this hotel was recommended based on it’s continental breakfast, and I do believe, between the fresh squeezed blood orange juice and limitless capucchinos, that I may never leave. But San terenzo beckons, a dreamy coastal stroll retracing the steps of the Shelleys, along rock drizzled paths that follow the water, up past the terenzo castle, until it breaks suddenly against the cliffside, smote by the seas saltwater fists…that, or maybe the local contracor pocketed the money needed for the last leg. The volcanic rock bites like an angry pommeranian, but I decide to leap the broken bridge to the cliff and mantle my way to the other side; more beautiful beach stretched against the rock, but no way around besides a swim. We return to lerici, and after a brief rest, unravel the route to the great lerici castle, a stentorian bulwark, a basilisk roused against the coming of the Barbarian horde; duly transformed into the silliest of dinosaur museums I shall er be privvy to witness. I believe John Cleese curates. The castle interior is as impressive as it’s exterior battlements, but in some not too distant past, someone decided that some papier mâché raptors would really lure those tourist dollars. There was one particular raptor, clearly the outcome of a barely passing 4th grade science project, whose head had been neatly struck off and remounted with lots of copper wire, just maniacally wound about it’s lilting neck like a Masai decoration. Something akin to 70s era Connery bond belly dance tabla trance was piped through the speakers in the main area, though my dream of a conga line of krunking tutu clad tyrannosaurs did not materialize. This exhibit should come with free mushrooms, or pony rides. Tommorrow we continue on to the cinque terre, to coastal hikes and sweeping vistas that labor ones eyes with fecund glory.

I’ve come to the end of the journey here in Umbria, boarding literally at the last moment, the train for Rome, then onward to cinque terre and Pisa. Despite the challenges presented by the lack of heat and hot water, I truly enjoyed working outdoors in the jawdropping environment, surrounded by meadows and mountains, medieval worlds just a walk away. There’s a little romantic voice telling me to chuck my vocation and learn the art of the vine, that I may produce and photograph the quinntissential Chardonnay here in tumbling Umbria, though I intend to minimize the heeding for now…3.5 hours later and we arrive under cover of Alps, at la Spezia, which is abruptly armpitty, but oh well, you got to put the factories somewhere I guess. Lerici is a sleepy coastal village at the end of the Italian riviera, 15 more minutes by bus. It is dominated by a formidable castle jutting into the bay, now a museum of sorts, and has the dubious honor of being the place where Percy Shelley drowned, this part of italy being a favorite haunt of the poetic duo, manifest in the many trattorias, streets and hotels that have adopted a part or all of their names. Our hotel has a heater and hot water, and a terribly civilized minibar, though it does require some fortitude getting up the winding cobble-strewn stairs with all the luggage. Time enoughfor a quick trip around the piazzas before a nap. We have a rather lot of wine with dinner, and i decide to run up the myriad stairs to our hotel. I almost decide to throw up, but change my mind.

I leave my shoes outside to relax and enjoy the sudden downpour, so now I get to explore Amelia with infantry trenchfoot. Maybe someone will mustard gas me in the face before a good, stiff ass bayonetting; I feel like I’m in a Metallica video. We have time for a quick cappucino in Narni. Italians don’t really do breafast, in the egg/toast/tea manner I’m so accustomed to; as usual, they are more easy going…dessert! Cappuchino of course, but only till round 2pm, then you instantly become a tourist ordering anything other than espresso, and pastries typically doused in heavy cream and custard. 2pm is also when one is supposed to switch to buona cera, just FYI. Amelia is a thoroughly beautiful mountain town encircled by a wall that gives the Vatican’s pretensions pause. Traffic is prohibited in the historic center at odd intervals, though not when we arrive. Traversing the approximate perimeter takes just over an hour, but since all of the churches and roman cisterns we pass are all inexplicably closed, we end up at la porta romana, our starting point, far earlier than expected. The best solution, in order to kill some time before siesta is over and the groceries reopen, is to get on the wrong bus and end up stranded for an hour in Terni, which has the dubious honor of being the only town in Umbria that looks like an anchovy’s asshole.  We wait an hour for the bus back to narni, and finish our food shopping with alacrity. I teach the butcher how to say “good evening” instead of buona cera and he donates an extra slice of porchetta to our pasta pool. And then we find cocoa puffs and the dampness suffusing my frozen feet evaporates in a sauna of soggy chocolate delight.

