Firenze tutto bella

I left Barbialla Nuova yesterday after biding farewell to Ciro and got on the train to Firenze followed by an autobus to Guido's cosy bachelor pad. It was centrally tucked away next to the Boboli Gardens and directions were clearly illustrated with Marco's hand-drawn map. I couldn't believe I'd be back here for the 3rd time! At first, I wanted to stay away from cities but who could resist the Renaissance charm of Firenze and the kind offer of two free nights' stay!

Anyway I dropped my bags and followed Marco's lunch recommendation at the 17-year-old kiosk establishment 'Il Trippaio' at Porta Romana. It was the only eatery at the piazza next to the verdura stall and I joined the queue pondering what to order.

I made friends with Simone, a young local lamp artisan, as he was probably curious why I was taking pictures of my dish and peeping greedily at his 'Trippa Bianca' (tender bits of tripe slow cooked in pomodoro and leeks). He was so kind to offer me some of his order while I tucked into the star specialty 'Bollito Misto' - boiled mixed beef parts including boiled tender cheeks, tongue, tripe and 'zampa' (feet) sprinkled with salt, pepper, piquante oil and the homemade salsa verde (made from prezzemolo, Simone said).

I told the owner Mario and his wife Manola that it was buonissimo (great!) ma tantissimo (too much) for my piccolo stomach! Like Marco, Simone pronounced this kiosk was the best in Firenze and that people from all classes flock to enjoy the 'medieval fast food' which was originally the poor man's street food. Simone even spotted and gleefully pointed out 'Prince Corsini' in his spotless summer linen suit tucking into a plate.

When I could eat no more, Simone showed me his shop nearby and I invited him to join me and the gang at Piazza Santo Spirito for drinks. It was the local hangout, away from the maddening tourists, serviced by an outdoor summer bar and trattorie aplenty.

I then had a full day sightseeing, starting with the Mercato Centrale market and the San Lorenzo's open market which I remembered fondly from my first visit to Firenze, when F and I had stayed in a room overlooking the bustling lanes. Time seemed to have stood still - nothing's changed much but I could see why Marco said Firenze was now robbed by the tourists.

I moved around effortlessly in the compact city using the imposing and impossibly stunning Duomo as the guiding landmark. It was so crowded and I was glad to have seen the inside before. I hurried back across the Ponte Vecchio where I found some peace and solace in a cup of double-scooped gelato by the river.

Having seen the Uffizi, my guidebook led me to Santa Maria del Carmine and its Brancacci Chapel, housing one of the greatest works in the entire Renaissance period. The vivid frescos were first started in 1425 by Masolino da Panicale, who painted the Temptation of Adam and Eve, and then continued by geniuses Masaccio and Filippino Lippi. All of us just sat there in the calm silence and admired the centuries-old ceilings in awe.

At around 8pm, I joined Marco, Anita and their friends from Cyprus for a lovely dinner at a packed local trattoria nearby. We ordered as the waitress rambled off the specials of the day, starting with the must-try Toscana crostini laden with liver pate, porcini and tuna. My beef stew con misti funghi sauce was matched with a side contorno of perfectly deepfried zuchini.

I could just live in Firenze for le arte and cucina, but alas, I had to say arrivederci to all my new-found amici and depart for the hot springs in Saturnia - my personal holy grail. Hopefully I can find it!

Hunt For The White Tartufo

Marco had kindly arranged for Imperio, the resident tartufaio or truffle finder, to pick me up for the truffle hunt but it rained again in the morning so after lunch, the 75-year-old and his shy dog Tobi collected me at 1.30pm and we proceeded to the dense moist woods near the cattle ranch.

Not that I was unfit, but I was trying to catch up with them in my oversized PCK yellow boots while navigating the slippery muddy mosh and pickly bushes. At one point, in my haste not to lose sight of them, I fell and nearly caked my face with mud! Not that Imperio noticed anyway; he was busy egging Tobi on with 'Dove?' (where is it?) and Tobi who was so pensive in the car suddenly came into his element and responded by poking his face into every crevices in the dirt, muddy waters and thick undergrowth.

