Excursion:

When driving from Florence to Perugia, you will pass Lago Trasimeno. Being the largest lake on the Italian peninsula its kind of hard to miss as the highway skirts the northern part. Historically an extremely important fishing center (Umbria is the only landlocked region on the peninsula) today it hosts many beautiful small towns, some of which are picturesque tourist havens. The largest on the northern shore is Passignano and looks very much like an Italian resort town. There are restaurants, hotels, ceramic shops, and (good) gelatorias along the park-like shoreline around the pier for the ferry to the main island of the lake. [At this time of year, the Tropical gelateria is serving absolutely rich and intense fruit flavors like frutti di bosco (summer fruits), mirtilli (blueberry), lampone (raspberry), and ananas (pineapple). Has anyone noticed that gelato is always a topic of conversation with me in Italy?]

Anyway, Passignano is lovely. There is a medieval tower with a view of the lake and close-in islands.

5.30 euro gets you a round trip ticket to Isola Maggiore and it is a wonderful day’s outing. (Although it’s only about a kilometer away, the boat stops in Tuoro before heading to Isola Maggiore.)  Once on the island you seem to step back into another era. The island has much the same appearance as it must have had a hundred years ago. Well, probably a little more spiffed up. The wide bricked main street  —Via Guglielmi — is tranquil and pristine. There are two churches right near the boat dock that are lovely and quite a few restaurants for lunch. But first there is an island to explore.

The church I found most interesting was the Church of the ‘Buon Gesu.’ I had never heard this name before and wasn’t sure if my translation of ‘Good Jesus’ was correct. Apparently San Bernardino and the Observant Franciscans had something to do with this and warrants more investigation. Anyway, the church is charming in rather a ‘shabby chic’ kind of way. Faded 19^th century wall paintings are the backdrop for a late Baroque altar with Berniniesque columns inspired by those of Saint Peter’s in Rome.

Although I most wanted to see the church of San Michele Arcangelo, I had been warned that the way is quite steep up on a very bad stone and gravel path. Instead we walked left, around the corner, up the stone steps to the simple church of San Salvatore. The 12^th century Romanesque style church has a center nave and very little decoration left — still quite charming. The path to the right lead us upward until the gable ended bell tower of San Michele came into view signaling we had reached the summit of the island. Beautiful views abounded. A slight entrance fee got us into San Michele and it was worth it. The frescos are lovely and some of the most important surrounding the lake, proving the importance of the Observant community here. However, I thought the mid 15^th century wooden crucifix by Bartolomeo Caporali the most beautiful work in the church. (It reminded me of Benozzo Gozzoli who is also represented in Montefalco.)

After the church I headed down the hill to the left passing under many very old olive trees. Interestingly, as I was taking some photos of wandering pheasants and getting too close to the trees, the sound of whirring startled me. When I looked up the trees were filled with the largest mosquitos I have ever seen. I got back to the path and quickly moved on.

The rest of the walk was beautiful through trees and catching glimpses of the smaller island and the lake. Finally arriving at the shore, the walk along the water was quite lovely. The path leading right to the old Franciscan monastery was closed so I was not able to explore that further.

[However, the monastery is part of the very interesting story of the island. It was purchased in 1887 by a wealthy marquis from Civitavecchia who turned it into a grand villa/castle in the Neo-Gothic style. In the early 20^th century the marquis and his daughter, Elena, began a school of lace making to give the island’s daughters ‘dignified work’ to occupy themselves and stimulate the economy here. Their ‘Irish’ lace became know far and wide examples can be found of their crochet-hook work in the museum on the main street.]

By this time we were hungry and chose Ristorante L’Oso (Via Guglielmi, 39) for lunch. We had a table right on the water and had a wonderful fish meal. Simple delicious. The 3:30 boat brought us back to Passigniano and some gelato. All in all, a perfect day.

REPORT FROM THE TRENCHES, August 2011:

It’s no secret that there’s not much of a gay life in Umbria and what little there is, is infrequent and hard to find. I’ve often told people it’s complicated by the fact that my gaydar doesn’t function very well over here. I either need a new model or, at least, a European adapter. While studies show that gay people represent 10% of the overall population, here in Italy that may be only 4%, of which maybe 1% are actually out — meaning, their mothers know. Be that as it may, the local chapter of ArciGay, the (Italian) national LGBT organization, organizes dance parties every other week or so around Perugia.

