’s ranting about Americans and wanted to show us a little kindness?
Maybe they thought I was someone else?
When we got to the train station, a very fancy young man met us with a sign with my name on it. Unfortunately, he didn’t help us with our luggage. I guessed it might have messed up his manicure. He took us down many steps as well, which was taxing on my Mom.
He brought us to his spotless Mercedes SUV, and he seemed very discomforted that we were sitting in his car as if we might soil his seats.
As we drove through the city of Milan, Bronwyn’s eyes were wide and sparkling like Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face.
Our hotel, and I will only mention it once, because it is not worth mentioning more than that, was the Grande Visconti. The foyer was grand.
Bronwyn was enthralled by the fancy that enwrapped us. I have stayed in fancy hotels before, and after the first one, they are all the same. There was Traders Hotel in Hong Kong, and that impressed me tremendously. That hotel had a chauffeur pick me up in a Daimler limousine not a snarky kid in a Mercedes.
Waldo checked us in. He was very handsome, and very attentive to our every need. He said he upgraded us to a nicer room, but, as you know, I did a lot of research for this trip, and our room was the room I booked.
No upgrade.
Nice try Waldo.
Bronwyn and Mom loved the room. I thought it was sterile, and lacked charm. The chocolates were nice. The room had two bathrooms, which was also nice. Other than that, it was a typical high-priced hotel.
We went to the five-star restaurant within the hotel. The waiters were arrogant. The food portions were small, and the wine was, eh, ok.
Mom went back to her room, and I made Bronwyn go to the bar with me. I wanted something more from this overpriced shiny building, and I was going to have to settle on a glass of Limoncello.
After we sat down, I had to walk up to the three bartenders as they talked with each other, and I ask them to show us a menu.
They looked at me as if they were appalled I had the audacity to speak to them. After a dramatic pause, a waiter come over to where we were sitting and gave me a menu. I ordered my drink, and Bronwyn got a Pepsi. The waiter brought my drink with three trays of nuts, crackers, and cookies. I found that odd.
An American and his son entered the bar and started talking to us. He was vacationing with his family of five, and they had been upgraded to a three-story room: three stories, with spa-like amenities.
Oh, Waldo, now THAT is an upgrade!
Bronwyn and I got up and left, and I wondered why the father and son were talking to us instead of hanging out in the upstairs jacuzzi in their upgraded room.
It was another day full of contrasts, from the ease and beauty of Orvieto, to the stress of Milan.
We did manage a good night’s sleep, though, and there is something to be said for that. We were heading back to the States in the morning. What could go wrong with a simple day like that? I will tell you about that in my next post.
Ciao!