For the past few days, we have been in the area of Italy called Maramma. Maramma is technically part of Tuscany, sort of between the Chianti wine country and the Mediterranean Sea. Maramma is Italy’s Wild Wild West.
Marimma is hilly, but sort of brushy and wild-looking. There are a lot of grapevines growing, but there are also a lot of hay and olive trees. Maramma is where the beef cattle graze and cowboys herd them on horseback. I wanted to visit here because it’s one of the areas of Italy we had never visited and was reported to be one of the most beautiful. I did find it to be one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. Hauntingly beautiful, in fact.
Bill found our hotel on the Internet. The price was reasonable and it was near the town of Massa Maritimma, which is considered sort of the capital of this area. We knew it was going to be an agriturismo in a remote area. We didn’t know just how remote.
We stayed in a town called Roccatederighi. You probably won’t find it on your map. It is a small town in which probably 500 people live. It is high, high, high upon a hill. If you’ve driven in Italy, or even have taken trains, you’ve seen towns such as Roccatederighi. They are dark gray with tile roofs and all the buildings are made out of stone. They look very medieval, and for good reason. They generally were built during the medieval period to be a fortress or safe area for an important person living in the area. We saw the town as we were driving up the hill. We saw many towns. We had no idea we were going to actually be living in one of them for four days.
When we drove up the Residence Mariletta, no one was around. This wasn’t surprising, as it was about 1:30 – siesta time. So we parked our car and walked around the town. It doesn’t take long because the town generally consists of one road – it comes into town, goes around the back of the town and leaves the town. None of the stores were opened. Most indicated they would reopen at around 4:30 or 5.
We found a little bar that was open. There was a man about Bill’s age tending the bar, and his wife was wiping down the tables. What appeared to be their grandson was keeping himself busy in the background. He would occasionally go outside and look into the hills using his binoculars. Bill ordered a birre and a vino rosso (when I said ‘small’ the man politely corrected me and said ‘pico’. These are not people who speak a great deal of English. My guess is none.
By time we returned to the Residence Mariletta, our innkeeper, Luella, had returned. She too spoke very little English, but through sign language and rudimentary English on her part and rudimentary Italian on our part, we were able to check in, pay the bill, and get our things moved in.
It is a very pretty inn. The view from our window was magnificent. It is set at the foot of the town, but remember that the town is up on a hill. As such, our hotel was also up on a hill. The road we took to get here, thanks again to our GPS’ desire to take us on the most scenic if most frightening roads imaginable, was terrifying.
One narrow, winding lane that theoretically accommodates two cars. I think the road is so rarely driven, however, that when we drove past the postman coming the opposite way it was the first time I have seen such a look of astonishment on any Italian driver’s face. “What in Sam Blazes (or the Italian equivalent) are you doing here?” he was undoubtedly saying.
As usual, when we looked later at the map, we determined there is a larger, safer, but longer way into and out of town. That’s the road we took to get out of town and into Rome, where we are now.
Because our apartment had a kitchen, we later walked back into town and made the rounds to buy some things for dinner. I bought pasta, tomatoes, garlic, capers, anchovies, and olive oil, and was able to throw together a pretty nice meal. None of the women in any of the stores spoke a lick of English, but we got by pretty well. I had my dictionary, and I’m getting to know some of the words. Olio di oliva; basilico; sale; filetti alici; just enough to get by. And they are all so pleasant, so happy to help me.
Our time spent there was very interesting. Roccatederighi is not a town that is on anyone’s tourist map. I think the Resident Mariletta was the only hotel in the town, though we noticed a lot of agriturismos on the larger road down to Grosseto. So when the townpeople saw us, they knew we were not from around there. But though they looked at us with curiosity, they got used to seeing us visit the market each day to pick up supplies for dinner.
