No other place I wanted to be.

The lack of color. The drabness.  That’s what caught my  eye.  At first glimpse. Seeing the old town of Matera.  Built into a steep hillside. I could hardly believe what I was seeing. And it all looked so beautiful.  Despite the grayish and brownish earthen tones of the rock.  Yes, drab in a glamorous way.  Before the Italians brought pastel color and orange-tiled roofs into their dwellings. I was stepping back into time. From the stone terrace. Just outside our room in the Hotel Sassi. Nightfall. In time to hear the bells toll eventide. The hotel carved into the sandstone rock.  Gave the room the appearance of a cave. But a modern cave. With soft lighting.  With a spiffy  bathroom.  A flush toilet. A shower. All the conveniences.  Oh, I wondered. If the spirits of old could see all this. And sit down. And converse. With we moderns.  Not long ago. In the 20^th century. People were still living in the caves. Until they were forced out. By the Italian government. For their own sake. Because cave-life ain’t healthy.  It’s dark and dank. Unsanitary.  Though I wouldn’t mind living in a cave. Especially if it was the 13^th century.  The cave protected me. From the elements. From the cold. The hot, oppressive summers. It was the good life. Relatively speaking.  Little wonder that people flocked to the region in prehistoric times. Little wonder that Matera became Matera. Little wonder that I came to Matera. With my Italian true love.  For the moment, there was no other place I wanted to be. –Jim Broede