I drove to the recommended parking spot in the upper “old town” and walked the rest of the way up to the castle tower where the cooking school would be conducted (and where I was booked to reside for the coming week). The highest point in the town is little Piazza Cavallotti, with “Casa Innocenti” connecting directly to the walls of the 1100 year old castle (built by the noble Aldobrandeschi family of southern Tuscany, exceeded only by the Piccolomini family for Sienese wealth and power during the Middle Ages).
I lifted the 5-pound iron knocking ring on the front door and waited. “Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.” Next step: cell phone - - that other “best friend” to modern tourism.
The teacher/chef, Carlo Innocenti, answered and told me to meet him down the hill where I had parked my car (next to the iron fountain) in 10 minutes. Fortunately, I had decided to leave my luggage locked in the car while I searched out the house, so walking back down hill was easy.
Carlo showed up in a lightweight three-wheel pick-up truck, jumped out, and offered a warm greeting to Arcidosso. We tossed my luggage in the back of the “mini-truck” and trundled back up the hill to the castle.
He quickly explained that he was still underway with lunch at his restaurant across the valley, so I’d have to make myself at home for several hours. It was about 1:00 PM, and he had not expected me to arrive until late afternoon along with the other members of the cooking class coming in from Rome. He gave me a key to the front door, said “Ci vediamo presto” (roughly “We’ll see each other again soon”) and put-putted back down the hill in the little three-wheeler.
Back home, my neighborhood is trying to find someone to be Santa Clause at our tree-lighting ceremony in December. Too bad we can’t seem to find someone exactly like Carlo. He looks like Santa, with a close-shaven beard. In his 70’s, round rosy cheeks, twinkling eyes and a jolly disposition … he’d be perfect!
Alone in the house, I grabbed my 50-pound suitcase and my over-the-shoulder-bolder-holder and began climbing to the top floor of the "tower." When I finally arrived at the top (which I guess I could describe as three full flights and three half flights of stairs from ground level) I found a cozy kitchen with Persian rugs on stone floor, a fireplace, ceramics and art displayed on the stone walls, gigantic wooden beams in the ceiling, and a door to my bedroom, which was comprised of a little foyer with the actual bedroom to the left and small bathroom to the right. All furnishings seemed ancient, but still in good shape and highly functional: chest-of-drawers, wardrobe, night stands, mirrors, chairs and benches. Dominating the bedroom was a large framed etching of Vittorio Emanuele II, who was crowned the first king of united Italy in 1861 (prior to that, what we know as Italy was not a nation, but for centuries had been a hodge-podge collection of dukedoms, principalities, and mini-republics).
The floor my bedroom was on was clearly the highest residence in the entire town (an honor my legs would have to re-earn every day). Carlo had briefly explained that, while the main house was 1200 years old, the top two floors were quite a bit newer, having been “added on” only 600 years ago. It had been in the Innocenti family now for several generations. The photo of Arcidosso here is one I took actually at the end of my week there. Rain clouds were threatening, but a beam of light magically descended from the heavens to illuminate the city as I was taking the shot (no, it wasn’t “Photoshopped”). I’ve drawn an arrow indicating my bedroom.
So, I unpacked, explored the rest of the house, and then decided to take a nap, with the cool air of Mount Amiata drifting through the window by my bed.
Later that evening the other three students arrived: Mark and Lisa, a married couple from St. Paul celebrating their 25th anniversary (very sweet, intelligent, and energetic people, with interesting stories of their four mostly grown children) and a lovely lady from Atlanta named MaryAnne (a retired telecom executive, originally from Long Island -- she had not surrendered one syllable of her beautiful Long Island accent, talking about things like taking “lowung wowks” with her “dowug”). We would be a foursome for the week’s adventures, and, given the possibilities, I felt extremely lucky to have landed in a "class" of fun individuals. We "hit it off" instantly.
Of my three classmates, Mark probably had the best “knack” for learning Italian. On one of our drives through the country MaryAnnne worked on trying to learn how to say “thank you” in Italian -- the way an Italian would say it.
“Grat-zee?” she’d ask.
“Nope … that’s American … in Italian it’s three syllables: GRAT-zee-eh.”
“GRAT-zee-ahh”
“No … listen: GRAT-zee-eh.”
“Gra-see-AYE. Grat-see-AYE”
“No, GRAT-zee-eh.”
“Grat-see-yae … Grat-zee-ahhh?”
“No, it’s just GRAT-zee-eh. It’s really hard for Americans because we just don’t have any words that end in the sound ‘eh’ . . . Try to think of the name ‘Ted’ and then say it without the ‘d’ on the end … That’s the sound you’re looking for in GRAT-zee-eh.”
“Okay … Ted … ehh … grat-see-AHHH. Oh, I’ll NEVER get it!”
The four of us ended up laughing at how hard it can be to vocalize another language - - but that's okay. After all, isn't laughter more important than learning how Italians say "Grazie?" Besides, what MaryAnne didn't now about the elusive Italian "e," she more than made up for as a serious student of Roman history, the writings of Cicero, the pre-Roman Etruscans, etc. She could teach a lot of Italians a thing or two about Italy!!
