La Trappa Pt. 1
Letter #63: One of the most beautiful places I've ever stayed in my life, and also I apologize for my rambling--this piece is definitely written as a journal entry.
7/30/23
La Trappa was the second place I booked for WWOOFing. It’s located north of Biella, up in the Italian pre-alps, not so far from both Switzerland and France. I ended up reaching La Trappa early since Marco would be heading back to his hometown on Saturday, July 29th to help his friends rebuild. There had been a terrible tornado in the eastern Tuscany that had torn the roofs off the farms of his childhood friends. He said tornadoes never came through Italy…
So, I texted the manager of La Trappa to see if they had room for me to come a couple days early (I was meant to arrive on Tuesday, September 1st). I knew this was more of an agriturismo site for tourism rather than a working farm. There were dormitory type sleeping arrangements so I was in luck—there was room for me to show up three days early.
Marco dropped me at the Contea-Londa station to catch the 11:15am train to Florence. From there, I messed up and got off one stop early in Florence. I panicked when I couldn’t tell if the next stop was in fact Firenze Santa Maria Novella, or if this would be the only stop the train was making in Florence (I accidentally got off at Firenze San Marco Vecchio). So I rushed to hail a taxi to the correct train station to catch my connecting train that would carry me on into the north. I was kicking myself for wasting 15 Euros on a cab, as I had already wasted an additional 30 Euros on my Biella train ticket because I hadn’t purchased it ahead of time, meaning only premium seating was left available for the trip. I had to make two transers, one at Milano Centrale, and another in Novara.
When I finally reached Biella at 4:54pm, I had 20 minutes to buy a bus ticket to head to Oropa. It’s funny, waiting to speak to a rep at the ticket counter seems to take REALLY long in Italy. Has anyone else experienced this?! It’s been my experience twice now…
I got my ticket and ran out to where I saw the only bus and asked the driver if he was heading to Oropa. He shook his head no and directed me towards another sign that, I then realized, read “360 Biella-Oropa”. Luckily, the bus showed up a couple minutes later (otherwise I’d have to wait another hour). It’s amazing how much you can put together the use of public transportation through Google Maps, but it does take quite a bit of critical thinking to make for a successful trip. My years of taking the subway, NJ Transit, and Metro North have helped me become more savvy at figuring out international travel.
Biella wasn’t so interesting to me as the bus wound through the streets, (although I’m sure I’d feel differently once I actually spent time there), but once we began to head up into the mountains, the landscape and surrounding villages became more and more beautiful.
There was a half marathon going on (and in the evening no less!) and I was impressed, watching all these runners climb up the hilly, narrow road. It made me jealous. I wanted to join them. I hadn’t run in 6 days while staying on Marco’s farm.
I reached Oropa about 6pm and messaged the farm. I was told Pietro was on his way to pick me up. (I got off at the wrong stop AGAIN! Oropa has two stops and I panicked at which one to get off at, so got off at the later/incorrect stop). Pietro pulled up in a little grey hatchback with Teresa in the front seat. He helped me load my bags into the back and we headed down to the farm. Pietro and Teresa are friends from university, and Teresa’s father runs La Trappa.
Both were so welcoming, so kind, asking questions about me, and I of them.
When we reached the panorama of Trappa, the old textile mill-turned-monastery set against a backdrop of the Italian Alps, it was far better than what I’d seen in the photos. It was absolutely silent, save for the cowbells, gently tinkling as the cows grazed in the pastures below, and for the odd donkey call from either of their two donkeys, Mina & Quino.
Teresa and Pietro gave me a quick tour of the building—the kitchen, most importantly, being the heart of the establishment—and showed me to my room. The dormitory style room was much more pleasant than I had anticipated. There were four twin beds, two of which were separated by a half wall. The ceiling was cavernous with arches and a door opening out to a balcony, overlooking the pasture where we’d also hang out laundry to dry in the sun. The room was rustic and simply decorated. I had an immediate sense of calm there.
