Perfetto

Saturday was one of those perfect days that one can never plan but always hopes for.  The plan: viaggiamo a la costa!  Half the intern group, the half that doesn’t currently have weekend chores, left for the Florence friday afternoon and the remaining half, plus wwoofers and other hangers-around were determined to take full advantage of the sunny weather despite our chores (or perhaps because of them).  I received the “va bene” from my boss to do the animal feeding early in the day so that we could take off around lunchtime for the beach.

Finn and I set off at 8:00 to do the first feeding round.  Everything was going extremely smoothly as we hurtled around in the Falcon (the Skoda is in need of an oil change), until we got up to the mulino [mill] where we found the trashcan that holds the pigs’ grain on its side and the fence that surrounds it torn apart.  Che bordello!  I set off fixing the fences while Finn finished feeding, and then we herded the fourteen enormous hogs back into their smelly home.

We were finished at 10:00 and took a two hour break only to do the second feeding round considerably earlier than usual at mezzogiorno.  By 13:00 we were all finished and the ragazzi were out playing disc on the lawn in front of Pulcinelli (the name of the 18^th-19^th century building in which we youngsters reside) all in jorts and sunglasses.

So eight people loaded up in the van and Tom drove us to the beach, a little town frequented by Italian tourists in the summer time called Castiglione di Pescia.  The drive was 90 minutes through the Tuscan countryside.  The trees transformed from more deciduous near Spannocchia to conifers and evergreens the further west we travelled.  To our left and right stood ancient towns perched on hillsides and olive orchards everywhere the eye could see.

The town of Castiglione is rather adorbs and is named for the castle on a hill which we parked adjacent to.  As we unloaded and walked towards the beach, all in summer clothes toting soccer balls and bocce, there was a gleefulness in the air.  We were undoubtedly distinct from the Italians, many of whom were still wearing puffy down jackets despite the 70 degree weather.  Tom and I stopped for a slice of pizza, which happened to be unbelievably good and then we all spilled out onto the sand and napped, or even swam, played games and read books.

By 17:00 it was time for apperativo, so we packed up our gear and found ourselves at a funny bar that had a flat-screen displaying shuffled images of American movie posters and a stereo that was humming reggae.  We all sat and people watched in this small beach town, crunching away at the free snacks they brought us and enjoying our silly cocktails, marveling at how wonderful our lives were. 

Castiglione is full of funny little badly trained dogs that were very cute until a child ran by or another dog approached.  They reminded me of my evil dog back home—who, apparently, is flourishing.  The population was almost exclusively Italian, and most even seems like locals.  After our apparativo, il mio preferito tradizione italiano, we purchased a bottle of prosecco and hiked back up the hill to take in the sunset from a better vantage point. 

The hill below the castle next to which we settled was delightfully covered in large, happy agave plants and prickly pear cacti.  This flora formed the frame through which we enjoying the view of the Meditteranean sea in the waning daylight.  We passed around the prosecco, as I was dumbfounded once again at the blessedness of my life.  We hung out until the sky was a deep cobalt blue and then set off for one final spin through the ancient town, the castle now bathed in warm orange illumination.  Before too long we loaded into the van and set off toward the northeast.

As we motored down the Italian highway, I saw a sign for the Terme di Petriolo, the same hot springs we had visited a few weekends back and I implored Vincent, our chauffeur to pull off the highway.  After a fair amount of debate, we settled on the affirmative!  An avid lover of hot springs, and of unfolding adventures, I was thrilled. Not surprisingly, the hot springs were crowded with mysterious folks illuminated by candles and campfires.  The climb down to the pools was un po’ precarious without flashlights and deterred half of our group from going in.  The cautious part of me was thrown to the wind, and so were a few garments.

The feeling was nothing short of heaven to be in the hot, sulfuric water with a moonless sky chock full of stars.  We floated around in ecstasy for close to an hour while the others stargazed in their own clean, dry comfort.  The spontaneous of it all, the thrill of stepping outside the quotidian, perhaps even outside the realm of safety, just added to the magic of the day.

By the time we returned to Pulcinelli, all sun-kissed and wreaking of eggs, words weren’t necessary.  The eight of us shared an incredible day.  The next morning we had a delightful brunch at the fattoria (farm).