This one will be a bit different. No diary, I just intend to write down some memories and impressions that went through my mind the past months.
Of course we spent most of our time at home, although that statement deserves some clarification. There are three homes in Tuscany. One for the mother, who lives in a shared house on a hill. From the bathroom you can see San Gimignano and her towers lighted by the sun on the horizon. Her dad, commonly known as Babush and a very chill person, lives not too distant in a valley, surrounded by vineyards and forest. Between the chirping of insects and birds you can hear the murmuring water of a small river not far below. And then there is the apartment in Poggibonsi, where Indi’s mother holds her doctor’s practice. Two narrow beds in the attic and a small kitchen allow us to survive there. Oh, and not to forget, a peaceful soul shares the old towerhouse of Babush. Because in winter, under the heat of the stove, or in summer, in the shade of some tree, you can always find Pucci, the long-haired cat that never learned how to say meow.
A while back, Babush broke his leg, so Indi and I visited for some days to help him with everyday matters. There was wood to be cut for the stove, food to be cooked at least three times a day, and conversations to be held when we got tired of remaining silent. Babush used to own a vinyl shop, and on the far wall of the living rooms stands his impressive collection of vinyls, as a result of those days. And so silence was not much of a problem anyways. Still, nothing wrong with a card game every now and then. However, most I did those days was trying to study, by the window that looks out over conifers in the valley. Twice I descended to the small river to build a dam, collecting stones by the shores to pile up in the middle. The days usually ended by us piling onto the sofa with Pucci somewhere on top, in front of the TV with a movie to entertain us before sleep.
Once we visited Indira’s grandparents, living close to the apartment in Poggibonsi. Here I mean the parents of her mother, Ludovica. All five of us got together, as Ludo had to be in town for an evening of Tango. To help her along, Indi had decided to visit the supermarket. She presented us all with a platter of gin and tonics, something only us two youngsters were in any way accustomed to. We watched the sun set behind the Tuscan hills as Bob Marley sang and Nons, her generous and energetic grandma, cooked tuna and salmon.
Her other grandparents scared me some, as Nonno offered to shoot me with a double barreled shotgun if I dared to mistreat his granddaughter. I understood the warning and at the time of writing I am still unshot and alive. Things mellowed quickly though, as he got his homemade limoncello out of the cupboard and we let the bottle pass around.
During Easter time we visited for another week, one morning setting off from Poggibonsi towards the train station of Firenze. Another time we had visited that splendid Renaissance city as well, marvelling at its dazzling architecture, strolling between bookshops and getting a deliciously refreshing ice cream towards the afternoon. Another time we spent a day in Siena, for the tourists, incredibly beautiful too, with its intricately carved cathedral and iconic square. Babush convinced me though, that the local citizenry leaves much to be desired. Traditional rhymes about their character sound quite critical, to say the least.
To return to my line of thought, however, as we were on our way to the Firenze train station. From there we visited Ferrare, across the Apennines, on the vast flatness of the Po. It is a sleepy little town, with a single old cathedral and a massive, moated castle in the middle. We enjoyed lazily walking in the sun there, in search of pasta or cold lemonade. The evening however, we spent in Bologna, already on the way back, where her good friend Nora offered us a place to sleep. She celebrated her graduation that day, and by fortunate chance, we had the pleasure to attend the party.
The next day we explored lively Bologna, filled to the brim with Italian and international students. Its colonnades wrap around most city blocks and fill the historic centre. A massive square in the middle of the city collects an enormous but unfinished church, some palaces and museums, and a lovely fountain with nude gods shooting water. Without much of a plan, Indi and I walked through this lovely city, drinking in the sights and stopping every now and then for a snack. In the baking afternoon sun, we had the best gelato in the country, if the enthusiasm of my girlfriend or the long line at the shop are any indication at least.
Another time we drove over two hours, deep into the heart of the Apennine mountains. Covered in leafless forest at the end of summer, with in between the bare branches, puffs of white blossoms on the rare fruit tree, like giant cotton candy. An old house on a hill, friends of the family, where Indi often works in the summer, when guests stay to experience peace and need their bellies filled. Four children live here, the youngest barely born, the oldest at the start of puberty. After holding our introductions, we organised a grand fight in the bedroom upstairs, as should be expected. Over the course of an hour, I hit one child with the other, grabbing them by the legs to fling them towards the closest bed or lifting them from the floor to make them experience true hopelessness. With endless energy they continued to rush my position, which I had to exchange tactically ever so often, to keep them from winning, until after a while the voice of reason, Indira, ordered us to make peace. Thus, none of us had to lose, but alas, none could claim the victory either.
A lucky man finds an Italian girlfriend. If his luck doesn’t run out, she lives in Tuscany. In case the gods smile upon him, her family is kind and accepting, ready to guide him through their beautiful country. One day he will walk with her through the forest, gathering wild asparagus for an omelette, and he shall know that life can get no better.