There were around 30 people staying that night, which was very unusual for the B&B, but it was for a celebration of their main cook’s birthday—Paulo—as well as Festa La Trappa e Sordevolo, a yearly festival that invites the surrounding townspeople to hike up to the farm for lunch and wine under the sun.
Paolo is turning 80 this year and had been running the kitchen for 40 some years. He’s incredibly agile, maneuvering huge pots of risotto and polenta, and you could tell how loved he was by all his colleagues. Many past employees showed up to celebrate his birthday, and the musicians that were hired for the festival played Happy Birthday for him—the guitar, accordian, and saxophone all serenading this celebrated man. The band proceeded to play a few more songs in the front lobby while the crew danced a traditional Italian dance together.
Even at his own birthday party Paolo had made a huge vat of risotto with zucchini, and he served me, asking if I wanted a glass of wine. He didn’t speak any English, but he was so sweet and welcoming, even to me, the new American that just arrived that day and doesn’t speak Italian.
I retired to bed around 10:30pm. I was sharing a room with Diana who I’d just met—she leads tours around La Trappa on Sundays—and Christine, the other WWOOFer, an older French woman.
We went to sleep and I slept ok for being in a new place and sharing a room with others. That following morning, Sunday, we rushed down for breakfast at 8am, eating with the group of us that had stayed over the night before. We had a big day ahead of us—Christine and I were to begin the day by arranging 30 vases of wildflowers for the tables that would be set up for the festival and lunch. After that, we’d help flip out some of the rooms that evening and clean the 3 bathrooms of the premises. Oh—and the bat poop. We went around the monastery looking for the little black pellets that look like mouse poop. The bats sleep up in the stone arches and create “droppings” on the stone hallway below. But cleaning up after them wasn’t gross. It was easy to sweep up, and gave me a chance to explore the building further.
Everything is open air. Sure, there are glass windows and some doors, but, still, most of the building is just as much outside as it is inside. The sound of the farmer’s cows grazing through the fields outside Trappa, their bells chiming nonstop, creates a beautiful backdrop of sound. And then you’ll hear Quino’s hee-haw, with Bardi (the dog) barking after him.
I LOVED getting the vases of wildflowers set up. Christine and I walked around the farm clipping different flowers, grasses, and ferns to create each vase. I could’ve done that all day. I plucked off the heads of the edible violets and borage flowers that the cooks would later use to decorate the antipasto and dessert plates.
Guests began arriving around 10am. Trekkers were coming in from all directions, and groups showed up to attend a tour of the grounds of La Trappa and the neighboring town, Sordevolo. Guests oo’ed and ah’ed as I set the vases of wildflowers on their tables. I responded with a simple “prego”, knowing full well my terrible American pronunciation would give away that we would not be able to continue an Italian conversation any further. 🤣
There were several people preparing food for the lunch guests. The antipasto (appetizer) included salame, formaggio (cheese), eggplant, zucchini, and acciughe (anchovies). Paolo prepared an enormous pot of polenta concia outside—I’d never seen a pot that big in my life. Apparently there were 12 kg of butter in his polenta—that’s 26 pounds of butter! 🤯
There was bread, wine, beer, and coffee available. Water, of course, was free-flowing from the outdoor fountains, cold and delicious straight from the mountains. It was a non-stop parade of refilling water jugs, bussing tables, and washing the growing pile of dishes in the kitchen. I haven’t worked in a restaurant in over 8 years, but I was having fun.
There didn’t seem to be any sort of hierarchy here, with everyone chipping in to do their fair share of cooking, cleaning, and serving. That day, the work wasn’t at all stressful—I was enjoying it. Full hands (of dishes) into the kitchen, and full hands (of refills) out. I still have nightmares about the dive bar I worked at in Minnesota while I was in college. I was at the same place for 7 years and it STILL is the hardest job I’ve ever had, including working in NYC. It felt like we were always overstaffed and standing around, annoyed that we had to rely on tips to be paid, or severely understaffed and running around like chickens with our heads cut off, with no way to stay organized and recover.
