Casa de Trevino

(The afternoon in Italy (around 2:30) early morning in Lawrence/Chicago (7:51))

It turns out I will have limited access to the internet. I will continue to write my blogs and when I can I will post them, so there may be multiple posts at the same time.

I am currently sitting on the small porch of a rather small Italian villa that my mother’s friend Bill lives in. I say small in reference to its character, I suppose quant would better describe this three story, three bedroom home on the side of the base of a mountain. Each room stacked on top of the next, there is a balcony outside each of our rooms but the home remains modest in character and can be found at the end of many winding and narrow roads full of small Italian men on bicycles that Bill rolls his windows down to bid good day to as we pass.

My first night in Italy was spent in fact watching a bunch of American men play softball and drink brewskey’s…hehe, my induction into the culture didn’t begin until supper. Bill has been here for four years, an Air Force Chief from Texas who joined the ranks in order to see the world; he has never lived on base. He surrounds himself in the community, learns their language and their ways, and calls himself “an excellent host who is only a little vain about it!” In fact, Casa de Trevino has been—so far, and I’m sure to come—quite a luxury.

The Air Force base sits on a small plot of land at the base of the mountain in a town called Aviano--Aviano Air Force Base. Originally built by the Germans in World War I much of the original infrastructure is still in use and the many bunkers scatter the ground. If it weren’t for the small Italian Village on the Mountain above me “Mezzo Monte (?)” meaning half-way up the mountain, I wouldn’t have believed myself in another country.

We drove back to Bill’s Villa to dress for dinner after the game. The very small community he lives in is tucked in and around a River stream, perched hillside of the mountain base and is more than 300 years old. There are many stories of the area being ransacked during WWI and that for years to follow woman dressed in black spotted the neighborhood in mourning of the men they had lost. That at the start of WWII a famous (to the area) gentlemen whose name escapes me marched down to the troops looking to occupy the small community; he firmly told them they were not to enter and upon demand the army turned the other way and left the people and their homes alone. Bill laughs uncertain of these stories—he’s a bit of a jokester—and points out the original stone lintels that once held large wooden doors to his drive-way.
We ate at a family run restaurant down the street from Bill’s home. A family restaurant that one would have to try hard at finding something that wasn’t appetizing in. I had a pasta dish with a light red sauce with tiny mushrooms (the areas’ specialty) and sausage, a glass of wine, actually many drinks that are all catered to the time you drink them, pallet cleansing liquors, a 3 Euro a jug red house wine, a strange lemony thing that stings the flavor from your taste buds, and as we were leaving—the last to leave in fact—the girl behind the counter asked Bill a question and proceeded to get us a small shot of another potent and liquorish flavored liquor.
Today I slept all day before showering and feeling like a human again. I was so exhausted last night that I was barely myself. We are just taking it easy—on separate computers in separate spaces—my Mom working on Work and myself writing my blogs…tomorrow starts our adventures, but after two long lay-over’s, three flights and a softball game—we are ready for a rest.

OOH yay—tomorrow we are off to Venice!