Italy came the answer from a part of me that hadn’t spoken up in twenty years.
Where in Italy? I asked.
Northern Italy. In the mountains.
Barely able to suppress the thrill of energy that surged through me at the thought of the possibilities of this new life, I pulled up Google Maps on my computer, set it to show terrain so I could see where the mountains were, and then zoomed in on a green and mountainous region in the northernmost part of continental Italy. Without thinking further, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and reached out my hand, index finger extended. My fingertip touched the screen, and I opened my eyes.
Gandino, that was the name of the town my fingertip had landed on.
Actually, Gandino was more of a village than a town, with a population of a little over 5,400, which suited me perfectly. Selecting Street View in Google Maps, I wandered through the narrow, cobblestoned lanes of the historic centre. Further research turned up a webcam overlooking a central piazza. Over the next few days, I watched it on and off. At times of day that in my experience of town life are typically quite busy, particularly the two to three hours of early afternoon, the piazza was silent and still. It’s not a very lively town, I thought, having misgivings. Nonetheless, I continued my research, beginning with apartment rentals.
I wasn’t able to find any. A search on immobiliare.it came up empty, and over the course of two or three days’ monitoring, nothing showed up either on subito.it.
Okay, so Gandino’s out as my new home. Back to the map.
Looking north and northwestward from Gandino, away from the grand plain of the river Po and into the areas of the map whose green and grey rumpledness indicated mountains, I cast about for a place name printed in slightly larger typeface. My gaze fell upon a name that sat at the convergence of two or three roads, which promised that it might be more lively than Gandino — but still not too big to be a cohesive community.
Clusone.
I started researching. There were a good number of furnished apartments to rent, but not too many. There was a ‘bio’ (organic/healthfoods) store, which at the time, being well California-ised, I considered essential, and two or three decent-sized supermarkets. Not much in the way of yoga showed up (another essential), but I could get by with a home practice.
A webcam perched behind and above the cross atop a church that sat a small hill overlooking the town didn’t show detail. Instead, its stoic gaze revealed orange-tiled roofs jostling for position along the edge of a valley and dominated by a stone bell tower, which struck skyward spectacularly high above the jumbled roofs. Snuggled at the base of a cluster of mountains stretching into the misty distance, Clusone looked inviting.
In the months that followed, that webcam view became my touchstone. I watched Clusone in all weathers, in all seasons, in daytime and in the blackness of night. One day when I tuned in, the sight of the orange roofs white under a fresh snowfall sent me into an ecstasy of anticipation.
After two weeks of obsessive research and many hours walking the streets of Clusone via the magic of Google Street View, I was satisfied that I had found my new home. Now I had to get there.