That didn’t take long. Well, maybe it did feel like forever when I was quarantined but it’s over and I’m free. My friends around here didn’t waste any time, taking pity on a man alone on a mountaintop.

But the first thing I needed to do was shop. I’d run out of fresh food, but by not being a pig and eating through the pasta, canned tuna and tetra-packed beans, I emerged in pretty good shape. So, gathering some garbage (we don’t have pickup here; you have to take trash to locked bins down the road) I headed toward one of the local supermarkets.

I was curious to see what, if anything, was different, and the answer is, not much. People here wear masks out a lot and you’re not allowed indoors unless you’re wearing a mask. But even hidden behing paper and cloth, Umbrians are the same people I knew back in that former life called “last year.” It felt great to be walking up and down the aisle, not feeling as though I were violating some law, as I did the day I landed and foraged for lockdown food.

Like I said, my friends didn’t waste any time. Debora and Angela were first, inviting me to a “cena-barbecue con distanziamento sociale” (a socially distancing dinner-barbecue). They set up a table outside their spectacular new house and invited neigbhors over, too. They live in a hamlet above the center of Valfabbrica called Poggio S. Dionisio, and somehow the name fits. The women exude a sense of carefree fun when they’re entertaining. And I don’t know if it was the influence of his homemade wine, but sometime later this month I’ll be harvesting grapes from neighbor Franco’s vineyard.

Then the guy who picked me up at Fiumicino (Rome’s main airport), Angelo, asked me if I’d like to see some Pintoricchios. The town of Spello, a small jump from Assisi, was opening its churches at night for guided looks at a couple of spectacular frescoes. I knew of the frescoes and saw one of them a few years back, but, savage that I am, I’d just look at the colors and the backgrounds. I also found it amusing to see Italy behind what was supposed to be a biblical scene set in the Middle East. Dinner came first, the Osteria del Cambio in Palazzo, a homey place where, for €25 ($28) for two, you have have a pasta, main course with salad, wine and coffee. Our pasta course alone (tagliatelle with black summer truffles) would set you back in New York more than what we paid for the whole meal.

It’s curious to see, or rather hear and feel the difference in people here since the virus struck with catastrophic results back in the spring. People here usually complain about everything. And Italians in general aren’t particularly nationalistic. There’s none of the flag-waving here that you see in the U.S. But people seem proud of what they accomplished together. It’s been a morale boost for people who’ve been traumatized by COVID-19 and have lived through decades of a weak economy. Despite a recent spike due in large part to returning vacationers, Italy in general, and Umbria in particular, have beaten back the virus so that we can cautiously and taking precautions, live fairly normal lives.

Finally, to round out the weekend, I took a ride with Letizia and Rudd to the Valnerina, south of here and east of Spoleto. Letizia wanted to try a little restaurant called Il Sovrano in a hamlet called Sant’Anatolia di Narco. The meal was a relaxing finale to a busy weekend. The place specializes in the local pecorino cheese, and, of course since it’s truffle territory, black truffles. The food was good, the setting on a bluff overlooking the valley, idyllic. It was the perfect way to end my liberation weekend.

My car mocks me. It sits there right outside the front door, all bright red and curvy. It says, seductively, “Let’s go! Where can we explore today, Anthony?” and the best I can manage to do is pass the car and circle the closed pool for exercise. It’s sorta like being a prison inmate during exercise hour, but more scenic.

One day more of quarantine, admittedly a self-inflicted one. I get more antsy yet more lazy by the day. I started out with ambitious goals: to post to this blog every other day while writing a soon to be filmed novel, and to record all the instruments to songs that a band I was in played back when.

So far, I have an outline, and I dragged out the MIDI controller that will allow me to mimic guitars, basses, drums, keyboards and other assorted instruments on my Mac. I find myself strumming chords and saying, hmmm, how would that sound on a concert grand? A glockenspiel?

I also thought I might have fun cooking for myself. I love to cook. I will think of ridiculously labor-intensive ways to prepare relatively simple dishes. (Yes, you absolutely must fry each vegetable separately when you make caponata, or else it’s just a bunch of veggies thrown together. And don’t you dare just put that fresh shrimp in the pasta sauce without pushing it on the grill first.) But cooking for yourself is nowhere near as satisfying as being around your favorite people and enjoying it together.

So let me just say that decent store-bought pesto is a good thing. And so are these frozen seafood preparations that you can get in Italian supermarkets. And tetra-pack beans are so much better than canned ones….

I did have one surge of energy a few days ago, when I emulated The Spartan Woman and baked some bread. It wasn’t my first—that was a semi-successful attempt at no-knead bread in a Dutch oven. But TSW can practically do it in her sleep, and I was out of bread and I had nothing better to do, so…. Of course, she coached me. It’s great how we can chat across continents for just the monthly Internet fee, isn’t it? I’m kind of proud of the result:

Happily, friends here are planning activities for when I bust out, or more accurately, descend from the mountaintop, in second gear, hugging the right side of our narrow road.