Saturday night we decided to attend the vigil Mass so that we could get an early start on Sunday. There are two churches in town – one on the very tip-top of the hill that we couldn’t get inside to see and one sort of in the middle of the hill that we got in to see. It was very small, but as I say, there are very few residents. We were trying to make sense of the Mass schedule when an older woman came up to us, recognizing that we were trying to figure out what time Mass would be held. From her gestures and what little Italian we could understand, we learned there was to be a procession from the bottom church to the top church starting at 5:30 p.m., and then Mass would be held at the top church at 6 p.m. She kept touching her forehead, so we decided that there was going to be some sort of ceremony involving the Blessed Mother that would involve a crown. As temporary Roccatederighians, if there is a procession, we are so THERE.
At 5:30, we show up at the bottom church. There are a number of people milling around, and everyone knows everyone else. There is a lot of cheek kissing, etc. Five-thirty comes and goes, and the clock is nearing six. We begin notice that a number of people are carrying cameras, and we can tell they are clearly waiting for something. At 6 o’clock sharp, out comes the priest, and with him is a bishop. The old women begin kneeling and kissing his ring. No statue of the Blessed Virgin to be found. Oh oh.
The procession begins. You have the priest and the bishop leading the way, followed by 20 or 30 Roccatederighians, many older women dressed in black, and Bill and me. We all walk up the extremely steep hill to the upper church, at which the choir is in place and flowers are all over. Bill and I find a place, and they begin handing out programs. I take out my dictionary, and quickly figure out that we are, in fact, attending the confirmation ceremony. So we watched Maria and Giacamo and Antonio and I don’t know who else become confirmed members of the Catholic faith, while the proud parents, grandparents, godparents and friends looked on – and of course those strange two people who have been wandering around their town for the last few days.
I learned something about myself the four days we spent in Roccatederighi. I always thought I would love to spend time somewhere remote and eerily beautiful with no television, etc. In fact, I nearly lost my mind. Granted, the weather didn’t cooperate. While we could look down onto the beautiful swimming pool, we were unable to enjoy it because it was chilly and overcast and rainy most of the time we were there. Oh, except when we woke up Sunday morning to pack our car, it was beautiful.
But I’m glad to have had this experience. I will never again have to wonder who actually lives in those towns up on top of the hill. I know they have an active, friendly, close-knit community who accepted the presence of two strangers with graciousness.
Marimma is hilly, but sort of brushy and wild-looking. There are a lot of grapevines growing, but there are also a lot of hay and olive trees. Maramma is where the beef cattle graze and cowboys herd them on horseback. I wanted to visit here because it’s one of the areas of Italy we had never visited and was reported to be one of the most beautiful. I did find it to be one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. Hauntingly beautiful, in fact.
Bill found our hotel on the Internet. The price was reasonable and it was near the town of Massa Maritimma, which is considered sort of the capital of this area. We knew it was going to be an agriturismo in a remote area. We didn’t know just how remote.
We stayed in a town called Roccatederighi. You probably won’t find it on your map. It is a small town in which probably 500 people live. It is high, high, high upon a hill. If you’ve driven in Italy, or even have taken trains, you’ve seen towns such as Roccatederighi. They are dark gray with tile roofs and all the buildings are made out of stone. They look very medieval, and for good reason. They generally were built during the medieval period to be a fortress or safe area for an important person living in the area. We saw the town as we were driving up the hill. We saw many towns. We had no idea we were going to actually be living in one of them for four days.
When we drove up the Residence Mariletta, no one was around. This wasn’t surprising, as it was about 1:30 – siesta time. So we parked our car and walked around the town. It doesn’t take long because the town generally consists of one road – it comes into town, goes around the back of the town and leaves the town. None of the stores were opened. Most indicated they would reopen at around 4:30 or 5.
We found a little bar that was open. There was a man about Bill’s age tending the bar, and his wife was wiping down the tables. What appeared to be their grandson was keeping himself busy in the background. He would occasionally go outside and look into the hills using his binoculars. Bill ordered a birre and a vino rosso (when I said ‘small’ the man politely corrected me and said ‘pico’. These are not people who speak a great deal of English. My guess is none.