It was such a joy simply to watch both man and dog in action, especially adorable Tobi indifferent to the occasional loose leaves stuck to his forehead. Picture him as a darling white ball of curly wool with the most expressive eyes and brown patches over his left ear. The only time he pranced around me was when I found a couple of large mushrooms and he became momentarily distracted by the equally deliciously earthy aroma of funghi.

Imperio explained to me in Italian (which I somehow managed to make out) to watch Tobi's tail as sign for tartufo. True enough, the next moment his tail wagged like a magic feather duster in a frenzy (left-right-up-down-all-around) and dug his front paws into a spot where he smelled a trace. Imperio would then take over and dug at the mark and pressed his nose into a handful of soil to confirm if we had struck gold. He stuck out his hand for me to smell but I could only detect fresh wet soil and nodded politely.

After 10 mins of Imperio's careful digging urged by Tobi's tartufo dance, we finally glimpsed a small nugget of truffle that could pass for a mouldy pebble. I wouldn't be able to tell the difference till he proudly presented it to me and I pressed my face to inhale the deeply earthy savoury aroma. Ahh. I beamed at Tobi and declared him 'bravo' and he danced around me somemore, hoping I'd drop the mushrooms.

It was hard to describe the tartufo's perfume but Gianluca later told me there were various terms reserved such as honey, herby and nutty used by connoisseurs, akin to how one would describe the bouquet of wines. I learnt that it really depended on the kind of host tree for example truffles which were commonly grown near oak trees would carry a stronger earthy perfume while those found close to pine trees might have a more pungent garlic flavour.

Gianluca also mentioned that in Tuscany, 1 gram of white truffle could sell from 1 to 3 euros depending on the farm's harvest which ranged from 22 kg last year to a miserable 2kg the previous year. The best time to harvest it was from mid-October to December, so I guessed today was just for me to experience the hard work!

Another interesting fact he pointed out was that Tobi belonged to the costly Lagotto Romagnolo breed which was common in the Romagna part of the Emilia Romagna region. It was the only breed of dog officially recognised as a specialist in truffle hunting; favoured over the traditional pig sniffer because the pigs were hard to train but I suspected they were probably smarter than we thought, since they would devour the truffles at their first chance!

Storm after the party

Friday marked the start of the truffles harvest as well as hunting season, and I was to go tartufo-hunting with Imperio and his dog Tobi this morning but the sky poured since 5am and never relented. So I snuggled under the covers till 9am. It had been raining for the past few days in Tuscany but luckily for Gianluca and his wife Valentina, it was a perfectly sunny day yesterday and the air was clean and crisp. He had apparently paid for an accurate weather forecast months ago for the celebration of their gorgeous month-old newborn Petra. They had kindly invited me to join the 100-odd guests at the festa to be held at the big farmhouse on the hill overlooking the gentle carpeted hills.

Everyone pitched in with the preparations from setting the tables to chippin in with the food. The setting was like a party scene ripped from the movie 'Under The Tuscan Sun' where I was Diana Lane sipping copious amount of bubbly prosecco, tapping my feet to the live jazz set performed by a boyish French band and nibbling (ok more like gobbling) on the buffet of prosciutto ham (sliced from a whole leg!), plump figs with salame, Gorgonzola cheese on celery sticks, block of Parmiggiano with thick honey, eggplant-pomodoro-mozarella insalata, fresh fruits, Italian cheesecake and an irresistible cioccolato tart. Tutto buonissimo!

And then there was the only Cinese piatto di black pepper ginger beef squares with capsicums on cocktail sticks, courtesy of me - which was popular! Anita and her friends helped to assemble the dish and we gave it a crude name in Hokkien (after the female genitalia), and we all had a fit getting high on wine and cigarettes! It was quite delizioso - I must say. The chunk of prime beef was also molto caro at 42 euros but worth the price.

