January 23, 2014

We left Positano early this morning and said goodbye to our larger-than-life and charming host, Luciano.  She had yarded our three heavy bags via the little handmade trolley to the top of the road and met us, smiling, when we finally huffed up the half-mile of stairs.

Luciano had a present for us - a small bottle of homemade Limoncello with a little lemon tied alongside with a yellow ribbon.

We spoke for a few moments before we left.   Luciano said she envied me, because women in this part of Italy had very few opportunities.  She was glad to have met me.  Her sincerity and total humility took me off guard.  Inwardly I cringed.

. . . 

A house by the turn-off to our apartment.  Jack & I both think it looks like the painting “The Scream."

Cliff formation on the road to our apartment.

Now we are in Rome after another exciting road trip and an unremarkable train ride.  We're ensconced in our new flat for 5 days.

With lots of smelly laundry.

Now - why is it that a country that delivered unto the world the likes of Leonardo da Vinci and Michaelangelo CAN'T make a washing machine that is worth a CRAP?  Seriously.

Allesandro, the owner, assured us that we only need to put the washer setting on "3" and walk away.  Just like American washers! Presto, in 40 minutes, sparkling clean, wet clothes.

Well, it's just not so. You can't just put the washer on "3" and anticipate anything but unlimited clothes tumbling.  I guess you could walk away - and return to threads that used to be your jeans and underwear.  You may want to review my previous post on washing clothes in Venice.

This Roman washer is an evil predecessor of its cousin in Venice.  It has no Italian words on it to translate as to what the dial setting might mean (like "spin" or "rinse") but instead relies on ancient Egyptian cuneform symbols to convey its intended cycle.   Perhaps I should pray to Isis for washer wisdom.