Darkness or light...
I was the victim to my own shocking thought the other evening…
I was sitting on the long, black sofa in the upstairs Salotto of La Casetta here at il Poggiolo… a nice fire going in the glass fronted firebox, a glass of white wine on the table beside me, reading my book on Italian literature…
written by an Englishman, of all folk. The author’s claims to fame are: he married an Italian woman, he became versed in the Italian language to the point that he has gainfully translated several Italian authors into English. This last feat is not an easy trick. Much Italian literature is written in the country’s many dialects. I tried once. Spiked by my acquired ability to speak & read Italian, I felt ready to graduate from reading Agatha Christie translated into Italian to an attempt to follow a boy-friend’s avid recommendation of tackling a novel written by Pier Paolo Pasolini, the multi-talented titan of post-WWII Italian culture. The boy-friend thought I might enjoy a look into the life of a certain strata of Italian society in the 50’s & 60’s suburban boom towns north of Rome’s la Stazione Termini. Total gobbledygook. Gave up on page 17. Have never encountered so many single apostrophes in my life. I went back to Agatha Christie. Worse still, I followed by setting a steady course for English books.
In the relative Peace & Quiet of my Second Floor refuge, I heard a loud and unfamiliar noise somewhere outside the house. Stopped, put the book down, got up and walked over to the Salotto’s singular window to peer out to see what the noise could be.
Not the best of views. The lone window looks out towards the Northeast and a nearby mountain missing trees and sprouting a bunch of electro-smog communications aerials, masts and antennas. Eons ago the mountain lost part of itself after torrential rains provoked a massive mudslide. In one devastating slosh, the the pre-Medieval village of Codiponte was gone. Those few who survived the catastrophe wisely re-located the new Codiponte to a hill on the other side of the Aulella River, far away from the path of any future disasters from an insecure peak or, two. The hill town is today called il Borgo Castello. It lurches over us at il Poggiolo, blocks the sun and keeps our garden soggy with Winter’s moisture. In the Summer, the conglomeration of stone buildings helps not a bit to block the steady rays of Signor Sunshine. Ahime’.
Saw nothing below or, beyond. Feeling investigative, I went to the Master Bedroom which, sports two windows. The views from them are akin to a modest control tower, surveying the main drag of via Comunale directly below la Casetta, the Aulella River, the houses on the other side of the river… built in a flood plain!!!… and the rest of the urban sprawl of Codiponte in a row of buildings along the SP 445. One is the Scuzzy Bar. And from there, the 225 degrees of panorama from my exceptional vantage point was sabotaged by the infamous presence of the Commie House. I am responsible for the term. The administration who called forth said edifice to be a reality was Communist. Ah, those heady days now long gone. When Men… and Women too… were either Commies, Socialists, Democratic-Christians, Liberals, Republicans… Cars & Drivers. Yep, Cars & Drivers were politics. The Commie House is Codiponte’s ode to public housing and a fair example… if the gossip has any merit… of how political and local governmental corruption, graft & fraud can create what should not have been create… ever!!! And the same citizens & officials rant about building abuse. Ahime’.
A hateful and stupid edifice. Beside interrupting nine out of ten photographs of mine taken from il Poggiolo’s Scenic Overlook, its dominant position is like a scourge, its cement stepped architecture appalling and further more, the incomprehensible pride of its renters!!!… yes, renters!!!… EACH AND EVERYONE OF THEM owners of empty though still lovely stone houses in the main village of Codiponte… the eight apartments share a bizarre interior arrangement…
the living areas… Entrance, Salotto, Dining & Kitchen and Bathroom… have only 1 window right next to the front door and aimed at nothing in particular. Perhaps, only to see someone arrive before smashing il campanello. Instead, the sleeping areas of two ample bedrooms have large plate-glass windows pointed at The View… the Apuane Peaks… and broadsided, when shining, by a Southerly sunshine. Ahime’.
My American sensibilities are… light is for living, dark is for sleeping. The Commie House smacks the opposite. Why weren’t the areas reversed? My hunch is various circumstances corralled the choice to erect a kind of high-rise against the mountain. The original scheme was an expensive row house complex of twelve apartments chucked for budgetary and construction restraints, oddly enough. The later was an unresolved fear of the risks should the long foundation skew radically towards collapse from mudslides and/or earthquakes. The steep landscape of the property and to facilitate the installation of the utilities… fireplace, plumbing and gas kicked in too.
I really do think the renters could have cared less. They has a spanky new home in a modern building and its dark living areas were paar for the course with the since abandoned stone houses in town. It was all they knew but they much else to their liking… of dark interiors correlating to warmth & coziness… and less expense. Light posed the threat of heat in the Summer and cold in the Winter.
While huffing & puffing about the architectural arrangements over at the Commie House, I had utterly forgotten my own struggles with modernising to our contemporary… and my American… tastes & habits with il Poggiolo’s three residences… la Casetta, la Casa Grande and l’Appartamento Azzurro… to bring light and modern conveniences to their interior precincts. To be brief, I too was bounded by the same circumstances and not too alien to those of the Commie House. Or, how the old stones were laid won. Then, there is the undeniable fact… damn-it… that il Poggiolo too steps up its hill of grass, statue strewn, flowering plants terraces.
For instance…
l’Appartamento Azzurro was the residence for the farmers who had rented il Poggiolo for generations. It was the classic living & sleeping quarters above the animal stalls. A pitched roof against the rain and not in the direction of the sun, minimally three windows and two solid doors. Only the windows brought light. The floor plan was simple. An exercise of three rooms and a loft…
on the right from the front door was the kitchen anchored by an enormous, nearly lived-in fireplace and a small alcove for a sink. Water peed through a hole into the garden. Room enough for a table, some stools and perhaps, even a bed for i nonni. The single window brought the morning’s sunshine but, only once it had clamoured above il Borgo Castello above. To the left of the front door was a large open room with the loft above. More beds, I suppose. The last generation to inhabit l’Appartmento Azzurro were seven children. I know them all. Brought to light in this last room. At its Western end towards il Poggiolo’s courtyard below was another window. It let in an afternoon light and the Summer’s heat too radiating off the stones of the courtyard. Ditto when turning the corner and into another room, a bedroom, and again, only a single window to the courtyard. Beyond was a terrace. Not for sunbathing or, apertivi but, for hanging out the wash. What with seven kids. Ahime’.
You & I wanted to improve on this layout and especially to install a modern bathroom. The outhouse was down on the courtyard. Terrifically inconvenient anyway yet, more so in the rain, wind and cold of night. We also hoped to work-in a second bedroom. Could… not… wing… it. A frustrating puzzle game with no acceptable and new answer. For one reason or another. The only reasonable solution was to give into the original plan. I can admit to some relief that You & I left this vestige from il Poggiolo’s past as is. And so, the Birthing Bedroom has the light and the open space has the dark but, the dark also has lovely cathedral ceilings and a chimney flue, which splendidly heats the open space and loft. You’s refuge on visits in the Winter. And there’s more… though darkness reigns, warmth in the Winter and cool in the Summer rules.
The same darn exercise occurred with la Casetta. Happy to say… nothing beats a fire blazing, rain beating on the Salotto’s roof beyond its interior cathedral ceilings and only the small reminder of the brutto tempo outside through the single window.
Guess I better shut up or, eat my hat about the Commie House. Darn it. Hate it. Love mine!
