Allora finalmente i got the chance to blog! Scusa se ero MIA ma tu sai che difficile da trovare un internet cafe. I know, I'm supposed to be at the farm now toiling my arse off for Dario il contadino. MA things took an unexpected turn... and the farm became a horror film set. After spending 2 gorgeous days at Siena, we left on Domenica per Sinalunga where we got a lift from Alessandro and his 18-year old figlia Silvia on their way to Arezzo (they thought we looked 18, haha). Aless looked like a mad drunk but was troppo gentile and they dropped us off at Monte San Savino where we waited 4 bloody hours for Dario who was stuck in traffico from Venice.
Finalmente our bladders could'nt take it anymore and we walked 400m to the nearest bar. Fern's backpack was giving way to the 3kg of ham and 2 bottiglie di Lambrusco among other foodstuffs she bought. When Dario and his 11 year-old figlio Michele finally arrived at 8plus, we were tired, hungry and bitten to death by the zanzare (mossies). His farm was at Palazzuolo, and we had to turn into a long narrow unpaved road in the dark. He seemed friendly enough and we exchanged pleasantries. When I inquired about his famiglia, he told us his wife and him have split but still living in the same casa. Their 3 kids and wife stayed in their own quarters while he has his own room and storerooms for his produtti. Che strano.
Then we were talking about his miso and his son wanted to know what we were talking about in inglese. Dario told Michele he doesn't know anything about miso and Michele then told him to vaffanculo! Wah lao! Which son in any culture would tell his old man to go fuck himself in front of guests? It was obviously a sign of disrespect. I let out an embarrassed coughed and muttered to F what he just did. When we reached the house, it was already dark and we were all tired and hungry. After giving us a quick tour of his quarters, he whipped up a frugal dinner of miso soup, riso and a fried zucchini in his messy kitchen. And he forgot to pour us any acqua or vino. Compared to Casa Lanzarotti's 4-course cena and Elena's multi-course dinners, it was indeed miserable.
After dinner, he led us to his musky storeroom where his miso fermented in large vats pressed down with huge stones and another messy store connected to his equally untidy bedroom. The worst shock was the toilet. There was a bin overflowing with soiled tissue and the mirror was cracked and the shelves messy with junk. It looked like he didn't care for his personal hygiene. F almost threw up while I just laughed disbelievingly - to overcome my shock.
The funniest thing was he told us we couldn't stray to his wife's side and we must not use too much water (since it came from their own well) so we felt quite restricted. That night we'd have to sleep in his smelly bed which he did change his sheets and pillowcases because the ladder leading to the guestroom upstairs was not ready. He had no time to do anything even though he knew we were coming 2 weeks ago! F and I were so traumatised we just lay in bed in our clothes, jeans and bras - huddled like rabbits - on the 2cm thin mattresses. We had not slept with our bras on for years, infatti mai! We kept laughing and laughing to get over the shock and plot our escape the next morning. We couldn't imagine staying there living like this and using his shitty toilet. All night she stuck to me like a petrified bolster and we were so grateful when the light came in at dawn.
Allora finalmente i got the chance to blog! Scusa se ero MIA ma tu sai che difficile da trovare un internet cafe. I know, I'm supposed to be at the farm now toiling my arse off for Dario il contadino. MA things took an unexpected turn... and the farm became a horror film set. After spending 2 gorgeous days at Siena, we left on Domenica per Sinalunga where we got a lift from Alessandro and his 18-year old figlia Silvia on their way to Arezzo (they thought we looked 18, haha). Aless looked like a mad drunk but was troppo gentile and they dropped us off at Monte San Savino where we waited 4 bloody hours for Dario who was stuck in traffico from Venice. 
Finalmente our bladders could'nt take it anymore and we walked 400m to the nearest bar. Fern's backpack was giving way to the 3kg of ham and 2 bottiglie di Lambrusco among other foodstuffs she bought. When Dario and his 11 year-old figlio Michele finally arrived at 8plus, we were tired, hungry and bitten to death by the zanzare (mossies). His farm was at Palazzuolo, and we had to turn into a long narrow unpaved road in the dark. He seemed friendly enough and we exchanged pleasantries. When I inquired about his famiglia, he told us his wife and him have split but still living in the same casa. Their 3 kids and wife stayed in their own quarters while he has his own room and storerooms for his produtti. Che strano. 
Then we were talking about his miso and his son wanted to know what we were talking about in inglese. Dario told Michele he doesn't know anything about miso and Michele then told him to vaffanculo! Wah lao! Which son in any culture would tell his old man to go fuck himself in front of guests? It was obviously a sign of disrespect. I let out an embarrassed coughed and muttered to F what he just did. When we reached the house, it was already dark and we were all tired and hungry. After giving us a quick tour of his quarters, he whipped up a frugal dinner of miso soup, riso and a fried zucchini in his messy kitchen. And he forgot to pour us any acqua or vino. Compared to Casa Lanzarotti's 4-course cena and Elena's multi-course dinners, it was indeed miserable. 
After dinner, he led us to his musky storeroom where his miso fermented in large vats pressed down with huge stones and another messy store connected to his equally untidy bedroom. The worst shock was the toilet. There was a bin overflowing with soiled tissue and the mirror was cracked and the shelves messy with junk. It looked like he didn't care for his personal hygiene. F almost threw up while I just laughed disbelievingly - to overcome my shock.
The funniest thing was he told us we couldn't stray to his wife's side and we must not use too much water (since it came from their own well) so we felt quite restricted. That night we'd have to sleep in his smelly bed which he did change his sheets and pillowcases because the ladder leading to the guestroom upstairs was not ready. He had no time to do anything even though he knew we were coming 2 weeks ago! F and I were so traumatised we just lay in bed in our clothes, jeans and bras - huddled like rabbits - on the 2cm thin mattresses. We had not slept with our bras on for years, infatti mai! We kept laughing and laughing to get over the shock and plot our escape the next morning. We couldn't imagine staying there living like this and using his shitty toilet. All night she stuck to me like a petrified bolster and we were so grateful when the light came in at dawn.
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