Thanks for popping back in for Chapter 2 of Anna in Tuscany. Can you see the hills of Tuscany? Do you feel like you’re there? Oh, I love Siena. I hope I did it justice.
Enjoy Chapter 2.
Chapter 2, Episode 2Anna in Tuscany
Chapter 2
By the time the plane touched down in Italy, I felt exhausted and disheveled. Sleeping on a plane was never in the cards for me when flying, no matter how hard I tried. You would think I’d be used to flying by now.
The magazine had treated me to a car and driver to take me from the airport in Rome to Siena. By some miracle, I found the driver. Luckily, he spoke a little English, so we were able to communicate better than I expected. His name was Jaco, a middle-aged man, tall and thin, with very tanned skin, and thick salt and pepper hair that he combed like Cary Grant. His voice sounded as if he’d smoked too many cigarettes over the years. I learned that he and his family live outside Rome. After exchanging a few pleasantries and pulling my sunglasses out of my carry-on bag and placing them on my face, the light of the morning sun blinding me, we began the drive north toward Tuscany.
Despite my eyelids feeling heavy, I couldn’t close them for fear of missing out on the gorgeous scenery outside the car windows. The reality sunk in—I was in Italy. As we climbed the hills of Tuscany, my heart leapt with excitement at the prospect of returning to Rome and Venice and other regions for my assignments. I was lucky I only had my purse and one carry-on suitcase to contend with presently; my mother and I had shipped all my necessary things to Italy weeks prior in care of Rosa.
Jaco wound up the curved roads, as rolling hills and villas on large parcels of land came into view. There was no mistaking the architecture of the Tuscan homes in muted terracotta colors that matched the earth’s natural tones. It was a beautiful winter day. Patches of small vineyards, farmland, and olive trees graced the land, and hilltop towns sat majestically on the peaks of rolling greenery. I asked Jaco if I could roll down the window for a moment and inhale the fresh air. He laughed.
“Do you not hav-a dis type o’ fresh air where you live, Miss Anna?” he asked.
“No, we do, but not this type of landscape. It’s gorgeous,” I said, practically hanging my head out of the window like a dog. I snapped a quick photo as he drove.
“And-a-you stay a-while?” he asked.
“Yes, I’ll be writing about Italy. I consider myself very lucky, Jaco.”
“Ah, and-a taste-a de wine. D’good-a life, right Miss Anna?”
“Right,” I said. I longed to taste the wine, eat the bread, and walk the streets of Siena.
The temperature reminded me of the weather we were having on the East Coast, hovering around fifty-three degrees. Despite it being winter, the sun warmed my face after being trapped on an airplane for so long. I had never grown accustomed to flying. I tried my hardest not to think about what the captain was up to in the cockpit, and I listened to the engines the entire time, making sure they sounded solid for the long flight. It was always the same with me—when the plane landed safely, I could go about my life without that worry.
I looked at my cell phone and saw a text from my mother.
It’s Mom. Make it okay? As if I didn’t know it was her.
I typed back, Yes. It’s marvelous.
Good. Text me when you get into the apartment. xx, Mom
My mother never realized that you didn’t have to sign off on a text, and I never told her. I found it charming that she always ended her texts like that.
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When Jaco pulled up to the walled city, I was confident I knew which streets would take me to my new residence. My map reading skills were on point as I had grown into a seasoned travel writer over the last few years. I marked the streets that would take me to the apartment. Hence, this was why my carry-on suitcase had some wheels. It was going to be a little bit of a walk. Rosa had said she received my shipment of clothing and items, so I would have to go to her villa to pick them up. I had a couple of change of clothes in my suitcase that included my toothbrush, toothpaste, soap and shampoo, and contact lenses to make it through the day until I could fetch my clothing and various other essentials I had shipped to Italy from America. It was amazing how few material possessions one really needed to get by.
After I settled with Jaco and he profusely wished me well, I entered the city of Siena. The walled city had a medieval feel. At one time, Florence and Siena were true rivals, and I expect for some, they still were, but Siena has such a different feel from Florence, and I distinctly remembered this from my days visiting when I was a teenager.
