As I had hoped, yesterday’s sleepy “Italian City of the Diary” was today full of diary fans attending the 39th annual diary/autobiography festival in the small town of Pieve Santo Stefano. A big tent filled the small central piazza and maybe 200-250 people sat in plastic chairs listening to people on stage talk in animated Italian about, we presume, diaries and related autobiographical writing. Sadly we understood none of it.
There were two African-looking people on the stage and two others, possibly Hispanic. They were the winners of the “migrant prize” which interestingly is a relatively new prize designed to add more diversity and the migrant experience. I wish I understood their entries, which were read by actors on stage. Interesting idea.
We met Italians from all over who came to volunteer and/or attend the festival. Milan, Rome, Firenze, Puglia (a one day trip, the young volunteer told me). One volunteer from Milan told me she’s been volunteering during the festival for 20 years, after donating an ancestor’s diary. The Puglia woman got hooked after using the archive to research her thesis, using diaries written by uneducated people, as she put it. Two teachers we ate dinner with said they were attending because they’d like to have their students write diaries and were particularly interested in the migrants’ writings.
Another man, a retired professor, at our table from Sienna said he’d previously been one of the “expert judges” for the big prize for best new submission that comes at the festival’s end. His wife said, oh no, when I asked if one of the the criteria was the writing quality. No, the writing is all very humble, she said. Originality was more the criteria. This being Italy, a dinner at a local restaurant, Il Portico, was offered to attendees and many partook, eating family style. It was a fun way to meet people, language notwithstanding.
In the morning we explored the gorgeous hilltop walled medieval city of anghiari, wandering through winding narrow passageways, peeking into beautiful gated gardens, looking out across the valley from on high over the 12th century wall as dark clouds moved in and but we’re followed by sun. Did a little shopping at a famous local 19th century fabric maker Bussati. And learned the hard way that we must eat lunch out by 2:30, otherwise the restaurants are closed. Problem is we had a huge breakfast at our Airbnb (such problems) so weren’t hungry until 2:30.
We ended up going to a grocery store, getting cheese, prosciutto and bread and picnicking in the car when showers moved through briefly. In Rome people didn’t seem to eat lunch until 2. We were told the further south you go in Italy, the later people eat. We returned to the town a day later for Saturday night dinner at the very atmospheric Il Feudo del Vicario. We parked at the bottom of the huge wall surrounding the town and to our surprise we walked through a lit corridor to an elevator that plopped us on the upper outer ramparts of this ancient city. Didn’t expect that.
TakeBetsywithyou 