By time we returned to the Residence Mariletta, our innkeeper, Luella, had returned. She too spoke very little English, but through sign language and rudimentary English on her part and rudimentary Italian on our part, we were able to check in, pay the bill, and get our things moved in.
It is a very pretty inn. The view from our window was magnificent. It is set at the foot of the town, but remember that the town is up on a hill. As such, our hotel was also up on a hill. The road we took to get here, thanks again to our GPS’ desire to take us on the most scenic if most frightening roads imaginable, was terrifying.
One narrow, winding lane that theoretically accommodates two cars. I think the road is so rarely driven, however, that when we drove past the postman coming the opposite way it was the first time I have seen such a look of astonishment on any Italian driver’s face. “What in Sam Blazes (or the Italian equivalent) are you doing here?” he was undoubtedly saying.As usual, when we looked later at the map, we determined there is a larger, safer, but longer way into and out of town. That’s the road we took to get out of town and into Rome, where we are now.
Because our apartment had a kitchen, we later walked back into town and made the rounds to buy some things for dinner. I bought pasta, tomatoes, garlic, capers, anchovies, and olive oil, and was able to throw together a pretty nice meal. None of the women in any of the stores spoke a lick of English, but we got by pretty well. I had my dictionary, and I’m getting to know some of the words. Olio di oliva; basilico; sale; filetti alici; just enough to get by. And they are all so pleasant, so happy to help me.
Our time spent there was very interesting. Roccatederighi is not a town that is on anyone’s tourist map. I think the Resident Mariletta was the only hotel in the town, though we noticed a lot of agriturismos on the larger road down to Grosseto. So when the townpeople saw us, they knew we were not from around there. But though they looked at us with curiosity, they got used to seeing us visit the market each day to pick up supplies for dinner.
Saturday night we decided to attend the vigil Mass so that we could get an early start on Sunday. There are two churches in town – one on the very tip-top of the hill that we couldn’t get inside to see and one sort of in the middle of the hill that we got in to see. It was very small, but as I say, there are very few residents. We were trying to make sense of the Mass schedule when an older woman came up to us, recognizing that we were trying to figure out what time Mass would be held. From her gestures and what little Italian we could understand, we learned there was to be a procession from the bottom church to the top church starting at 5:30 p.m., and then Mass would be held at the top church at 6 p.m. She kept touching her forehead, so we decided that there was going to be some sort of ceremony involving the Blessed Mother that would involve a crown. As temporary Roccatederighians, if there is a procession, we are so THERE.
At 5:30, we show up at the bottom church. There are a number of people milling around, and everyone knows everyone else. There is a lot of cheek kissing, etc. Five-thirty comes and goes, and the clock is nearing six. We begin notice that a number of people are carrying cameras, and we can tell they are clearly waiting for something. At 6 o’clock sharp, out comes the priest, and with him is a bishop. The old women begin kneeling and kissing his ring. No statue of the Blessed Virgin to be found. Oh oh.
The procession begins. You have the priest and the bishop leading the way, followed by 20 or 30 Roccatederighians, many older women dressed in black, and Bill and me. We all walk up the extremely steep hill to the upper church, at which the choir is in place and flowers are all over. Bill and I find a place, and they begin handing out programs. I take out my dictionary, and quickly figure out that we are, in fact, attending the confirmation ceremony. So we watched Maria and Giacamo and Antonio and I don’t know who else become confirmed members of the Catholic faith, while the proud parents, grandparents, godparents and friends looked on – and of course those strange two people who have been wandering around their town for the last few days.
I learned something about myself the four days we spent in Roccatederighi. I always thought I would love to spend time somewhere remote and eerily beautiful with no television, etc. In fact, I nearly lost my mind. Granted, the weather didn’t cooperate. While we could look down onto the beautiful swimming pool, we were unable to enjoy it because it was chilly and overcast and rainy most of the time we were there. Oh, except when we woke up Sunday morning to pack our car, it was beautiful.
But I’m glad to have had this experience. I will never again have to wonder who actually lives in those towns up on top of the hill. I know they have an active, friendly, close-knit community who accepted the presence of two strangers with graciousness.
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