we sleep past the first bus to narni, emerging unto a countryside wreathed in mist. The bus is balls deep in grannies. Our shoot is inside La Rocca, a restored fortess above Narni, closed to the public, but Germano, beyond being quite the racecar driver, also has castle connections. He runs the medieval festival in Narni and comes equipped with armfuls of rennaisance costumery, swords and a plumed helmet. We embark on one of the stranger shoots in my experience, roaming the halls in voluminous velvet, doing my best with the near nonexistent light. Unfortunately; the restoration takes a distinctly utilitarian turn, most of the rooms are white stucco and come prepared with modern windows and gas heaters, with big overt halogen sconces. I will definitely have some ageing to accomplish in the Photoshop. Christiane pleads desperately for the chance to bare herself and wear the helmet. We decide to leave our further trip to Amelia for the morrow, and return to the farm with a bellyful of pizza and croquettes. The markedly improved weather this afternoon obviously prompts me to shoot christiane in the nude. On the roof.

a sad, tragic day today, as a masterstroke of a volley cracks the only ping pong ball. I think I dislocated my pancreas weeding the garden, but aim to put it back with a spell of jumprope. Our shoot in the closed castle of narni has been approved for tommorrow complete with medieval gowns and weapons, which should make for an interesting change from chickens.

Plenty of work to do, much hoeing and ping pong abounded, at least until mid-afternoon, when the farm is assailed by a thunderstorm. The power goes out in spurts throughout the day and night, and I am consoled by further battlestar, and finally succeed in getting some important photo retouching out and about. Almost done with my magnum opus of Neil gaiman and Amanda Palmer as Odysseus and siren. I still hate eggplant, even if Its grilled on the fireplace coals… Now pancetta on the other hand, turns out I can swallow 2.5 pieces of smoked, chargrilled dripping pig bits before passing out.

a few nudie pictures around the tower to surprise Brittney with on a later blog. 2 cappuccinos later, I am taken on a tour of germanos tower, and incredible ascending labyrinth bathed in glazed tiles and hand painted wallpaper, overseeing the main piazza in narni. It’s most recent inhabitants were a pair of old women, and although impeccably decorated, the apartments are definitely granny infused, down to the hats and shoes still stowed neatly in the armoires. We pick up a newly arrived robekkah at the piazza, and return to Santa brigada for a thoroughly demonstrative evening.

Morning commences with my hauling rocks out of the pool with a rake. After work, we take the bus to Narni, the geographical center of Italy, and one of it’s first republics, astride a deep, sullen valley. Narni was originally the roman province of narnia, and being that it provided inspiration for Lewis’ chronicles of narnia, I don’t believe I need to go into much in the way of detail in my description of how fucking pleasant it is. Just picture a bunch of fairytale towers and castles and curves and shit, and you pretty much get the idea. An actual sacricicial altar from immemorium, like a buoy announcing the town entrance.  But no full throated lions.  Brittney lives above an old archway, just beyond one of three enormous gates leading into the town, in an old guard tower redolent of eua du particular granny. It has winding stone stairs that lead nowhere! How awesome is that. We attend her wish for lunch, and meet Romano her lover along the way, who takes us to his favorite hillside resteraunt, loosely translated as The Embarrassed Chicken, for a proper Italian dining experience that leaves my mouth too full for small talk. Manfriccoli, that I may bathe in your soapy coils, lo it is far too cold out, so I shall merely eat you with bread.