Holidays in Amelia

Vacations are never as relaxing as we think they're going to be, are they?

Photo of Amelia in morning light by Catherine Rae Schofield

To any workaholic, vacations aren’t meant to be enjoyed. They’re proof that you’re not as far gone as everyone says you are. With an air of injured virtue, you wave them at the smug, annoying people who insist you “have a problem,” and then experience a mini nervous breakdown after the door is closed. Because the truth is, all the emotions you’ve been shoving aside while you work, work, work are now running roughshod over your good intentions.

So it was for me these last two weeks. I gave myself a break from writing, sat in my chair, and went a little mad. I’m no good at these things. I can’t relax. My leisure activities have to have a purpose, which is why I read three lengthy tomes researching my next novel, thought obsessively about the fate of our nation, caught up with old friends, all of whom appear to be suffering the torments of the damned (two divorces, one Covid-related death of a spouse, one bone cancer, one loss of an adult child, one bankruptcy, and acres and acres of bleak holiday-inspired loneliness), and then I cooked. I cooked a lot. By New Year’s Eve, I could barely feel my hands.

I’m telling you right now that’s one showstopper of a book. It was so good, Olive read it. Then I wrote to the author, Charlotte Gordon, to tell her how brilliant she is and how much I appreciated her scholarship. #ThatKindOfStalker

But there is one thing I am very good at, and that is sightseeing. I’m an avid pedestrian (except when it’s cold; then I’m an avid car passenger). Bad news in our medieval Italian village: a Covid spike. Good news: there’s plenty to see right here in Amelia, providing you’re wearing a mask and have a Green Pass (proof of vaccination). And one of my favorite go-to places is the Duomo that sits at the top of the hill.

I won’t lie. Getting there is rough. It’s a vertical incline, and the paths are uneven and meandering. Because Amelia is four hundred years older than Rome, the village isn’t laid out in a logical grid of roads radiating out from a main piazza. There are streets crisscrossing everywhere. Seen from above, it must look like two drunk snails who wanted to mate but couldn’t find each other in the dark. So the only way you know you’re headed in the right direction is if you’re panting and your heart is heaving out of your chest.

But … once you get there, standing outside the Duomo affords you 360 degree views of the Umbrian countryside. After all, you’re 1,332 feet up; 400 meters above sea level. It’s all gently rolling hills in checkerboard patterns of burnt gold and sage green, surrounded by an operatic sky: slate gray in winter, pale lemon in spring, a hard blue shell in summer.

An Italian sky never holds back. She always tells you exactly how she feels.

View from the top of Amelia. Photo by Stacey Eskelin.

Standing there is like standing in front of an ocean. Whatever your problems were before you arrived seem insignificant now. You will be dead and gone at some point, but this beauty (barring another invasion of Goths, as happened in the 5th century, or earthquakes, like the one in 1240 that leveled the Duomo itself before it was rebuilt) will continue in perpetuity. Strange and off-putting I may be, but I take great comfort in that. I’m here and then I’m gone; Italy is forever.

My purpose in trundling up that hill was to visit the Duomo’s famous presepe or Nativity scene. Amelia has over 140 of them, billed as Presepi in vetrina or “Nativity Scenes in Windows,” and most of them are quite charming. The one at the Duomo was supposed to be a true work of art; ergo, the determined, upwards hoofing.

I wasn’t disappointed.

The presepe at the Duomo of Amelia is a permanent installation, but it’s been closed due to Covid. When I heard they’d opened it again, I got the kind of excited that tends to make people roll their eyes at me.

The nativity is actually a series of dioramas, each done in breathtaking detail by a Barcelonan artist in the 1960s named Juan Mari Oliva. Called “Creches of the Annunciation,” they are meant to depict the most important moments of Christ’s life, from birth to death: Annunciation, Baptism, the Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes, Last Supper, Death, and Resurrection. Looky-loos are allowed to drop a fifty-cent coin into the slot and watch the sun rise and set inside a box containing the biggest diorama. The whole thing is like gazing at a Biblically themed dollhouse, complete with caves, runaway livestock, and a phalanx of painted palms.

Adorable diorama in the Duomo of Amelia, including chickens.

But there are plenty of other nativity scenes to be had all the way down our street of Via Repubblica. I was so besotted with nativity scenes when I was a kid, I actually made one populated by walnut people with googly eyes. I didn’t understand that circumspection was required when depicting a moment of deep religious veneration, so my Wise Men looked like hippies. One wore a peace sign. Jesus’s mother dressed like Cher.

In addition to decorated shop windows, there are Christmas lights everywhere, even places where you might not expect to see them. The air smells like woodsmoke. When rain has fallen and the streets are reflective, the ground is carpeted in twinkling stars.

I will admit that the religious aspects of the season don’t speak to me as much as the beauty and the history do. At least the effort is sincere, humble, and conceals no ulterior motive, which is more than I can say about some of the setups I’ve seen in my home state of Texas. There, Jesus is surrounded by carnival barkers.

Here’s a lovely nativity scene from a church in nearby Spoleto. We were a little concerned about the missing Jesus. Who steals a baby Jesus? Then some Italian friends kindly told us that the Jesus isn’t placed inside the nativity scene until Christmas Eve.

Here’s another way to look at it. If the reason for the season is to slow down and take a moment to notice the beauty around you, then mission accomplished. This workaholic American appreciated with a vengeance. I wouldn’t put up a tree or hang a string of lights if you stuck a gun to my head, but I am eternally grateful for the holiday spirit of others.

Blue Christmas tree in front of one of the palazzi in Amelia.

And isn’t that the point—to appreciate? To take your foot off the gas, even if it’s difficult, drives you crazy, and makes you feel like a slacker?

After all, what’s the point of having a life if you never live it?

Do you have trouble taking a vacation, or are you one of those intrepid souls who guiltlessly throws herself into the fray? I want to hear about it! Feel free to leave your comments below.