Terrazza Tales
In
a recent yarn, I went into how, from time to time, we
had entertained the idea of trading a roof atop our home in Calitri for a
terrace. The idea eventually germinated
into action as we secured a builder but, unfortunately, had to depart before
work could begin. From a distance, as
issues arose, we supervised as best we could through emails, hoping all would
go well as Nicolo and Canio performed architectural surgery. Then most recently, I recounted how on a
return visit we experienced the finished product, only to see me suffer a back
injury. Fixated on presenting my tale of
woe, I never adequately did justice to Le
Scale verso il Paridiso (The Stairs to Heaven) or atop the stairs, Paridiso itself. Here, I'll do my best to rectify that lapse.
While
we had a very good idea what to expect from the photos
we'd received chronicling the builder's progress, experiencing it that first
time was still a very special moment. In addition to surpassing any picture, it
had completely transformed our space.
Our bedroom, which due to its emptiness had seemed huge, now appeared
connected and functional, having taken on a more lived-in feel. A black, powdered, metal stair-frame now ascended
a wall once taken-up by Maria Elena's dresser.
It was important that no part of this structure, rising over the
entrance to the room as it did, be allowed to clip the doorway. Thankfully it hadn't. As large as it was, it was apparent that for
a custom fit in the limited space available between ceiling supports, it had
been partially made and definitely assembled in our bedroom. We were surprised to learn that its wooden
stair-treads were hewn from strong, straight-grained American chestnut. Now cherry stained, they'd traveled a long
way to serve this purpose. As we had
requested, we also noticed that the bottom three steps, in order to make it
easier to access the stairs when approaching from the entryway, had no
associated railing. All looked just
perfect, just as ordered and definitely attractive.
You
can imagine then, how our first climb up "The Stairs
to Heaven" was intentionally slow and deliberate as we tried to take in
every feature, however minor. Hard to
believe, but we practically savored the rise and depth of each tread as, one behind
the other, we made our assent. In early
project discussions, just how steep the stairs needed to be and how far they'd
extend, following their turn along an adjacent wall, had been at issue. We were concerned, once the stairs turned,
how far they might extend into the room. Again, the resulting fit and feel were
perfect. We especially loved how the
exterior wall undulated and at the top how it curved rather than join the
abutting surface along a straight line.
We asked for rustico (rustic)
and that's just what we got. As we made
our way, a hand rail to one side steadied our climb. Ascending the stairs, this railing extended
only to the level of the ceiling, however.
Only later did we realize we'd need an additional handrail on the opposite
wall to assist in getting down, especially when carrying something. Tonino, the man who had fashioned the stairs,
would literally have to "handle" it, pun intended. Reaching the top of the staircase, above the
landing and still higher above a switch panel, we noticed a hose, serving as a
conduit, protruding from the wall. From
it some wires, connected to a single dangling bulb, asked for attention. Moments later I realized the same situation
existed on the terrace. It wasn't long
before that light bulb of realization in my head turned on, for although wiring
and switches had been provided, light fixtures, beyond this basic "dangling
bulb" form of illumination, were not! We hadn't expected anything as exquisite as a Murano
glass fixture per say, but something beyond basic contractor shabby-chic would
have been nice.
A
sharp left turn at the top and a step later saw us, for
the first time, emerge onto the terrazza
(terrace). By this time it had grown early
evening, the sky gone to pink, but even then, as Mare said and would repeat every
time she'd emerge onto the terrazza,
"It takes your breath away." When
you walk into an area for the first time, each of us is grabbed by some detail,
whether large or small. It was the expanse
of muted, earthy, reddish terracotta tiles, gridded in a charcoal colored
grout, all 26 sq meters of it, that first caught my eye. The plastered walls were bleach white,
something else for the "to do list" that awaited me once we settled
on a color. Along the bottom of each
wall, a kickboard of the same tile material inched up for a neat finish. Although empty at the moment, it came
together in a inviting and appealing scene.
