Sunday morning we packed everything up and planned to leave for Gubbio by 10 a.m. That was the plan. Needless to say, our last stop was a walk to Cousin Tullio’s home to say goodbye, and needless to say, that’s when the plan fell apart. 🙂 On the way over we ran into Cousin Tullio in the piazza. So we strolled together for one last walk back to his house and Marina. On the way he asked if we had been to the cemetery, which we had. “Making a visit” is important, even if it’s to your dead relatives. We weren’t able to find my great-grandfather’s grave, and that did not sit well with Cousin Tullio. (You know what’s coming next, right?) So he says, “You have a car, let’s go, and I’ll show you.” So Dennis and I quick stepped it back to the hotel to get the car and we met them in the piazza, and off we all go to visit the gang. Cousin Tullio gave us the grand tour. I don’t think there is anybody left in Alfedena that we haven’t visited. At least this visit didn’t involve cake and coffee.
We returned to town for our final goodbyes, which were filled with “anno prossimo” (next year). Saying goodbye to Cousin Tullio is always molto dificile (very difficult), so “anno prossimo” makes it a lot easier. And finally we were off, waiving like crazy as I drove away.
Off to Gubbio. The drive north along the Adriatic was easy and fun… until we got to Ancora where we had to leave the highway. Back on the county roads. Mr. GPS once again had his way and took us on the most back road passage we could imagine (it’s a wonder Dennis isn’t on Valium by now). The difference with this route was not the 100 foot drop on the side of the road, it was that the road was crumbling away, and you never were quite sure if it would give way while you were driving on it. Quite a trip to say the least. At some points I felt like we were going down people’s driveways. Not many pictures because Dennis was praying.
But, alas, we finally arrived in Gubbio, a medieval city set high on the hill. But there was a festival going on, so we had to park the car down in the city and walk up. (Hey, it’s Italy. You have to expect these things.) After the festival ended, the roads opened up, and the hotel staff drove us down to get the car and the luggage. If there is one thing you learn in Italy, it’s patience. Time for some wine. It was a long drive, and I deserve it. (Have another, Myra… OK.)