It wasn’t a very healthy environment with management, and so one day I had had enough—NO MORE. I went out and found a different bar job the next day. I guess I have a track record for over-staying at jobs (7 years here, 10 years there) long after I had become really unhappy…
And so this day of serving happy hikers at the festival was equally laid back and rewarding.
Around 4:30pm, the band was to perform their concert. The guests arranged themselves on the benches in the open air auditorium, which may have been some sort of chapel in the past (I’ll never know, as I never had an official tour of the museum’s history). Us staffers hung out in the little balconies overlooking the band playing below. They played traditional Italian songs—only one of which I recognized—but it was a surreal experience. The enchanting music wafting through this cavernous old building set in the mountains…I did my best to remain present and enjoy the adventure.
My mind wanted to wander and focus on the questions I wanted answered. What was the schedule for each day? How many hours would I be working, and when were our free hours so I could maintain my own routine? And how many people will be staying here on a daily basis? What is my role here?
I heard from a few people that there isn’t a set schedule at La Trappa, things happen in an organic and somewhat chaotic manner. This goes against my driven, highly organized, and productive personality that likes to know what to expect, so I’d have to learn to embrace the unknown and go with the flow. Planning ahead might not be so possible here…for the next 3 weeks.
Something odd happened the first night I arrived. I had set my things in my room and went to use the bathroom. TMI, but I hadn’t peed since I left Marco’s that morning at 10:45am. Which is so not like me. So I went, and when I stood up from the toilet, realized the string tied around my wrist as a blessing from Pak Mangku Ked had fallen in the toilet…😬 Obviously I couldn’t retrieve it, and even if I could I don’t think I would’ve been meant to tie it back on. Once the reminder of the blessing falls off, what does it mean? At first I said “oh no…” and felt a little sad. But then realized I was in a new place, a sort of paradise in the mountains, and wondered if it was a good sign, a transition into the next phase of the journey.
I recently read an excerpt by Cecile Marion about how at some point in her sabbatical—closer to the middle or end I would imagine—she switched from a scarcity mindset to an abundance mindset. And I read it AFTER having repeated those same words to my parents earlier that day. My funds were becoming lower and lower, the balance slowly ticking away. And, yet, I wasn’t afraid of it. Something had switched in my brain. I wasn’t bringing in an money (save for the funds I receive from some of my readers here 🥰), and yet I was no longer afraid of running out.
It was one of the first times I’ve experienced this in my life, the abundance mindset. It myst be the combination of several factors—I was living my dream and even if I ran out of money after, well wasn’t that the point? I had lined up several situations where accommodations were free, so I wouldn’t be spending as much anyway. I was being exposed to different lifestyles in different countries, none of them really based on materialism. So I didn’t feel like I was lacking for anything. I still tried to book as humble of an AirBnB or Booking.com accommodation as I could, tried to cook one of my meals and eat the other in a restaurant every day (sometimes both were cooked at home), and I opted for walking and public transportation instead of taxis. But, in general, I stopped being so crazy about checking my bank account and chastising myself for spending.
Most of the workers that were here for the festival left early Sunday evening. The final guests left around 7 or 8pm. Many of the younger students and some staff either headed to Biella for the night and their Monday off, or to a music festival that was taking place near Torino, which coupled as a protest against the high speed train that was meant to be built through the valley.
So there wasn’t really a planned dinner that evening and I was hungry from running around all day. The manager told me I could take whatever I found in the fridge, so I made myself a little salad and grabbed some salame, formaggio, pane, and some jam from the storage room. One of the cooks had opened a bottle of red wine so I asked for a glass.
I ate my dinner quietly outside. The remaining staff members were sitting together speaking Italian and French with one another, so I took the opportunity to enjoy some solitude. Save for Baldi, the dog, begging on my left, and Mina, the donkey, standing over my shoulder and sniffing my plate for something she might want to eat.
I said “Buonanotte” and headed up to bed around 9:45pm. I read my Kindle and turned out the lights by 11pm. There was hardly any cell service here—only a little bit up in the window at the end of the hall on the 3rd floor, or way out on the lawn. No wi-fi, and no service in the rooms. So I wasn’t at all distracted with my phone, instead taking the opportunity to read if I wanted some entertainment.