From
the deck's surface, my eyes next flashed to four niches
that had been grafted into the surrounding walls. Serving as shelves, they give the space added
old world character. Various materials
had been cobbled together in their construction. Some recycled our old half-pipe roof tiles along
their edges while another featured mummoli
insulating hollow cylinders salvaged no-doubt from some ancient ceiling. Stone slabs served as the base of each
shelf. Interestingly, a number of shelves
contained electrical outlets. Their
variety, varied sizes and shapes, right about mid-wall height, would be perfect
for candles, a home for a cork screw or two, and seeing we had power available,
small lamps, even a radio.
It
is common in the Borgo, along with rocks used to hold
down roof tiles in windy conditions, to see weeds sprouting on roofs and at
home in gutters. Dust in the air carried
by sultry Sirocco winds, born in Africa, provide the organic material. Seeds float by and nature eventually does its magic. Before long, unless removed, a shangri-la
hanging garden is on the way. Depriving
the rain any chance to flood our terrace, some new gutters had been installed and
in other places cleaned. From the new
look of some of the rounded roof tiles on an adjacent building that fed a
gutter, it looked as though they had been repaired, making the roofline straight
and neat. No weeds yet! Then again, maybe I should look at the
gutters as a sort of garden in the concrete maze of the Borgo.
Lastly,
a waist high iron railing connected the terrace to the
sprawling scene spread before us. It
compelled you to turn your head toward the pastoral countryside lying beyond
this barrier at tiles end. High up as we
were, it was as though we teetered on the brink of a precipice, at the edge of
nothing. The distant horizon and landscape
of undulating hillocks, fractured with dusty country lanes, adding kilometers,
not meters, to our home. There had been
no way to predispose us to this scene since photos could not do justice to its
reality there
under a delirious evening sky. From images, along with bits and
pieces of information, we'd extrapolated ahead, all the while anticipating in
our minds what the finished project would be like. Only your eyes could appreciate
the majesty of this undulating sea of peaks and languid valleys layered toward
the horizon. The scene, though steady, we
soon realized seemed to change dimension as the teasing light of morning
transitioning into afternoon and beyond, before being extinguished by the
western horizon. As hours passed and
shadows shifted, the expansive panorama revealed infinite, almost
multi-spectral gradations in the scenery ... and what a scene it was.
Toward
our left lay Mount Vulture, now thankfully an extinct
volcano. With what remains of its
saw-toothed caldera, it dominates the horizon.
Ancient lava flows have created a soil rich with minerals, in which
today's Aglianico grapes thrive.
Originally a Phoenician grape, they were brought there by Greek settlers
long before the age of Rome. Later, Aglianico
became the prime ingredient used to make Falernian wine, a wine which once
reigned even over mighty Roman consuls and dictators. Along these verdant slopes, and still beyond,
farther east, lie sites of historic carnage.
Hannibal and his army surely glimpsed its summit when at Cannae in 215 BC
they slaughtered 55,000 Romans in a single day.
Much later in WWII, its far slope descended to an American B-24 bomber
base on the outskirts of Venosa. On a
foreign morning for many a crew, this dramatic vista was the last sight they'd ever
see when, fully loaded, they failed to clear its summit on takeoff. In an odd twist, in Venosa today, while all
evidence of this airfield has disappeared, reclaimed once more as farmland,
pieces of Marsden-matting, a perforated steel material used to make runways,
can be seen ingeniously incorporated into basement windows throughout the town. They make potent grappa brandy from discarded
grape skins, seeds and stems, why not homes from the leftovers of war?
Swinging right,
along the crest of distant ridgelines, we glimpse little towns like Rionero,
Sant'andrea, Ruvo del Monte, and Rapone. Continuing on, our sight naturally travels along
the ridgeline of the once celebrated Appian Way, the Roman road that connected
Rome to the port of Brindisi, where history tells us Roman legions boarded many a ship for conquests
abroad. Still farther right, we settle
on the distant shiny dome of the largest observatory in all of
Europe, at Castlegrande, before finishing our dizzying head swing having arrived
at Pescopagano, clinging as it does to its sloping mountain foundation far to our
right. Author
Hilary Cooper once wrote, “Life is not measured by the number of breaths we
take, but by the moments that take our breath away.” Here, undeniably, was one of those moments,
fortunately one we could experience again and again. We had finally been freed from the walled
confines of the small and sloping courtyard outside our front door. That first night, we indulged in an antipasto-like
dinner of salami, cheese, salty bread and wine by dangling bulb-light under a
star studded sky, freed from the confines of walls. Mesmerized, we watched as filaments of light from
distant towns added to the evening ambiance as each twinkled to life.
