Gracious Hosts

May 14, 2009 late afternoon... The tension of our quest to find this place
begins to melt away, and we slowly refocus on the beauty of our surroundings. We’ve made it. To this little heaven called Tuscany. If I’m dreaming, per carità, don’t wake me.

A few minutes later, as we’re sipping and nibbling, we hear Eliana calling in the background, “Ugo!” “Ugo!” She’s calling the dog, who is in no rush to heed his master’s voice and make an appearance. A cat peeks around the corner, though, and Cynthia stands and follows it around the side of the villa. Eliana is there, leaving a bowl of water on the stoop near the door, and as she straightens up she wipes her hands on the front of her apron.

“That’s Mariola,” she tells us, pointing to the friendly feline wreathing around Cynthia’s ankles. “She’s very sweet. She and another cat just had kittens a week ago. Mariola had one, and Bella, the other cat, had four.” Eliana comes down the steps and reaches to open the roof of a small dog house, currently in use as the maternity ward. Peering up at us are Bella, a tortie like Mariola, and five kittens nursing with great enthusiasm. At least Bella is peering up at us. The kittens barely have their eyes open. Cynthia picks up one, and Bella meowls in protest. Having left the babysitting duties to Bella, Mariola begins to purr loudly.

“What is the Italian verb for that sound?” I ask Eliana.

“Fare la fusa. And in English?” she asks.

“Purr.”“Purr,” she imitates me, and with effort adds an impressively emphasized American rrr to the end. “Brava,” I congratulate her, and she beams.

Ugo, or Hugo, chooses this moment to come trotting up from the olive groves below. He looks like a miniature Rottweiler, and is about the size of an American football. “There you are, you vagabond,” chastises Eliana. “Where have you been this time?” Ugo’s not telling. He just sits and looks up at her with big brown moon pie eyes. Eliana clucks her tongue at him and shakes her head.

“Allora,” she says, looking up at us and smiling. “Are you feeling a bit recovered?”

“Yes, thanks so much.”“I’m glad. You’re probably eager to settle in and get your bearings. Let me call Silvano, so he can come and bring you to the apartment.” Silvano is her husband, Silvano Mamprin, manager of La Palazzina.

In just a few minutes, Silvano pulls in up in a Subaru wagon, gets out of the car and gives us a hearty welcome in English. He’s Venetian by birth, but a few years back he emigrated south to Tuscany. With pale blue eyes, fair skin, and stocky build, he’s expressive, extroverted, and enthusiastically sincere in his welcome. He speaks fluent English with an accent that is equal parts Italian and British. After exchanging pleasantries, and happy to see that Eliana has taken such good care of us already, he says, “So, now, I’ll take you to the apartment, Il Colombaio; it’s just down the road. Take your time settling in, and we’d like to invite you to dinner tonight back here at the house. How does 7:30 sound?” Like a healing elixir for weary souls.