Lisa Alpine at the Cappucine Chapel, stormy Tuscan hills in the background.	It is our last day at the villa and tomorrow we will all go our separate ways. A carful is headed for a couple of days to Firenze before scattering into smaller groups and solo adventures. Lisa took her car to visit a friend and dance student in Bologna and is going on to Damanhur, and Alison to Istanbul, of all places. Pamela's trip to Iran has of course been canceled, her invitation from the president of the country to present her River of Words children's poetry project is, well, not revoked, but perhaps just delayed, while the conflict rages. So she will visit a friend in Turin and also visit Damanhur. [See Pam's note below.] The past couple of days we have lolled about by the pool, strolled through a forest full of wild boar and pheasant. We have visited the Cappucine chapel across the field, petted the horses at the the equestrian stables, fed a starving village dog, read novels and guidebooks, made phone calls to husbands, boyfriends and parents, typed madly on our laptop computers, taken thousands of photographs, and gathered blackberries, rose hips and peppermint. We have also come to know one another in a way our monthly meetings and occasional parties, dinners, and other get-togethers, have not allowed. I know who must have a hair dryer or die, who can't talk before coffee, who snores and who's afraid of the dark. I know who can make a mean fire and who can make a mean tiramisu, and who can charm a waiter into oblivion. In general I am happy to report that generosity and good spirits prevailed. We are all fast friends, holding that ever-essential respect for one another, the kind of respect that has allowed the group to form and evolve over the past eight years through professional and personal successes and failures, the latest our own book together, which has, in the midst of this adventure, gained a publisher, The Globe Pequot Press.
Dessert in the making at the Boticelli	From left: Lauren Cuthbert, Boticelli staff, Jen Leo, staff, Lisa (of Boticelli), Jacqueline, Claudio (of Boticelli, holding his son), Lisa Alpine, Linda Watanabe McFerrin, Alison Wright, (Maureen Wheeler hiding behind), Danielle Machotka, Christ Philips. Jacopo (of Boticelli). Seated: Cathy Miller, Pamela Michael, Carla King All twelve of us visited Lucca, a town that my world-traveling aunt and uncle Louise and Grady had recommended, and that I found extremely charming. I say leave Sienna for the tourists, it's a kind of Tuscan Disneyland, and head for this place instead. Lucca is an Etruscan city, only becoming a Roman colony in 180 BC. It's surrounded by a high brick wall that runs three miles around the ancient city, with a flat top that the whole town strolls around each Sunday. The cobblestoned pedestrian area is full of shops of all kinds, and without the artifically high prices of more trendy cities. There are many, many more locals than tourists. We compared it to Venice, to areas of Paris, and even to Amsterdam. Perhaps Florintine's dismiss it as a "provincial" city because it lies in the middle of an agricultural area. But it is only an hour and a half away from Firenze, and smack next to Pisa of the leaning tower. Jacqueline's ex-boyfriend, an accomplished chef, lives in Lucca, and we were there to meet him. The famous Claudio of her stories of Tuscan amour and gastronomie lived up to his reputation. Jacqueline and Claudio in the kitchen Jacqueline and Claudio at the table We found him as handsome and charming as she had described him in truth and in fiction, and finally sampled firsthand his culinary talent (and the brown eyes and ready smile we'd read about so often). We ate courses and courses of beautiful food, seafood and puff pastry and champagne and dessert at his truly superb and elegant restaurant the Bottecelli, about a mile from central Lucca.
Carla with wildflowers and the lion on the villa property. (Photo by Lisa Alpine.)	We will miss the villa and Traversa. We have sat at the tiny square in town to drink cappucino and flirt with the old men who hang about watching the motorcycles go by. This road is the "Skyline Boulvard" of Florence and Bologna. Racing bikes fly by in bright Italian colors, hugging the curves so tight that even another quarter inch of lean would spell disaster, maybe death. I give rides to several of my friends, taking them the short way north to the Fiorenzuola road then down the hill into town. Then back up again the long winding highway, narrow but perfectly cambered and smooth surfaced. Several are screamers, yahooing when I accelerate on the straightaway up to fourth gear, just barely. The Guzzi races, effortlessly, smoothly. It feels alive in the sunshine. Lauren is the first to ride, in full sunshine. Alison is the last as the sun disappears behind the mountains and the moon rises in the clear sky. We pass tiny villages, their rocky Tuscan fronts still glowing sunnily in the fading light, golden fields, green forests, blue sky, giving way to twilight. Tomorrow is the last day and then I am on my own. The ferry from Livorno to Olbia in the north of Sardegna (Sardenia) leaves at 3:30.
