The unassuming entrance to the little museum.
The Instituto is housed in a four-story 15th century building just off the main market square in Belluno. It is packed with bookshelves, tables piled high with maps, posters, photos and other indeterminate items.
On the walls are frescoes remaining from the 15th century.
One fresco depicts a rooster giving a little boy a hard time.
According to a plaque on the wall, originally this building was a pawn shop.
A ceiling from the 1400’s.
The president is trying to curate all the items.
Lee, the Instituto President, and Jack
Some are scrapbooks and photo albums donated from families. I look through one of the photo albums. There are pictures showing GI's riding in Jeeps among throngs of exuberant Italians.
Looking around me, it is hard to fathom how long it will take to put this melange of history into some semblance of order. The president has been working on it for five years...
The president has brought a writer friend along; and Chuck has brought Albino. We move next door to a little cafe. It feels good to get out of the cold - the Instituto was unheated and a cold fog blankets the city center. Prosecco, cappucinos and little finger sandwiches all 'round. The writer, a small rotund fellow in his mid '70's wearing a shearling coat, has taken a shine to me and I see him surreptitiously snapping my photo and winking at me.
I swear he was sweet on me.
We move back outside and good-byes are given. The writer signals me to have a prosecco with him in another bar. I shake my head and smile. Sad spaniel eyes are my reward. Mamma mia! At least he didn't pinch my butt.
Lee and I do some window shopping. There's an antique store selling a necklace similar to one that had belonged to her mother, a gift brought back from Italy from her dad. We wanted to get Chuck to go into the store and chat with the owner about a photo of Lee's necklace. Lee would like to know the history of it. But Chuck is in his own element, chatting with Albino. We move to a dress store where a red dress becomes my property. A New Year's Eve party is tonight at Nogherazza and we're told that wearing red on New Year’s Eve is good luck. But I can't find an underslip to wear with the dress and the fabric is so thin it shows every mole.
The shops in Belluno close from 12:30 to 3:00 (curses!) so there's no more shopping to be done. We head back to Nogherazza for a nap.
The New Year’s Eve party brings out a lot of locals, dressed in varying degrees of formality. There are floor-length gowns with pearls; and there are jeans and turtlenecks.
The floor is pretty crowded but all are in good spirits.
Beautiful Lee and Handsome Gary
Handsome Jack and Beautiful Lee
Miss Lynne, the chef, The Chuck, and a pretty girl.
A local band complete with a sparkly disco ball plays some lively music and there is dancing. We do our best to understand the conversations with varying degrees of success. Everyone is very, very nice.
Then it's time to troop upstairs for the NYE dinner.
It’s Five Courses.
It’s incredibly delicious. Only I was dismayed to bite into a stuffed pastry with scallops, shrimp, and bacon that was "past its prime." One tiny bite and my stomach was twirly. So I just finished the dinner by sipping water and a little bit of restorative prosecco.
The power went out/came on/went out a few times. We heard the standby generator kick in but it wouldn't stay on the bus for long. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Then we noticed a burning smell - like that of a heater that has been shut down all summer and is turned back on. OK, no big deal...then another burning smell.
I hated to be a wet blanket but I told Lee, Gary, and Jack we should leave. Better safe than sorry. We returned to our rooms right at 12:00AM, safe and sound. I was happy to be wrong with my fire suspicions. We listened to fireworks and I drifted off to sleep.
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