Hotel Ilgo Perugia
Via Agostino Di Duccio 1 Perugia, Umbria, 06122, Italy
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Random thoughts and observations Part 2
... or whenever the mood takes them. And still there is no road rage. They beep their horns, and then move on. Even our bus driver just mumbles under his breath and then keeps going.
The soil here is a very pale colour. Not like the red of Australia or even the black of the Positano beach.
There is a lot of marble used in Italy. Every hotel seems to have marble stairs.
It ...
Myfavorite saint was worth the wait
... br>
Another few blocks of movement to the actual ferry and floor while people remarking, "shouldn’t the dog be pulling that", I was on my assigned floor. I managed to convince the reception people to let it stay near them. Maya had to go into a special metal kennel on the top floor. I tried to make it as comfortable as possible with a towel and blanket.
When I get to Split, I hope to find an alternate way to carry my ridiculous baggage throughout ...
An Umbrian Excursion
... with a self guided tour of the Basilica dei San Francesco d'Assisi. Afterwards we found ourselves in an exquisite wine shop where we were treated samples of the finest Umbrian wines. We collected a couple bottles and headed back to Gubbio for a flourishment of conversation, sips of wine and tasty snacks. Eventually we went on yet another self guided tour this time of Gubbio in search of witching hour denizens of the ancient city.
...
Suzie’s Yard: much ado about olives
... of a second day thick fog held its moisture close to the trees. Between sessions of cooking, harvesting crocus flowers for saffron and thumb-twiddling, last year’s oil resurfaced. Soap-making was the order of the day. At the correct mix with caustic soda, olive oil loses its distinctive oily consistency and hardens to an excellent soap. In its liquid form, however, this mixture is less than appealing. Opinions varied from pea soup, to vomit, to chip-shop curry sauce, but whatever ...
Mazzaforte: England in Italy?
... Glasgow whose accent, although relatively gentle compared with many of his fellow Glaswegians, was distinct and pronounced.
“Great Scot!” declared James at the dinner table. His sisters giggled and egged him on.
“Aye, laddie!” one interjected, followed by more giggling.
His riposte was cutting and insightful: “So… where are you from again?”
Silence. Their Englishness was, in a sense, ...



