La Trappa Pt. 3
Letter #66: Working with Sandro and my new favorite bar, Wool Cafe.
The following days were relatively uneventful. I continued to be frustrated by the lack of scheduling or clear direction from management. I was for sure having regular flashbacks to previous unhealthy work environments.
When Emilie and I had free time, we’d head down to Sordevolo with our laptops. It was about an hour and 15 minute hike there and back (although coming back to La Trappa was completely uphill). We’d sit out on the patio at Wool Cafe, taking advantage of the good wifi—Emilie was applying for jobs back in France and planning a trip to South America. I worked on my newsletter and booked the remainder of my travel through November. I always felt less anxious back at La Trappa as long as I could stay on top of what I wanted to accomplish for myself on my computer.
We each ordered an Aperol Spritz, panini, and gelato.
Wrongfully, I assumed I’d have plenty of free time to work on job hunting and journaling. If I was to work 4 hours in the morning while WWOOFing, there’d be more than enough time for me to structure my days and plan for the future. Unfortunately, that was not at all the case. Any free time I had was used to nap or read (lack of wifi and cell service kept me off my devices), otherwise I spent may time with Emilie or our UNITA friends—Esther, Eva, and Fazli.
On a particularly lovely, sunny afternoon, Emilie and I met Marco down in Sordevolo for a round of Via Ferrata through the river canyon. We rented gear from a rifugo near the start of the canyons. We clipped ourselves to the ropes that would lead the way across the stone walls of the river below. It wasn’t nearly as strenuous as I thought it might be. We had a great time together in the peaceful canyon, completing the trail in about 3 hours, and then returned to the rifugo to end the day with another Aperol Spritz.
Marco drove us back to La Trappa, careening along the mountain roads as Emilie blasted “Il mio canto libero” by Lucio Battisti. They both belted the lyrics out, the windows roll down as wound our way west towards the sunset. This was a song I would come to crave, strictly to recall the memory of how perfectly that tune matched how high all of us felt after having that adventure together along the river. I felt a very simple happiness with these new friends.
Marco prepared dinner again, we all banded together to set the table, clear and wash the dishes.
My time at La Trappa was emotionally confusing. Sometimes I’d have such lovely days like I did that Wednesday with Emilie and Marco. And other times, the combination of such poor management and lack of communication, coupled with the challenge of me not being able to speak the language left me questioning every day whether I’d leave the farm a week early. It was not like me to break my commitments, but there were too many instances that made me frustrated, reminding me of how nasty my old boss could be.
While it was funny for the first week or so to be teased about my heavy American accent as I tried to speak some words in Italian, by the 2nd and 3rd week it had grown old. I already felt self-conscious about my inability to connect on that level, and having the manager at La Trappa further mock me made me retreat into myself. I stopped trying to bond with them, eventually giving up and instead counting down the days I could leave.
It was such a shame because there were SO MUCH I loved about this place. Waking up to these beautiful mountains every day was an amazing way to live. I’d visited mountain lodges throughout my trip and had always daydreamed about living at one of them, and I finally was able to do so for 3 weeks! I spent so much time outside, ate every home-cooked meal at the outdoor tables, and made some really genuine friendships with the other people I met there. But it’s amazing how much the sour personalities of upper management can cast a dark shadow over an otherwise beautiful experience.
My final full week there Emilie and I had two goals—to build a leather craft Sandro, and to complete a two-day trek in the Italian Alps.
What to say about Sandro? He was a kind old man, agile for his age, and always dressed in cargo shorts and a button down shirt that he had tailored to fit his needs—the collar always tucked in along his neck, an extra pocket added on for his pens and papers, and sleeves that snapped up this his shoulders so he had better range of motion. He had a wide smile, expressive blue eyes, and always greeted you with a firm handshake. He wasn’t employed at La Trappa, but would set up his little leather workshop outdoors, under the roof of the stone shed. I wasn’t quite sure what his role was as we couldn’t communicate very well, but I genuinely enjoyed being in his company.
He’d tinker throughout the day, finding this and that to fix with one of his many antique tools—including being a Birkenstock repairman, fixing up all three pairs of beat up Birks for Marco, Emilie and myself. We joked that our shoes looked like Frankenstein versions of their former selves, but they were now back to good working order, and every time I look at them, I am reminded of Sandro.
During my final week at La Trappa, Emilie and I spent our free time with Sandro, learning more about his life. She spoke French with him and translated to me. He lived in the valley on the other side of the mountains. He had a wife, but it didn’t sound like they had much in common anymore, she likes to stay inside and he likes to be out and about. He was a leather craftsman all his life. He pulled out a ratty envelope filled with photos from 1970’s where he was restoring the plush leather seats and awnings of old horse-drawn carriages. He reconstructed antique horse saddles and crafted huge belts for the horses’ necks, with a large brass bell dangling as decoration for when they pulled the carriages.
I’ve always been impressed by people that can build and repair just about anything with their bare hands. And especially someone like Sandro, who cherishes old things and uses them for a lifetime. We also learned that he struggles to sleep, often waking up before dawn to begin his work, or staying up much later than everyone else that had long since been in bed. While he always seems happy and eager to help, it broke my heart to know that he also struggles with depression. Emilie and I both developed such a fondness for Sandro, and I knew it would be hard to us to leave him when we set out on our trek.
That Tuesday afternoon before we left, Emilie and I started a leather project with Sandro. He had examples of leather goods on his workbench, so Emilie decided to make herself a new wallet that would perfectly fit the oversized French ID card that doesn’t fit in normal wallets. And I decided to make my dad a leather case for his reading glasses—which, now I realize doesn’t make sense because the leather is too tough, so now it’ll have to be a knife holder instead. 😅
He patiently walked us through the process of creating a pattern for each piece, of measuring and cutting the leather. We chose from the random scraps that he had available, Emilie’s wallet looking especially Frankenstein-ed. He sat down to his vice grip thing that dates back to the 1940’s (maybe even 1920’s?! I couldn’t keep all these ancient dates straight), and, using an awl, showed us how to puncture holes through the leather in order to sew the pieces together. Using a heavy black cord and two thick needles, I wound the thread back and forth through the same hole, making a binding stitch that I’ve never done before in clothing. The manager’s 8 year old niece, a fiery, independent soul visiting from Mallorca, wanted to learn how to sew as well, so she took to sewing most of the piece for me. I was impressed at how quickly she picked up the task, pulling the threads even tighter than I had been.
Once the piece was done, Sandro stuffed the case with newspaper, then took a block with a wet cloth wrapped around it and began brushing against the leather. Once dried, the leather was smoother, softer, and had a weathered look to it. It was transformed from something that looked VERY homemade, to actually a quite rugged and beautiful design. We finished both the wallet and the now-knife case by inscribing our initials. Mine read H&S ’23 to remember who I made it with. As a parting gift, Sandro gave me a little leather horse he had cut out and glued a tuft of hair as a mane to, tied with a little loop to place around a wine bottle. I love it so much and am thrilled to have several pieces to remember him by—including my Frankenstein Birks.
After we finished up our leather goods with Sandro that Wednesday morning, we said goodbye to La Trappa and set out for our 2-day trek. I had taken a loose itinerary from Yulia, one of the UNITA students, and with the guidance of Fabio (another one of the older committee members that I had come to adore), we planned out our route…
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