Radicofani

The vast, green Tuscan hills stretched out for miles in all directions. Directly above me, a cobblestone bell tower chimed off some hour in the midafternoon, though which hour exactly, it really didn’t matter. Much farther above me, the clouds formed a gray sheet across the sky. But it was not the monochrome gray which would indicate a bleak day. Rather, it was a vibrant quilt of many shades of gray, which kept the temperature at a comfortable cool. I could practically taste the air’s freshness.

Later, I walked at steep inclines through the few streets of the town. The homes were knit tightly together, much like the people. On a previous trip, I had met the manager of the town’s only bank, and he had proudly talked about his home and some of its history. Incidentally, he was also the mayor. After revisiting him, I found myself in the mood for a coffee, and I strode into a café to order a cappuccino. Embarrassingly, ordering a cappuccino after mid-morning was taboo and clearly marked me as a tourist, of which I was the only one here. But I enjoyed it all the same.

Then, unfortunately, it was time to go. Reluctantly, I pulled away from the map of Italy which hung from my bedroom wall. I told myself, like I did every day, that I would find a way to make it back there for real. Until then, the map would have to do. I took my backpack and walked out into the monochrome gray morning to catch the bus to work.

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