We
spent the first few days, beginning at dawn's first glimmer sitting
on the terrazza, putting our bedroom
back together. While thinking about how we
might decorate the terrace, we first rearranged the limited bedroom furniture
we had and spent time re-hanging shelves and pictures. It was reassuring, right off, to find that
our small two-seat couch fit in the restricted area beneath the stairs, making
for an inviting space to sit and read. We'd
waited a long time for this to materialize, made a blizzard of decisions before
and after we departed, dared greatly that all would go right, and worried over the
outcome. By all accounts, although we
may have been brash, we had also been fortunate. Just like the bedroom furniture, things were
falling into place.
Our
friend, American Joe, offered us the use of his truck, a
small FIAT pick-up on the order of a Ford Ranger. You don’t see many trucks in Calitri other
than the omnipresent Ape that, given
a rich imagination, approaches something on the order of a truck. A full bed, Hemi, V8 Ford F150 with dual rear
wheels would be the talk of the town! Short
of that, Joe's little roadworthy stick-shift truckster was just what we needed.
It took Mare and I a few trips to and
from Naples and later Altripalda to find and transport the various items of
furniture we’d decided upon for the terrace.
Our first roundtrip had been for a barbecue, which to me is essential outdoor
furniture. While in Italy, I'd missed
being able to grill (and sometimes burn our dinner), all the while dodging the
smoke. It's easy for me to outrun my
imagination. As a willing victim then of over-expectation of grand occasions, this
one was a four valve monster from the US.
When I'd replaced the regulator for an Italian equivalent, it worked
just fine connected to a local gas bottle.
We'd also been fortunate especially with the table and chair set and
again later with the cantilevered umbrella we found. It was end of season and in the spirit of
making room on the display floor, both these items, just the ones we liked,
were on deep discount. It was definitely
one of those cases when right place met right time. In fact, because we had to make multiple
trips due to space limitations, when we returned, the prices had again been
reduced. Something was amiss, almost
oxymoronic in its oozing contradiction - the more you buy, the more you
save. It's just amazing how delightful it
can be going broke, saving money!
We
were so looking forward to seeing the terrazza completed, ready to enjoy, that lugging, tugging and
toting our purchases into place was more a labor of love, then work. Then again, I recall the work part. Never let it be said getting to “Heaven”
would be easy! The toughest parts were
negotiating the stairs with our purchases and dealing with the cement slabs used
to hold down the umbrella - but lugging that Italian size gas bottle into place
certainly deserves an honorable mention.
One slab needed to be cut along its diagonal into triangles for a better
fit. This meant hauling it back to the
truck and a short trip to visit my friend Canio, the marmo (marble) man. I'd met this
particular Canio a year or so earlier, when he'd made porcelain plaques from
pictures I'd provided of my parents. Their
images are now fastened to their cemetery headstone. Today, they have the conspicuous honor of
being the sharpest looking couple in St Joseph's Cemetery, especially since no
one else has anything like this Italian tradition of personalizing a headstone.
And
then there were my brief days as a budding Michelangelo,
only in my case with skill and soaring scaffold replaced by an unsteady hand on
a step ladder. The exact
name of the color we’d selected was Curcuma
80, Fassade A1, ApmhiColor W Base 1 3L, or getting away from hardware store
chemist parlance, simply yellow. Funny how
many yellows there are to sift through.
I can add that this particular batch was a bright saffron-yellow variant. It took a few days of off and on work to
complete, since it got hot at times up there.
The toughest parts were the tight spaces in and around the built-in shelves.
It took a tiny brush on the order of the
kind you get in a child's watercolor set.
It was interesting how, once I’d brushed it on, the color, like the view
itself, seemed to shift with the light.
With our rooftop perch predominately facing east, it was at its
brightest by late morning then faded throughout the afternoon to an ever-deepening muted hue. In the honeycomb of humanity in the antico Borgo of Calitri, I’m sure it is
now quite visible from a distance – if, that is, you know where to look.
