Up at the Villa

1st October 2023

Well what a good idea it was to plan a weekend away for the end of September. Who knew we were going to be treated to a sustained period of clear, sunny weather with temperatures in the mid-20s? Not us, but it certainly made our break much more enjoyable.

More of that later.

The first part of the week was fairly run of the mill, if you count Stephen locking himself out of the house – or, as he would have it, Harry locking them both out – as an everyday occurrence. How this came about is one of those concatenations that starts with something harmless like me taking my key with me when I went for my evening lesson before Stephen had arrived home. Stephen used his to get in but removed it when I was about due to make space for mine, which is the default key for opening the door. With me so far? Gripped?

Unfortunately, in the period between these two events happening, Harry, as is his wont, went out on the terrazzo to have a bit of a bark, causing Stephen to follow and see what all the fuss was about. Nothing, as usual, but it was long enough for the door to swing to behind him, which is why when I drove down the road a few minutes later it was to the sight of Harry in his accustomed lookout spot in the corner of the terrazzo and Stephen leaning nonchalantly against the wall, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Wednesday morning Stephen had the pleasure of paying the road tax on the Renegade, though to his disappointment the fierce lady at the insurance office was almost underdressed, having only three crystals and a little bit of writing on her t-shirt. The main fun, however, was in the afternoon with something that does seem to be becoming an everyday occurrence when a van got stuck on the road. I would take partial responsibility, for when I was walking Harry and Bella up the hill for their afternoon constitutional and a van supplying, according to its side, coffee and other beverages to the domestic consumer, passed me at the top, I didn’t immediately throw myself in front of it, waving my arms and blocking its progress even though I was wondering what it was doing.

When I did get back to the house, the smiley man greeted me and asked if we were number 24, Mogliano. Sorry, I said, that is the house at the top, we are number 20. He took it in good part before turning his attention to the state of the road. We agreed it was shocking. “Piano, piano,” he said, to which I said that slowly and carefully wasn’t any use, that he had to go fast in first gear if he was to have any chance of making it up. He nodded. “Piano, piano,” he said again, so we know what happened next.

He tried once, he tried twice, he tried again, this time really churning up the gravel for good measure before stopping where he was. When I made it to him to see what assistance I could offer, he had his door open and was lighting up a cigarette. He had tried to call Luigi but there was no answer, so he must have decided to just hold out there for divine intervention, which in the absence of any higher authority turned out to be me. I called Stephen to ask him to call Mario, but in the meantime I started walking up the hill as the driver was going nowhere. As I approached the top I saw Mario in the middle of the road, who must have just finished speaking to Stephen as he waved to me and called that he was just coming.

You accustomed to this scenario will know how things panned out. I returned to the car to tell the man help was at hand, he finished his cigarette, Mario chugged down on the tractor and hooked up to the van and off they went. I can’t help feeling that there is something not quite right in all this, how we and Mario have to take responsibility when the crux of it is that the Comune are not keeping the road in good order. Maybe next time we should just give whoever it is the Council’s phone number and wait to see what happens… and wait… and wait.

And so we come to Friday morning, and a leisurely start to our trip to Pesaro. As the kennel’s window for accepting new boarders is 11.00 – 13.00, it meant we were able to have our usual breakfast at Bar del Borgo and for Stephen to have his hair cut before we returned home to load the car with dogs and luggage, both ours and theirs. It was then a simple matter of taking the dogs then heading to the autostrada and hanging a left.

As it’s only a ninety-minute drive to Pesaro, even with stopping off at the services for a plate of pasta, we were well ahead of ourselves so decided to call in at Fano, a few kilometres before Pesaro, to stretch our legs and see what was what. We managed more by luck than judgement to park in the older, and judging by the various shops and businesses and the doors on the houses, a chic part of the old town where we found an old Roman arch, a flower market, a Scout shop (just a couple of shirts and a light hoodie for transitioning into winter) and a gelateria that sold remarkably fine ice cream indeed.

Suitably fortified, we completed the short, ten-minute hop to the hotel, which was situated in a small village just outside Pesaro. The hotel itself is a fairly modern building, maybe twenty years old, that is set in the grounds of the 17th century Villa Catani-Stuart, built in a sympathetic style by the family who currently own and work the estate, and with an air of civilised calm which makes you feel instantly relaxed.

As it was still only mid-afternoon and the weather was continuing its run of sunny days, we unpacked, pulled on the swim shorts which we had taken just in case and made for the swimming pool. We joined the handful of people soaking up some rays in a quite idyllic setting on the lower terrazzo below the Italianate (oddly enough) garden in front of the old villa, and with a panorama over the low wall of the surrounding countryside.

