Perugia for a Day

Life in Italy has its aggravations, but sometimes it’s as idyllic as you think

The sky on a very good day in Perugia. All photos © Cheryl A. Ossola

I live in Italy, and I’m retired. Okay, I know what happens in your brain when you read that—you instantly imagine lazy days filled with socializing at the neighborhood bar, sipping a spritz when it’s sweltering, some wine or cioccolata calda to counter bone-chilling blasts. You imagine yourself drowning in art and food, spending hours exploring winding streets and sampietrini-ed piazzas, stumbling across panoramic beauty so extreme it makes you feel drunk or ill. And if you’re a writer, your brain kicks in images of long, productive days spent at the antique desk you found at the market in the piazza, with a dog at your feet or a cat on your lap (or your laptop).

You’re not wrong. Italy can be like that, and it often is. But then there are the days that make you want to tear your hair out, make you swear in multiple languages, make you long for the ease of living in a place where you know what to expect and aren’t bewildered by convoluted processes and illogical behaviors (as happened, for example, on this terrible horrible no good very bad day). Not that days like that don’t exist wherever you came from.

Today wasn’t one of those days. Today was fluid, smiled upon by the gods, worthy of gratitude. (I’m writing this on Thanksgiving Day.) So let’s do a little reenactment, shall we? Off we go!

First up, an hourlong walk with Aria, who is sometimes A Very Good Dog and sometimes not. Like three days ago, when she was supposed to have surgery and instead barfed up a foul mix of [redacted] with a large piece of something rubbery as the main ingredient. (Where she found it and how she managed to eat it without my noticing, I have no idea.) Being hesitant to anesthetize a dog that might have a GI problem, my vet rescheduled the surgery. But today we manage our walk without the consumption of rubber items or disgusting food waste, and without any arm-dislocating cat sightings. Off to a good start!

Walk completed, I drop Aria off at home, change into presentable shoes, and head to the bus stop. I’m on my way to my family doctor. Pre-Covid, you’d just show up during office hours, ask the people waiting who was the last to arrive, then designate yourself as the new last person. Now we have to make appointments, which sometimes saves time and sometimes doesn’t. (“Sometimes” is a word to live by in Italy.)

Today, after arriving exactly on time, I wait about ten minutes for the dottoressa to finish with a patient—or more precisely, to almost finish, then ask me if I mind waiting while she runs to the pharmacy next door. Cinque minuti, ti giuro! (Five minutes, I promise!) I don’t mind, and soon enough it’s my turn. We discuss what’s needed, then she writes prescriptions for a Vitamin D supplement (sunny Italian days notwithstanding, my body just can’t hang onto that D), a non-urgent specialist visit, and a bone density screening. Ah, the joys of aging.

The dottoressa and I both know it’s likely there won’t be appointments available for the visit and the screening—another Covid-induced change, because money is tight and lots of doctors retired during the lockdowns (or so I’m told)—and we indulge in some mutual complaining. If there are no appointments, I can either wait and have her redo the prescriptions later (they expire) and try again, or I can go private, meaning outside of the SSN (Servizio Sanitaria Nazionale). Since this is our second attempt already, I’ll go private if needed. I leave, having paid nothing as usual for a primary care doctor visit.

At the pharmacy next door, I get the mega-dose vitamin supplement (no charge) and go to the CUP desk (Centri Unici di Prenotazione) to schedule the two appointments. (Not all pharmacies offer this service.) You can also schedule appointments at a poliambulotorio (a CUP-equipped medical facility for checkups, screenings, and outpatient procedures), which is part of the regional healthcare system, in my case USL (Unità Sanitaria Locale) Umbria. Sometimes, if a pharmacy CUP can’t find any appointments, it’s worth going to an USL CUP; sometimes not. And sometimes if there are no appointments, you can get on a waiting list. And (you guessed it) sometimes not.

Today I’m in luck, because I walk out with two appointments, one only a little more than a month out (pretty reasonable) and the other for next March. In another city. Since the appointment isn’t urgent, I opt to wait rather than pay for private care. So I’ll take a 30-minute train ride, maybe have some lunch and do a little exploring after I see the doc. It’s not awful.

You’re probably wondering what I’ll pay for these two appointments (on top of my annual fee, which is based on income and is a small fraction of what I used to pay for health insurance in the US). The answer is zero.

Now I head up into the historic center, where I have errands to run. It’s never wise to assume you’ll accomplish all you intend to, but since the day has gone well so far, I’m optimistic.

First stop, the Antica Latteria, which has been here since 1925, for a caffè con panna (coffee with house-made whipped cream, so thick you can stand a spoon in it) and a bombolone (basically a filled doughnut). I resist going there as much as possible, for waistline reasons; however, since I have informed the owner, who’s probably in his 80s, that he must live forever and can never retire, I need to do my part to keep the business going. Fortunately, there’s a young man (a family member, I think) who is apparently learning the ropes, so I think we’re good. 

