Moving on: Val d’Orcia, Tuscany

Turns out in Italy, it’s acceptable to rent a car to a creature consisting of 80% cured meats and 20% retained water.

I picked up my car at the Bologna train station and headed toward Tuscany. I was sure I would end up with a white Ford Focus because I needed an automatic, but thankfully I got a gray wagon made by SEAT, which is apparently a Spanish subsidiary of VW. The point is, the car blends in, which is nice. I stopped halfway on the three hour drive for a fountain Coke Zero from McDonalds (I can’t find Diet Coke here; let’s get to the bottom of this). A large soda, just the drink, was 4.40 Euro, $4.75 according to today’s exchange rate. I exclaimed “for a drink?!” at the register. She said “yes, excuse me” but in the sense of the Italian scusa which is like I’m sorry, without the attitude of our ‘excuse ME.” It must be an ice mark up.

I continued the journey through stunning vistas and countryside, truly breathtaking and I’ve been lucky enough to see some gorgeous places. Arrived at the agriturismo, which is like a family farm that’s turned into a lodging; they’re dotted throughout the countryside and are a way for former farmers to make an income via tourism since small scale agriculture ain’t doing it.

I’d found this work exchange opportunity through a site called Workaway that I’d come across while trying to find ways to save money traveling. I initially imagined I would go through Italy for a couple months super cheap, staying with families to teach English, doing garden/farm related work, in exchange for room and board. Then I remembered that I was trying to… do something I would actually enjoy? And stop thinking my only purpose was to be useful to other people? I was able to mostly bag the work exchange idea thanks to the posthumous generosity of my bad-bitch grandmother who would’ve been so down with this trip. Before I went to Rome for study abroad in 2007, she sent to my Lyons Hall dorm mailbox a New York Times clipping about the Galleria Borghese with a check and a note to buy the ticket on her.

But I do love gardens and farms, and thought this workaway would be a good break, to just park myself for “free” in rural Tuscany for two weeks, hang out in olive groves, help an agriturismo prep for the season. I searched for listings, read the reviews from other “workawayers” and sent messages to a handful of small farms throughout Tuscany and Umbria. I only got one response and invitation, maybe because I was brand new to the site, or maybe because I didn’t want to stay the requisite month that many of them ask, or maybe because it was evident from my profile that I was not like a super-chill backpacker who would live in a yurt.. Yes, I like dirt but I also like to be adjacent to luxury. There is nothing wrong with my containing multitudes.

So the one invitation I got – I accepted it. And it wasn’t my first choice but it was all I had available, so my scarcity mindset said take it BECAUSE WHAT IF NOTHING ELSE COMES THROUGH, and damn if that’s not a thought that’s led me astray before.

I emailed back and forth with the host/owner and it all seemed fine; the reviews from (paying) guests were good, the other workawayers had fine experiences. I used scant evidence to convince myself that there might be multiple workawayers there at a time. I imagined a little community of guests and staff like having wine and pecorino under the Tuscan sun. I also convinced myself I might be staying in one of the apartments that are available to rent, like as if they would take an apartment offline for a paying guest to give a volunteer? But you know, I’ve honed the skill of convincing myself of things that are not reality but are more convenient for the idea I have of the future, and therefore, I forged ahead and just kind of had like a blank two weeks when I’d think about this part of the trip. Surprise! If you avoid the uncomfortable thing it doesn’t go away! It doesn’t turn into the thing you want it to be!

I arrived early evening on Tuesday and met the very talkative owner, learning all about his life and the history of the farm and touring the property. I could either stay in a room in his house, or in a camper – which I had known was an option for weeks but had convinced myself was maybe a translation issue and therefore it wasn’t an RV, no way, but a charming cottage (the depths of my delusions!)

Maybe two hours there and I already thought “there’s no way I can be here for two weeks.” I stayed two nights, gut instincts blaring, and then snuck away while he was out getting his car fixed and fled to a thermal spa hotel in Bagno Vignoni where I sit now in a bathrobe typing this.

Part II coming soon with details of the very short stay and thoughts on instinct vs. fear, sexual harassment vs. "‘cultural differences”, magical thinking, frozen pizza, and more!!!!!