Rosa’s apartment was just off of the Piazza Il Campo, the famous square that hosts the annual Palio horse race, with the tall tower that majestically dons the square. I stopped for a second and checked myself. I was actually here. Standing on Siena’s rich grounds, the streets were alive with people walking, laughing, talking, or drinking coffee, even on a January day. I passed restaurants where people were sitting at windows enjoying a glass of wine, and pasticerrias and coffee shops appeared warm and inviting. I was immediately engulfed by the smells of food wafting out onto the streets and mingling with the scent of cappuccino as I marveled at the romance of the city.
Italy…I have missed you.
I continued to follow the walking map on my GPS, and it guided me perfectly to Via delle Campagne, where I found Rosa’s building anchored by a picturesque restaurant on the ground level, with a mint green awning and outside seating. Luckily, she had mailed me the key to the place, and I found my way into the lobby and counted the forty-seven steps up to the apartment. She told me the name outside the door read “Dimora del Sole,” which translated into “sunshine abode” in English. And then I saw the number next to the name. Number 7, Dimora Del Sole. Forty-seven steps to Apartment Number 7. Was this fate? For a moment, I imagined my grandmother smirking at me from heaven. I caught myself grinning at the thought of it.
As I put the key into the door, there seemed to be music coming from inside, and it made me nervous. Did I have the right place? What if I walked in on someone, or worse, on some people, doing, well, whatever it is that people might be doing on a late afternoon in romantic, sunny Italy. Tentatively, I turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.
I had been right, there was music coming from inside the place, so I walked over to the source. Rosa had left a radio on and placed fresh flowers on the kitchen table, along with a note that read “Benvenuta,” or “welcome” in Italian. I took off my coat and placed my bags down, as I drooled over the apartment. With high ceilings and crown molding, arched doorways, and terra cotta-colored floors, it had character, and the walls of the apartment were a calming off-white color. The furniture, antiques mixed with more modern fare, was incorporated perfectly, and the living area had a soft, white couch with lots of chairs positioned across from it. The kitchen area featured numerous large windows across the back that let in the light.
The apartment was warm, so I adjusted the heat and cracked the windows to let some fresh air in as the sounds from the streets drifted inside of my new little abode. I loved how Italians didn’t have screens on their windows; it made you feel as if you were part of the outdoors without that little barrier. Feeling thirsty, I opened up the refrigerator and found that my aunt had already stocked it with milk, eggs, pastries, fresh fruits. Fresh bread was wrapped in brown paper and sitting on the counter. Then, I spotted the homemade red gravy in jars. The cabinets had been stocked with an assortment of pasta, as well, and I was thankful for that. I was absolutely famished.
When I took a peek at the bedrooms, and chose the bigger one for myself, I noticed that everything I had shipped from America was already there in the room, stacked in the corner, waiting to be unpacked. Rosa must have had her sons help her transport them here.
I texted Rosa right away, feeling so appreciative. She spoke pretty solid English, so I wrote simply:
Thank you. The place is amazing, and I’m grateful that you brought my things here. It was so nice of you to do this for me. Looking forward to seeing you soon.
Truly exhausted from the day’s journey, I ate fresh cheese and bread, boiled up the homemade pasta and red gravy, and drank Pellegrino water that was in my fridge. After all those delicious carbs, I drifted off on the couch, the reverberations of Siena lulling me fast asleep.
End Chapter 2 | Copyright Stephanie Verni, 2021
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About the author:
STEPHANIE VERNI is the author of THE LETTERS IN THE BOOKS; FROM HUMBUG TO HUMBLE: THE TRANSFORMATION OF EBENEZER SCROOGE; BENEATH THE MIMOSA TREE; INN SIGNIFICANT; LITTLE MILESTONES; THE POSTCARD; and ANNA IN TUSCANY. She is also a co-author of the textbook, EVENT PLANNING & MANAGEMENT: COMMUNICATING THEORY & PRACTICE. Currently an adjunct professor at Stevenson University Online, she instructs communication courses for undergraduate and graduate students. She and her husband reside in Severna Park, Maryland, and have two children. On the side, she enjoys writing travel articles for marylandroadtrips.com.
Connect with Stephanie on Instagram at stephanieverniwrites.
