Mom and I woke up Tuesday, the twenty-second of March with a blaring alarm at 6:30 in the morning. As I rolled over to shut it up, I realized that today was the day we would be seeing the “Best of Tuscany” with fifty other strangers visiting Italy at the same time. With a surge of excitement, I leap out of bed to start my day. Mom yawned, perfectly perched in bed like a primped peacock. “I need some coffee first,” she stated. I rolled my eyes as I shut the bathroom door, snickering at the obvious American in my very Italian mother. “But we’re going to Tuscany today,” I commented. “You should be hyped up on that reason alone!”
The charter bus was long and narrow, but comfortable enough for the two of us in a row of our own. I snagged the window seat, convinced I would not miss a single sight that we passed along our route to Tuscany. As we departed from Florence, the scenery of colorful buildings and houses faded and the greens of the hills slowly emerged. The sun glistened through the window and onto my face. The heat was refreshing, almost calming. As my Mom and I looked at our new surroundings, the sun did us yet another favor. Although it was only March, the sun sparkling atop the green hills and skyscraping trees gave them a sparkle I never knew nature was capable of having. “This is absolutely beautiful,” was the only thing Mom or I could say, repeating ourselves with every new angle of the picturesque scenery.
About an hour and a half later, the bus took an unexpected turn. Exiting the Italian highway, we found ourselves speeding down the twists and turns of old Tuscan roads. The roads were made of dirt and stone. Beneath us, the earth crunched with the weight of our bus. As we weaved in and out of the hills, we passed farms with more acres than I can count and views that I only thought existed in fairytales. The hills were all different sizes, some large and others small. The sky radiated a fierce blue backdrop; the hills seemed to touch it with the tips of their green peaks. Olive trees and grape vines created parallel lines, the only way to distinguish the properties from one another. Trees popped in and out of our view, some areas smothered in the beauty of them while others were bare with only hills in sight. “This is exactly how I always imagined Italy to be,” Mom whispered. I smiled, silently thanking her for putting what I was struggling to admit into words.
As we pulled up next to a brown stone house, the bus came to a halt. Sandra, our tour guide leader, came over the loudspeaker and announced that we had arrived at our lunchtime destination. Hopping off the bus, Mom and I found ourselves in the middle of the natural beauty of Tuscany. Sarah, the owner of the farm, greeted us and led us down a flight of cobblestone stairs to begin a tour of the property. First, she pointed out the olive trees and grape vines blooming for summer harvest. Up close, I realized how unique the olive trees are. From afar, they look like tiny trees with bush like leaves – almost like something I would consider planting in front of my house back in Chicago. Up close, however, I noticed the intricate and delicate aspects of this piece of nature. Like the grape vines, the olive tree branches weaved in all directions, twisting and turning with the hills of its home. The olive tree leaves were even more interesting; a washed out olive green, they were the perfect elongated almond shape. I could not help myself and instinctively reached out to touch them. They were smooth yet had a hint of roughness, a texture I had never quite experienced before. As I made this realization, I smiled to myself. Like everything else I have experienced in Italy, this always seemed to be the general theme.
After a short linger in front of the olives and grapes, Sarah led us to the farmhouse. As we entered, the foul smell of manure greeted us with a strong statement. Once inside, however, we found ourselves in the midst of a mini cow village. Giant while cows, a first for my eyes, surrounded us. Unaffected by our presence, they embraced the true essence of the Italian culture as they stared at us blankly and continuing chewing their hay. A few brave ones came up the gate, sticking their heads through for a meet and greet. Naturally, I found myself reaching out my hand. The white cow was soft and welcoming, especially as she gazed up at me with the biggest brown eyes I had ever seen. She remained calm as I pet her, still as a picture, only flinging her tail from side to side when I scratched her ears. Never in my life would I ever think a cow to be cute! Perhaps it was the picturesque Tuscan background that was starting to grow on me. Whatever it was, it was working.
Up on the terrace, lunch was served. Bruschetta greeted us, seasoned with organic olive oil, garlic, and a pinch of sea salt. Toasted and delicious, it was accompanied by our first taste of the organic farm’s white wine. Although it was quite dry, it went perfectly with the bruschetta. Next, a fresh bowl of homemade organic linguine pasta landed in front of us. Being vegetarian, my pasta was coated with a thin marinara; Mom’s was coated with a light Bolognese meat sauce. As we swirled the pasta around our forks, the smell alone was enough to make our stomachs rumble in anticipation. The sauce was sweet, but light. It reminded me of the same sauce my Nona makes back home, sending a small chill (the good kind) down my spine. A glass of red Chianti wine was poured for each of us, yet another one of the farm’s homemade products. “Salute,” our new friend Jen toasted. As we all clinked glasses, we all smiled, grateful for this opportunity to dine together while overlooking what may be the most beautiful sight in all of Italy.
Living in Italy for three months seems like a relatively short time in comparison with most other study abroad programs. I have traveled to four other countries, tasted all types of vegetarian-friendly European cuisine, experienced the essence of Rome and Venice, and yet still have never found myself so breathlessly awed as I was by the sights of Tuscany. Looking back, my Mom said it best; when I thought of Italy as a kid, and even before I came to live here, I always imagined Italy to be this way. Rome, Florence, and Venice are essentially like the cities I live in back in the States. Tuscany, however, was an entirely different experience. Atop the terrace at the organic farm, I made a realization that has stuck with me ever since our time spent there. The best places in Italy are the ones not found on a map; moreover, the best places are those with no predetermined expectations, no map, and no itinerary. Like the cows I met on the organic farm, time here does not simply pass, but rather is to be enjoyed for exactly what is. Regardless of what Italians are doing, simply taking in the essence of a place, experiencing it for just what it is, is the greatest gift time could give.
The Organic Farm in San Gimignano, Italy.
Mom and I on the farm.
Grape vines for the wine!
My cow friend at the farm. :)
The rolling Tuscan hills (our view from the terrace).
Under the Tuscan sun (literally) in San Gimignano.
More of the Tuscan hills!
Hope you enjoyed a little glimpse of me and Mom's trip through Tuscany! I cannot believe I have less than two weeks before I am back in Chicago. It's amazing how fast time flies. Things are busier than ever here, but I promise to update as often as I can before my return home!
Until Next Time -- Ciao!
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