Passing through the hills of Umbria, where there is no flat land for three miles, it is as if a fairy's magic wand gave a gentle tap, and time froze its steps at Lake Trasimeno; the shimmering ripples wash away the dust and noise, and a hot, fretful heart instantly settles. The shade of the lakeside trees blocks the summer sun. Old fisherman Giorgio, wearing a baseball cap and flip-flops, unhurriedly sorts out his fishing nets; the slender, lake-green mesh hanging on the railing looks like a light summer dress for a young girl. The cat feasting at his feet reveals just how delicious the lake fish are.

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