It’s all we’ve got that passes for gay culture so we have to take it or leave it. The people are friendly and diverse but the music is pounding, the air too smoke-filled, and the hostess too loud. I don’t like being yelled at by my drag queens and this one’s signature style is to scream over the music — which is unseemly. Several times I’ve suggested we start a collection to send her to New York to learn how drag queens are supposed to act, or at least how to smile.

First, a little background on the gay scene in Umbria: As I understand it, and remember there is the constant uphill battle with the language and the use of wittisisms that are more difficult for me to catch, it consists of (tackily) themed club nights in various locations. When I first went it was called the Lido (which means beach), it then became something called Tu Candela (which is a quaint euphemism for a male organ), and now it seems to be an event that moves around, this time finally back at the Lido again. I was taken there a few years back by a friend in an attempt to introduce the American to Umbrian nightlife.

The Lido is located in a seemingly deserted area on the outskirts of Ponte San Giovanni, a suburb of Perugia, so the noise isn’t a problem. It has a large pool (hence the name) and a double helping of tacky. Club music has never been my thing and this was not even very good club music at that. The walls were bathed in washed out videos in front of which various muscled or dragged out club boys gyrated (the only plus). The place was smoky and loud and I usually got there too early and left after I could stand being yelled at no more— which took about an hour and a half.

The second year I reluctantly returned but noticed that the décor had changed significantly. New bars were added with lighted-glass fronts, the tent that covered the dance floor had a more substantial roof, and the people seemed younger than I remembered. What didn’t bode well was that the ‘women,’ that I thought were too small to be drag queens or transsexuals, actually seemed to be women. The dead give away was when a bevy of  attractive young men asked them to dance and they all did — together.

Damn that gaydar. I was in the wrong place.

I went up to the brooding bouncer-type and was told that the gay party was next door. Upon entering the place, I was greeted by the familiarly tacky décor and muscled boys dancing in front of a distorted Disney’s Aladdan and the Lamp. Apparently they had upgraded and turned half of the place into a straight club and renamed it Cielo (which means heaven). It was too much to bare so I boycotted the events for the rest of the year.

In my third year here, they moved the whole thing to a deserted street at the far end of an industrial zone over near the Perugina Chocolate factory. The decor was much better and the drag queens and clientele were, by now, familiar faces. Here at least the video projections were better and, one night, Lady GaGa filled an entire wall with a long playing version of Bad Romance. It was my favorite part of the evening and seemed, appropriately, to become a gay anthem. By this time I had met a new group of people and going out was more fun the few times I went.

Year four (last week): Friends said we should all meet around 11:30 at the Lido for a well publicized event. (I had encouragingly been to the previous ArciGay party at a club in San Niccolo in Cello that was really fun and ended with lots of people stripping down to their underwear and jumping into the pool.)  I arrived tastefully tardy at 11:45 and walked into a club deserted except for a band setting up, a DJ adjusting his lights, and people bringing ice to a shabby unlit bar. At least I thought a live band would be a welcomed change. But again, something didn’t seem right. After a few minutes I texted my friend who told me he was there. “But where?” I texted back. I asked him to meet me at the door and he said ok. The place is not that big and after 5 minutes I realized that, damn, I did it again, I must be in the wrong place.

I went outside and, you guessed it, there was Luca standing in front of the door to Cielo.

So the tables had turned once again and the LGBTers had finally gotten the nicer club — at least for the night anyway. The place was already starting to busy up and groups of people were talking around the pool and the line at the lighted bar was still thin. We went and ordered Long Island ice teas — believe it or not, a first for this New Yorker. Luca, who was kind to worry about my being alone in a strange place, walked me around and started to introduce me to his boyfriend Stefano (who I had just friended on FB) and a couple other people. But before he could, one of them turned and said, “Michael, come stai?” and the other just gave me a hug.