It's always a good day at the Antica Latteria.

Now it’s on to the bank to pay the second installment of my income tax bill, due by November 30 (the first is paid in June). I pass through Piazza Matteotti, where the skating rink, a holiday season tradition, is being constructed, and I get a twinge of Christmassy joy. My sons won’t be with me this year (I’ve been lucky to spend the last two Christmases with them here in Italy), but my older son is coming here for two weeks beforehand, so I’m grateful for that.

In Corso Vannucci, the heart of the centro storico, I walk by Pasticceria Sandri, a Perugia institution since 1860, known for its fabulous window displays (and yes, its coffee and pastries are good too). What’s in the window now is an adorable model of the Chiesa di Sant’Ercolano and the often-photographed Sant’Ercolano steps.

Sandri’s windows are always works of art, but so is the shop’s interior (visible at the top of the photo).

At the bank, I take a number and wait my turn, about 20 minutes. Ten minutes later, after everything has been rubber-stamped and signed, I walk out somewhat poorer than I was when I arrived. Death and taxes and all that.

I like my bank’s dual personality. You enter through an arched medieval portal and end up in this modern subterranean space.

Being poorer doesn’t deter me from my next errand, which is a not-quite-necessary purchase. Fortunately it’s at a chain store, which means it won’t be closed for the pausa. (In Perugia, most of the privately owned stores do close from 12:30 or 1pm to 3:30 or 4pm; however, pausa practices vary from town to town and region to region.) So off I go to Tezenis to buy a sweater I’d seen previously (shopping tip—if you like it, buy it, because in most cases stock isn’t reordered), and luck is again with me because they have the color, style, and size I want. Then I pop into Kiko’s (another chain) to buy a new lipstick. After all, the holidays are coming up.

One last stop, at the fairly recently reopened Galleria Nazionale dell’Umbria, a spectacular collection housed in the medieval Palazzo dei Priori, to inquire about an abbonamento (yearly membership) and cruise through the bookshop. I won’t visit the museum today, but I’m eager to see what’s changed since the yearlong renovation. I hope the building’s interior hasn’t been touched, because it’s as much a work of art as the treasures it holds.

From misty rain this morning to overcast skies, the weather has changed again, to sunshine and mild temperatures. I linger in Piazza Quattro Novembre, admiring the recently restored façade of the Duomo—and loving that the work was done under the guidance of my friend and neighbor Margherita, an art conservator. Knowing that, and knowing her, I feel more connected to my adopted home, somehow more woven into the fabric of this place.

In typical American fashion (old habits insist on long, lingering deaths), I feel compelled to race home once my errands are done. But the day is fine, and there’s no reason to rush, even if it means shaving a few minutes off my afternoon of writing. The Duomo steps are a favorite resting/gathering place, offering views of the piazza and passersby. Or, if the weather is brutto and a little beauty is what you need, paintings and stained glass and marble in various hues await you inside the Duomo, along with a sense of peace.

I find a place on the steps in the sun and watch Perugia go about its business. The city still wears its Covid scars, and the price of survival keeps going up. A few more businesses have closed, and hopeful new ones have popped up in their place, unfortunately selling high-end clothing instead of the practical items that can be hard to find in the historic center. I’m not happy that another big commercial center is under construction nearby, pulling businesses and customers away from the city’s heart.

Still, today I’m focusing on the goodness here, and there’s plenty of it. I’ve heard that families are returning to the historic center, and there’s ample neighborhood pride in Perugia’s five rioni (districts). Besides the National Gallery, there are small museums housed in ex-palazzi, the large archeological museum, workshop/museums where centuries-old traditions like stained glass and weaving survive, an opera house and many small concert venues, markets for produce and goods, and parks whose benches beckon to young and old, tourist and resident. Tourism is up, and Umbria is now proudly on Lonely Planet’s list of Best Places to Travel in 2023. If that’s not enough, I could be at the train station in 10 or 15 minutes or at Perugia’s airport in 30. I’m grateful to live here, glad to have put in the sacco of work needed to make it happen. Grateful that my sons are willing to travel to be with me.

In the evening, an Italian friend and I go out for Thanksgiving dinner—her first, which is why I’m going. I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving here; for me, the holiday was always more about family and friends than food. My sons were having a traditional dinner at their father’s, with board games to follow, and I’m grateful for that.

I’m finishing this letter nearly a week later. Aria has had her surgery and tutto è andato bene, though she’s grumpy about her collare elisabettiano. I’m preparing for a week of travel with my son and another week with him here in Perugia to enjoy the Christmas festivities. I may not get to spend the holidays with my kids every year, but we make new memories in other ways and celebrate our time together whenever it comes. And those days—of travel and food and exploration and conversation and reminiscing—are very good indeed.

© 2022 Cheryl A. Ossola

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Poem of the week:

• “Perhaps the World Ends Here” by Joy Harjo