September 2004
Casperia is a one thousand year old, magical medieval village built on the top of the Sabina Mountains, one hour north of Rome, surrounded by valleys and distant mountains, lush green fields and tiny farm houses scattered perfectly. The fresh crisp air is scented with open fires burning and wood-fired pizzas.
Three hundred and fifty souls sleep here, many more go about their business as day breaks. The imperfection of stone cottages and cobbled streets spill charm and character onto the narrow pavements. Village cats wander the pedestrian streets, a dog will sometimes walk with you a while. Rarely do I feel alone here. An obvious language barrier forges connections of a special kind. Communication takes on a whole new meaning as the best in instinctive human nature kicks in - a welcoming smile, a courteous nod. People look you in the eyes here.
The tomatoes so red , the yolks of the eggs a vibrant orange. Your taste buds reflect the colours here. Everything is pure. From the olive oil to the finest parmesan cheese, eating is a pleasure never to be rushed. Like a three dimensional painting, it looks too perfect to be real. I remember being mesmerized as I ate my breakfast that first morning, the warm sun melting away any memories of winter. The sweet taste of things to come.
Being so high in the mountains I feel closer to nature than ever before. Migrating swallows from Africa fill the sky. Hours can pass as you watch the clouds take on different shapes every few minutes, creating a new masterpiece on the pale blue canvas.
'Buon giorno' they say as you wander down the street. People here think nothing of chatting for five minutes before moving on. 'Come stai?' they ask. No one is in too much of a hurry to ask how you are.
Silence surrounds me as night falls. The sound of a cow bell ringing or dogs in the distance having their nightly chat across the valley sends me to sleep every night. The odd firework display or the faint sound of the village choir in rehearsal makes this place almost surreal with incidental, spontaneous beauty.
It's the simple things that I cherish here. The cold fresh mountain water, the sound of the swallows at day break, the warmth of the locals. My 94 year old mate Lucia pinches my cheek, gives me a hug and then sets off to pick chicory in the fields decked out in gum boots and armed with a wooden stick. Priceless...
I feel truly blessed and protected here. For some reason this gift has been given to me. With four weeks to go I'm going to slowly finish opening the best present I've ever been given..... one day at a time.