by Pamela Michael Villa di Castello, Traversa, Tuscany September 28, 2001	After five days ensconced at a ninth century villa at the foot of the Apennines I am happy to concede that Tuscany is the center of the universe. Why argue with the Etruscans and the Medicis, with Leonardo and Michelangelo? Clearly, this lush, undulating, fragrant landscape inspires and nurtures expression and creativity in ways that more prosaic terrain does not. It is no coincidence that it was hard-working Tuscan hands rocked the cradle of the Renaissance, or that Tuscan artists spread these humanist ideals throughout the world. A Tuscan-spawned re-naissance, literally re-birth, of the human spirit transformed 15th century lives-and indeed the rest of history-with its powerful ideas about our capacity to build, to reason, grow, dream and envision. And so, how fitting that the twelve of us have come here, to this place, seeking to strengthen and redefine ourselves as a group, having survived our first book project; how strangely appropriate, too, that we should end up here, as individuals in search of renewal, in the wake of the horrible events in the United States on September 11th. It is not without some degree of guilt that we acknowledge how thoroughly we've succeeded in banishing thoughts of home and giving ourselves over to the moment, to this place brimming with autumn bounty and smells. Will we ever tire of porcini and truffles? Asparagus risotto? Limoncetta and vin santo by the fire? Always finding the toilet seat down? I suppose I could have pecorino and pear for breakfast at home any morning I wished, but somehow, here I enjoy them in a way I never could at my own kitchen table. Does this have more to do with the difference between everyday life and the heightened existence of being on vacation, or with the magic of waking up to Tuscan sunlight and sounds? Who knows? Sharing any experience with eleven other people is both a high and a challenge, that much I know. We've managed ably to accommodate different styles of travel and disposable income levels, snorers (guilty, as charged), vegetarians (ditto). The closest we've come to real disagreement was over musical tastes during our wild night of dancing by the fire with a boom box borrowed from Roseanna, the villa's caretaker. The unforgivable absence of even one note of universally-loved Motown or R&B led to techno/trance v. reggae conflicts that threatened to rival that of Florence and Pisa. Highlight of the trip, so far? Encountering a wild boar, a cinghiale, in a misty primeval woodland (said to be the most ecologically diverse in all of Europe) on our way to a 1000-year-old hermitage near Camaldoli. The image of the fuzzy, frightened (perhaps no more than us) creature struggling to escape up a slippery slope will stay with me the rest of my life. I couldn't have been more startled or amazed had we come upon a dinosaur. Travel, like a good book, leaves us with many such vivid images, forever etched in our memories, with new, sometimes disturbing ideas. Visiting new places and cultures changes the way we view the world, and hopefully, helps us to understand and appreciate, if not celebrate, our differences.Again, I'm struck by the grace of finding myself at this juncture of human history in Tuscany, birthplace of not only the Renaissance, but also of the art of perspective, the ability to create depth and more accurately depict reality. Perspective is part of what I'm seeking on this trip, on any trip-- seeing things from a new angle. With the inspiration and comfort of eleven vibrant and sympatico Wild Writing Women and maybe a little help from Brunelleschi and Masaccio, perhaps I will.
by Jen Leo Villa di Castello, Traversa, Tuscany September 28, 2001	"Little One, Baby, Kid, Honey and Sweetie," is what I'm called, and I don't mind. At thirty, I'm the youngest of our group of twelve. Our ages span four decades; most of the Wild Writing Women have been to more countries that I have years. I've been to nine countries now, and this is my first trip to Europe. Laughter rises from the kitchen in the mornings, and stories and dancing by the fire last late into the night. At dinner and on our scenic hours-long drives through the Tuscan hills, I find myself listening more than talking. Like a piece of pane on a dish of olive oil, I soak up their life's tales-- their challenges and inspirations, their favorite books and musicians, the complicated webs of their family histories, and their passions for past and present loves. It's easy to see that I am not the only one learning from the others-- herbal remedies, concoctions for the perfect facial, alternative healings, tech lessons on cameras and computers, financial and fashion advice are all swapped during, after, and in between each daily five-course meal. I raise another glass of Chianti, smile and feel my life beginning to unfold before me. This week these women have shown me the recipe to life in a secret language that now, after eating and laughing our way around Tuscany, I have come to understand. < previous | next >