I set my alarm for 6:30am to go for a run. I had heard that Monday was the day off, but hadn’t received any clear direction or schedule about it from the manager, so I still planned to be ready for breakfast and work by 8:30am.
I slept more soundly on Sunday night since I had the room to myself. The farm was quiet on Monday. I went for a short run, only about 2.5 miles as my Strava wasn’t syncing properly and the hills were killer. I was down to breakfast by 8:30am, but the remaining staff and guests did not come down until after 9am. I continued to assume it would be a normal day of work until I was instructed otherwise.
After I had cleaned up the breakfast dishes, the manager let me know it was a free day. Christine, the other WWOOFer and I had already flipped out some of the rooms the previous evening and cleaned the bathrooms to prepare for a new set of Civil Service students that would be arriving on Monday evening. Christine and I had moved into another room to make space for another set of students arriving on Tuesday.
In general, I couldn’t get the gist of the flow in this place. There was no clear schedule and it seemed every day someone new was showing up or an event was taking place—although I was not privy to the info. The future planner in me was trying not to lose it. Even Christine offered very little help in me understand this place. She came off as cold and bristly towards me, giving me vague answers in response to my newcomer questions. I would be happy to see her leave on Tuesday so we wouldn’t have to pretend to enjoy each other’s company for the duration of my time here. 🤣 Don’t let the door hit ya…
The managers seemed too busy and then too tired to explain what my role would be for the next few weeks. I had asked a couple other veterans for advice and received the same response—there is no schedule here. Just figure out what needs to be done and do it. And when you’re ready to take a break, take a break. My attempt to engage in my routine of running, showering, journaling, meditation, and typing out my newsletter was going out the window. The ability to be outside nearly all day in this picturesque place, combined with some friends I was making that were equal parts funny, affectionate, and inclusive were my saving grace.
But, for that Monday, I had about 5 or 6 hours of free time. I got some laundry done, wrote in my journal, read my Kindle, and napped.
Tuesday I did WAY too much. I cleaned up the tables after breakfast and then helped Fabio and the Civil Service students remove a felled tree from the grounds, each of us hauling the logs by hand up to to the shed to be used as firewood. Then I was called into the kitchen to help with lunch service. In the afternoon, when I finally sat down for a break, I was sitting with a group that was asked to help finish a stone walkway. It was super interesting to learn how these cobblestone walks were built, but there were too many of us to play an active role in the work. Eventually I dismissed myself and went up to my room to shower and put away my laundry.
Based on the manager’s request, I came back down by 6 to help with dinner service, only to note I was the only one in the kitchen at that time. I began putting away dishes and cleaning up so that the staff could begin cooking. By 6:45pm the kitchen was still empty, so I stepped outside to read my Kindle. I realized, then, that they entire group was at the edge of the property, overlooking the mountains, being led through a yoga class. I was bummed to be missing it. My inability to speak the languages made me feel left out. I was confused by the flow of the place, I had no routine to sink into, and I couldn’t communicate effectively with everyone.
By Wednesday, finally I received more direction from the manager about the day. There were only 2 kitchen staff, so my role that day would be in supporting them for lunch and dinner service. We were slammed for lunch and I realized I felt like I was starting a new job. It was the type of situation where the manager doesn’t give you clear directions as you’re getting to know the place, so you have to figure it out for yourself—no wonder I was feeling so uncomfortable!
I continued to remind myself that my time here is free—no cost for accommodations or food. And it was also voluntary—so, if after a week or so I was still unhappy, I am not obliged to stay. Deep down I knew it was good practice to experience a new job again. Good practice to be the outsider and keep a smile on my face even when I’m feeling insecure. It’s been a LONG time since I started a new job, and I’ll be faced with that very soon. So I may as well do my best to embrace the frustration and see it through. If I can make it through Vipassana, I can make it through most anything.
Hey! Would you like to connect over creativity, self-growth, and problem-solving? Or just to have a virtual glass of wine or mocktail? Please book a time on my Calendly for us to chat! I can’t wait to see you. XOXO.
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