At the next grouping, I asked Luca if he knew Giampiero, Tiziano, and Marco — he didn’t. As we were passing around introductions, Sergio skirted around our group on his way to meet up with Manlio (who waved) and his new boyfriend, Roberto, who were standing with someone I didn’t know. Then we ran into Michele, who sported a tattoo I had not yet seen, and Andrea, who introduced us to two people I had seen but not met. Turning, we all gaily received blown kisses from Ivo who was waiting in line at the second bar with some fresh-from-the-seaside tanned men. It was August, you know, and bronzed boys abounded.

When we finally passed around to the dance floor, I felt someone’s arms around my waist and turned to see an old heart throb, Daniele, who dragged me (not difficult at all) onto the dance floor. When I emerged from the Marlboro cloud 3 loudly pulsating songs later, Luca told me he didn’t know why he was worried about me. I could apparently get on just fine.

Later in the evening there was the obligatory drag show led by the aforementioned ‘mistress of ceremonies’, Nikita. However, this was a special night dedicated to She Wulva — as vulgar a name as someone could come up with and means exactly what you think it does. I found out later that the party was to celebrate her coming in second place in the Miss Italia Drag Queen contest, which was apparently enough of a reason to throw a party. A large group of other drag queens (of various proportions and window treatments) were paraded onto the stage in the middle of the pool and we were yelled at for about an hour. While Nikita is by no means my favorite, I will have to say, she looked stunning in black.However, I was more captivated by an Amy Winehouse wannabe bartender with a ratty blonde wig who I had to tell I thought was divine.

We all danced, flirted, and tried to talk until I was hoarse and the ringing in my ears was too loud to bear any longer. At 3am I called it quits (ma dai! no!) and headed back to my quiet refuge in Bettona.

So, slap me silly, I’ve discovered that I actually can have fun here.

One note though: When Massimo shared the photos he took (as the seemingly ‘official’ photographer of the event) on Facebook the next day, I realized that when shooting drag queens, one should refrain from using a flash. It’s kinder that way.

Excursion:

So I ventured out of Umbria (which is allowed you know) on an adventure to le Marche with some friends last week.

Destination: the caves called Frasassi. It was about an hour and a half, including a stop for lunch at a surprisingly spacious Autogrill along the way. (Yes, unlike in the US, you actually can eat quite well along the road in Italy. Fresh pasta with a choice of three sauces and everything.)

So we got there, parked, and bought our tickets, and then had to wait for our time slot to be called. The parking lot is filled with souvenir shops filled with all kinds of c**p which I won’t comment more on because there is a place for everything and this really is a tourist thing.

Anyway, after the wait and the short bus ride to the cave entrance (where there is another shop) about 30 of us were escorted down a long cool corridor and into the caves.

I was not prepared for how absolutely breathtaking they would be. After a slight introduction, we walked around a corner that opened onto an enormous cavern that felt like walking into Madison Square Garden – ok, maybe not quite that big, but BIG. The railed paths swept downward into the main chamber whose walls were bathed in yellow light with spotlights illuminating many of the most spectacular stalagmite pillars. (Of course, you know the difference between stalagmites and stalactites? Stalactites drip down from the ceiling of a cave and splash onto the growing stalagmites. If they do this for long enough they can become a column but that could take, according to our guide, 70,000 years.) There were enormous piles of rocks that accounted for the hollowed out cavern’s size and it felt as if you were walking through the site of some great underground avalanche.

We wandered through many paths, under a couple of boulders, past enormous and amazingly beautiful stalagmites, reflecting pools and slow trickling streams, and small vignettes that were all spectacularly lit. They truly were spectacular to behold. The marble-like, and often translucent surfaces, were actually made up of a variety of intricate textures as the acidic drips splashed and dribbled their way downward. With unending variations, and seemingly suspended in time, these slowly growing monoliths rise from the rubble and reach toward an unseen sky.

Although you’re not supposed to take pictures, how could I resist. There were 4 or 5 of us lagging behind trying to capture the beauty of this place. Yes, we were reprimanded but the results were worth it. How else could I show you guys how wonderful a place it is. It was my duty to capture it all digitally.

The tour was about an hour and a half for 15.50 euro, which was well worth it. I can’t wait to go back. Maybe next time I’ll take the 3-hour tour because they dress you up in brightly colored jumpsuits and hard hats. And who doesn’t like a little dress up when they’re spelunking?  I’d love to go again so, come, and we’ll do it.