Everything finally in order, including
light fixtures, the first visitors to see our terrace were actually staying with
us as house guests. In fact, it wasn’t a
day after picking up Jack and Dotty in Naples that we put them to work as they
joined us in getting ready to host a party, offering weight to the adage,
“there is no such thing as a free lunch!”
While we were getting ready, three vacationing NYC
couples including Peno, the owner of Rossini's Restaurant on East 38th,
Manhattan, happened to stroll by below our windows. Their New York accents, tinged with some Long
Island brogue, had given them away.
Coming inside, and seeing we had plenty of this spectacular scenery to
share, it wasn't long before they took Le
Scale verso il Paridiso for a brief look-see. We recently reciprocated. Rendezvousing with Jack and Dotty, we splurged
on a entertaining music and food filled evening at Rossini's!
Finally prepared, we enjoyed a number of
gatherings with friends on the terrazza in
celebration of its completion. The
first, along with Jack and Dotty, was early on a sunny Tuesday afternoon. All told there were eleven of us. Our friends brought along wine, dessert dishes
and salads. Tired as we were, we used
the Tre Rose Osteria downtown for
trays of brasole, lamb cacciatore and
a veritable trough of cingul, a local
pasta favorite. No fusion fare here, this was strictly Italian. I didn't get to use the barbecue
at all that go. We talked, told stories
and jokes and of course ate long into late afternoon, long enough that we
eventually didn't need the shade of the umbrella. A few spills of wine, definitely a waste especially
in Italy, provided a perfect way to christen the terrace, but more importantly,
proved that we had the proper run-off toward the gutters. Oh, there was one other thing we’d established
- our bedroom ceiling could clearly take the combined weight!
Now properly inaugurated, a week or so later we had another
party. This one really a transplanted
dinner party. My back had been acting up
by then and friends, Gerry and Bernie, gladly relocated a
party they had planned to our home, since it would have been difficult for me
to get to theirs. This time, with the judicious
help of a strong dose of Ibuprofen, I got to grill the sausages and steaks that
Gerry brought along. I must add that
they came out just great. Our dinners finally
tucked away, we talked to each other sideways as we stared, wide-eyed until our sight failed, far off toward
the stupendous scene bathed in an
autumnal glow. It only adding to
a wonderful feast, thoroughly enjoyed by one and all.
The Romans, who once walked this land of
enchanting vistas had an expression, vita
brevis, life is short. Handed down through the centuries to today, it
remains elegantly brief and certainly true. Eventually, for each of us, this realization occurs
at some point, some even referring to it as a mid-life crisis. Whatever we call it, we soon understand that
we should do what we love in what time we have.
For us, it is travel and its endless opportunity for adventure.
Let me suggest that the pleasure of travel begins with anticipation. We had long anticipated the day of our
return. All the while we counted the
days, wondered, imagined, and as if in the arms of Morpheus,
dreamt about what we'd find when we
entered our home to experience, for the first time, our new terrazza. Would we be pleased or disappointed? Would it be thumbs up or thumbs down on the
potential folly of a wild idea? "You
want to what, cut your roof off?"
Maybe all the combined positiveness (is there such a word?) of our
anticipation had been prayer-like, for our entreaties had definitely been
answered. We loved what we found. Anticipation had eventually given way to real
life, when reality puts flesh to the imagined.
Home in the States once again, we are already planning and of course
anticipating what it will be like to return for another first, this one the
arrival with our daughter and her family.
Time
to lock the door, travel and enjoy your awayness! You might even knock on ours, take that flight
of steps to sit and sag with us as we contemplate what goes on in all those
houses below us, imagine what lies on the other side of that hill, down that
dusty white road and just beyond those mountains. A word of caution, however. Be sure not to over exert yourself on the
climb. Save at least a mouthful of air
because as we discovered, beyond all our anticipation, it will surely "Take
your breath away."
From that Rogue Tourist
Paolo
For related photos, click
here on Eyes Over Italy. Then look for and click on the photo album
entitled "Terrazza Tales".
