Sunday in Italy

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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.


Don quickly sprinted down the steps and talked to the guy, who fortunately spoke English.  He was looking for the car rally, and Don told him he was “numero uno!”  He drove off.

We waited some more.  Another stray car.


We were bummed.  The guy who previously had set up signposts and directional arrows was gone.  All we could imagine was that the route had been changed and the cars wouldn’t be coming. 

Then in the distance. . .a familiar roar. . . 

Yes, the cars from the Massa Marittima run were arriving.


Here is our Rosina’s older sister. . . 


Don was having his “pig in mud” moments, talking to guys, showing pictures of Pearl and Rosina.  Despite the language barrier, they all spoke the same–CAR!


Marty, this one’s for YOU!!


We noticed that each car had its “panty” underneath for drips!


So they arrived two hours late.  So, it’s Italy, and that’s the way it is.  But the cars were here and so were we, so it was all good!

We chose our favorite, and decided we truly could enjoy it from afar without owning it.  Maybe.


She’s French.  Ooh, la, la.   Would she like an Italian and a British sister??!!

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