The kind, elderly gentleman spoke to us, quite naturally, in Italian.

“… il Centro? (“… the center city,” he inquired. As in a word of advice: if you’re trying to get to the cultural center, then you took the wrong turn back there at the divergent path.)

We had deliberately turned off before the Mobilita Alternativa, which carries you up the hill to the center city on a magic carpet ride.

We had taken the first left, the path less followed, to take the back way toward Torre dell’ Olio. (The tower of oil, aka in infamy or legend as the tower of Hannibal’s ignominious retreat from the gates of Spoleto.)

So now, it was our turn in Italian. Rebecca knew the infinitive for the verb “to go,” and quickly supplied the conjugation as she set out in her mind for the proper translation of “art store,” when I was prodded by a simple sign to supply a destination: “Torre dell’ Olio.”

A big smile from the nice man, along with well wishes for a good day.