It was gone five when the sun disappeared behind the trees, a sign that we should head back to the room to rest up before going out to dinner so Stephen changed out of his wet swim shorts in the men’s poolside facilities where, in another sign that we were somewhere that knew what was what, he was able to leave his towel on the hook with our room number. The hotel doesn’t have a restaurant, but there was a local osteria about 200 metres down the road where the obliging young man on reception had made a reservation for us and where the food was acceptable, especially the meat, and the service quick and efficient. It was then back to the hotel for a nightcap in the bar and heads down for the night.

After breakfast, which was as plentiful as it was good, it took us just ten minutes yesterday morning to drive the few kilometres into Pesaro and find the free car park which Stephen had chosen for ease of access. A fifteen-minute walk took us to the Piazza del Popolo and a demonstration, about what we couldn’t make out, but it was very civilised, leaving the various police officers standing around to enjoy the morning sunshine and a bit of a chat. From here we walked up towards the Rossini Museum, along a pedestrianised road - if you don’t count the number of bikes weaving in and out.

I have never been anyway with as many cyclists, but it seemed fitting for the city, which on this Saturday morning had an almost village feel. Besides riders of all ages (including an elegant woman of more than a certain age, whose coiffed hair remained perfectly in place), there were people out doing their weekend shopping or sitting at tables meeting friends, having a late breakfast or mid-morning merenda. Of course, the glorious weather helped, but even so you did think that it was one city where you wouldn’t actually mind living.

The museum, when we got there, was interesting and very well done, with interactive displays, dual-language signs (that even made sense in English) and lots of opportunities to listen to and watch excerpts of Rossini’s work. From there we walked down towards the lungomare, passing his birthplace on the way. We didn’t go in as we were a bit Rossini’d out by then, veering to the opposite side of the street for a few essentials from Flying Tiger instead (would you expect anything different?).

It was then on to the front to take in the feature of which Pesaro seems most proud, its golden sphere, or if you prefer, Sfera Grande di Pomodoro. I was admittedly puzzled as to why it is referred to as the tomato, as other than both being round there seemed little similarity between the sculpture and the love apple. All became clear when I discovered it was not named after something you eat but the artist who created it, leaving me wondering whether Arnold Tomato sounds just as romantic to an Italian ear as Arnaldo Pomodoro does to a British one.

After lunch in a place by the sea (a seafood pizza for Stephen, pizza Rossini for me – slices of hard-boiled egg and zig-zagging lines of mayonnaise, which I took to be a representation of notes on a stave, but maybe by that point I’d been brainwashed; either way it was very good) it was back to the hotel and more quality time by the pool, including a very acceptable aperitivo to put us on before returning to La Vecchia Cantina for a primo of cappelletti in brodo and a meaty secondo (very meaty in Stephen’s case, given the size of his bistecca).

This morning after breakfast and a stroll round the grounds, we were ready at 10.30 to take advantage of the free guided tour of the Villa Cattani-Stuart given by a very nice lady who spoke in Italian (very clearly) and then English for the ten people who made up the party. The villa has been renovated recently by the Tommasini family who currently own the estate to showcase the ceiling frescos original to the building on the downstairs level. Some family members live in the upstairs area which, unlike the period feel to the lower floor, is like any other modern apartment, said the guide. It was all very informative, and apart from viewing the frescos, it was also interesting to get to know about the history of the villa and to find out the Stuart connection. Apparently, when the Old Pretender failed to claim the throne, he spent six months there when he was travelling around Europe, depending on the kindness of strangers.

The tour took just under an hour, leaving us with the dilemma of what to do next. Neither of us was particularly hungry and it was a bit early to hit the pool so what was left but to get in the car and drive into Pesaro again, which was as quiet as most Italian places are at Sunday lunchtime, as we were on a bit of a mission. The first objective was to find the wall of books, which is part of the civic museum complex and which looked as good in reality as in the picture, though maybe Stephen was a little disappointed it was made from fibreglass and not from real ones.

Objective number two was a return to Flying Tiger to get a second cutting board for Stephen and three more pairs of the reading glasses on offer at €2 a pair to go with the pair we bought yesterday so I had one pair for upstairs, one for downstairs and one for each bag.

That completed it was objective number three, another visit to Scout, but the Pesaro branch this time, as Stephen had somehow forgotten to pack one of the copious number of caps he has at home and so the top of his head was getting burnt. As we were in the area, it seemed rude not to add to Friday’s trawl with a couple of t-shirts each and a cap for me, and a cream Levi sweatshirt - just to be polite.

As for the rest of the day, it was back to the pool then a change into glad rags and a return to Pesaro, this time the holiday area where we strolled along the prom, had dinner near the Pomodoro then drove back for a night cap, and all before 10pm. You can’t say fairer than that for a very satisfying and relaxing couple of days – and we still have breakfast to look forward to tomorrow.