Domenica. . .Sunday. . . And that always means that somewhere on Sunday there is something going on. In this case, it was our final morning in Massa Marittima, and Don, being the sleuth hound that he is, discovered a poster advertising a car rally that was supposed to arrive in our piazza at 9 am. So we were up, packed to leave, and out into the piazza shortly after 9 to enjoy a cappuccino for me and a spremuta d’arancia (fresh squeezed orange juice) for Don, each with a cornetto (sweet roll).
We dawdled. We waited. We finished. We waited some more. We sat on the steps of the Duomo. I went inside when I heard the organ starting mass. We checked out of Palazzo Malfatti. We sat on the steps.
One stray car came into the piazza.
We waited some more. Another stray car.
Then in the distance. . .a familiar roar. . .
Yes, the cars from the Massa Marittima run were arriving.
We chose our favorite, and decided we truly could enjoy it from afar without owning it. Maybe.