By Max Hartshorne GoNOMAD Editor I needed a break. I devour three or four newspapers a day, am constantly on my computer viewing the latest news bulletins, and often click on ABC News to get quick jolts of televised news clips on my computer screen. Luckily, I found Grifoglia, a farm B&B nestled around a series of curvy roads just past the town of Barga in the mountains of Tuscany. There was no TV. No internet. No cellphone service to speak of. Just a scratchy little radio that didn't pick up more than a wisp of a signal for Armed Forces Radio.
In short, this was a place where you could truly escape the madness and if you survive the blind curves with the thousand-foot drops, live to tell about it. We drove out of Pisa on the autostrada toward Florence, after picking up our friends Howard and Meryl at the train station. The car was an Alfa Romeo, a sexy-looking wagon which sits low to the ground. It starts with a button and has six forward gears. As it was getting late, we all were hungry. But it's a bad time to get hungry in this part of Italy, as at 3:30 on a Saturday, there is almost nothing open. We stopped by a few ristorantes, to no avail, walked the cobbled streets by a rushing river, and eventually settled for a few sparse panini and some cokes in a roadside cafe.
We wound up and around a mountain, over narrow, curvy roads that arched around corners and left us no room for error, and up, up, up we went. We met another car and they cheerfully backed up, we struggled to keep the car in gear and going the right direction and lurched ahead, and zoomed around more sharp curves. Just as we thought we were lost, we saw a young boy and a man tending a garden. We were there! Pietro Messina, at 60 hale and hearty, picked a basket of vegetables for us from the large garden. Sweet corn, lucca beans, ripe tomatoes, carrots, onions, eggplants and plenty of herbs like basil and oregano. Combined with some Tuscan pasta and a quick homemade sauce of tomatoes and onions, we had a meal by 9 pm or so. It was simple and delicious. After dinner, we sat out on the patio. The stars were bright and the only sounds were a rushing stream and crickets chirping their last of summer. It was time for bed, and it had been a good day portending a great week ahead.
There is a well tended garden that Pietro manages skillfully; he has his many varieties of tomatoes spiked up, and even a stand of American corn which they eat on the cob. In all of Europe, this vegetable is disdained, as corn is considered animal food. But Kerry's American roots show and they had the seeds sent over to grow their hearty little gaggle of corn plants. There is no TV or radio at Grifoglia, but that doesn't stop a stream of guests from reserving week after week here. During our visit there was another couple in the back studio
apartment. They were both lawyers from Scotland, and pale as snow. As soon as they sat down by the pool, you could tell that the Tuscan sun would be roasting their fair skin. Kerry has been renting Grifoglia since they brought it back from nearly dead six years ago. We got a chance to see the before and after photos and like so many of these properties, this was a long labor of love that involved a lot of masonry and roofing. Thankfully, Pietro is a mason which is a good thing since that is how all of the houses here are built, with two-foot thick walls and solid tile floors. Pietro has a background as a maitre'd. He worked in Montreal in a grand hotel and they lived in Switzerland for seven years before making Barga their fulltime home. He's a man of many talents, equally as versed in pizza making as gardening and building. He advised us as we watched him make his pizzas not to put too many ingredients on the pies, that a few of this a little of that was the way to make a perfect pie. Walking to Coreglia One day we decided to take a long walk to the town on the other side of the valley, Coreglia. It was a marvelous day, perfect temperature of early fall, and the winding road took us up the side of the mountainside along farms with barking dogs behind fences and long stacks of piled up firewood. After about three miles we reached the small hillside town of Coreglia, which like Barga is piled on top of steep hillsides and consists mostly of narrow vicolos, or alleys. The empty dining area was a terrace surrounded by plants and flowers, that blocked the view of the street below. The floor was wide tiles, and soon we were munching on bread. A few of us had pasta, raviolis filled with sage and ricotta, and others wide flat pasta with rabbit sauce. A caprese, fresh tomatoes and mozzarella, with the cheese inserted into a whole sliced tomato, was a nice side dish with the hearty pasta. While we passed up the secondo, or meat course, we were full from the hearty portions and then started our walk back to Grifoglia. The sun was still shining and it felt great to stetch our legs and the walk went faster since it was nearly all downhill.
After napping we sat by the pool and read our books, something I don't ever get enough time to do when I am home. Hours of reading, listening to music on the ipod, and snoozing made this a relaxing day. We had time on our hands, the way you only do when you're on vacation. It was a glorius time to spend time doing very little. We lounged around, played cards, I taught my friends how to play bridge, we read our books, we fiddled on the computer. It was lovely not having any responsibilities and just bask in this space and time with no responsibilities. It's really what vacations are meant to be.
city. There is a connection between Barga and the northern country. Many Scots married women from this region and they travel back and forth. I visited with the couple in their cozy little cabin on the property and asked them what drew them to this remote place here in the north of Tuscany. David and Karen sat by the pool, two pale ghosts covered in hats, sunglasses and beneath the umbrella, came in June last year. A bit warmer, they stayed in the same place. "Only holiday that we don't do anything. We always do something, it's restful. We get two papers a day," they said. Like me they enjoy a media fast every so often. There wasn't a chance they would be leaving; they settle in with groceries and books and don't go far. "We only walked as far at the river," she said.
In the distance a farmer is moving logs around with heavy equipment, dogs peal off sullen barks now and again, and the rooster continues to crow intermitently, as if to remind us that we are in the sticks. Five-Year Effort Five years they've been doing this. In October, guests from England come for their third year in a row. The English often return again and again. And many of the visitors come for two weeks. It's difficult to do that much in just a week, if they want to see everything.
Guests come to Grifoglia from the US, Canada and the UK, a fairly even split. You've got to have a car, so it's not backpackers who stay. Her season is from April through October and this season is one of the best ever. And she's already booked weeks for next season. Departing Grifoglia Our last night at Kerry's we made a risotto and read the Herald Tribune, and thankfully did not have any after dinner espresso to keep us awake. I found myself drifting off to a panoply of dreams. Oh thank goodness for that. I awoke refreshed to a sunny Tuscan morning, and after our strong cappuccinos made with a little pump that froths the milk, we were ready to pack up and say goodbye to Kerry, Pietro and Gianni.
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