Earlier in the day during the preparation, I was amused by how much deliberation went into where the tables, chairs and table cloth should be as Gianluca and Valentina discussed and rearranged the seating till they were both pleased, occasionally asking me if it was fine. Clearly the efforts paid off as it was truly lovely under the crescent-illuminated starry night, and the guests dined at the outdoor candle-lit tables dressed with the wild grapevines, flowers and fruits plucked from the garden.

Being the only Asian, I felt like a fly on the wall observing everything but not participating as everyone was chattering in Italian and catching up with one another. So I retreated to the deck with my cigarettes and prosecco to spot the shooting stars across the dark horizon of the Tuscan hills in the cool night (14 degrees C). By midnight, the guys were getting pissed drunk on the Russian vodka so I walked down the hill guided by the moonlight, accompanied by thoughts of my friends and family.

Medieval Siena & San Grimignano

On my day off, Lorenzo treated me to colazione of my favourite cioccolato brioche and caffe latte at Montaione, before dropping me off at Castel Fiorentino train station where I boarded the 9.20am ride (3,30euros) to Siena. I had always wanted to visit the medieval town again; the first time in 2001 didn't count as we only stopped at its outskirts on our way to Murlo, a quaint little hole.

As we were slapped in the middle of wine cpuntry, the leisurely train ride offered glimpses of the neat rows of vineyards, heavy with grapes almost ready to be harvested at the turn of autumn. The lady and man in my cabin, both of African descent, stared at me, the only Asian girl, and looked like they wanted to start a conversation but weren't sure if I spoke Italian. I just smiled at no one in particular and drank in the scenery. I loved train rides so much so I think I'd be contented being a train conductor for the rest of my life (bus driver was my other - now you know!).

At Siena, I followed the advice of a lady who told me to take the bus (0,90euros) to the historic centro and the kind bus driver then pointed me the way to the Piazza del Campo where everyone graviated to. It was easy to see why. The square was gorgeous, surrounded with beautifully restored ancient medieval buidlings. The jewel of the crown was the imposing Palazzo Publico, a Gothic town hall (completed in 1342). It was also here that I bravely or rather stupendously overcame my slight claustrophobia by climbing its bell tower, the Torre del Mangia' - the 2nd highest medieval tower in Italy at a neck-stretching 102 metres.

Initially I nearly had a seizure ascending the dark narrow first flight of stairs on my own and immediately retraced my steps to the open terrace for a breather. A kind Swiss couple assured me the stairway would get wider after the first 3 flights, so I took a deep breathe, psyched myself like a gladiator about to meet his doom in the colosseum and steadily laboured the 505 steps to the top!

Well it wasn't as bad as I had imagined, as I was distracted by the spectacular views of the all-encompassing vista of the Tuscan landscape as well as the crammed medieval buidlings and alleys all over Siena (this would make a great locale for the Amazing Race as a detour or roadblock!) My favourite style of architecture was from the Medieval age so Siena was a real treat to drink in the sea of brick and spot the aerial bridges characteristic of this town. I happily peered over the edge and snapped the fontana, resembling a little blue basin in the warm coral-pink fan-shaped piazza below.

The Duomo, touted as one of the best in Italy, was being restored and I could make out its scaffolded black-and-white marbled exterior even from the tower. Later when I found it on foot, I was turned off by the long queue and spurred by my growling stomach to locate La Vecchia Taverna, tucked away in a lane off the main shopping street Via Di Citta, just when it began to pour. Tempted by so many offerings on the menu, I settled for the local culinary highlight - tagliatelle al cinghiale - the savoury wild boar Bolognese-like sauce laced with fennel (7 euros).

It was almost 2pm when I chomped down the quick lunch, so I skipped along the streets shielding my head from the rain with my small folded tourist map, momentarily glancing up at the different colourful flags and twisted glass lamps. They bore the symbols of the 17 contrade which compete in the world-famous Sienese Palio (bareback horserace) that takes place every year at the Piazza in July. Just when I was cursing at the pouring sky and wondering why I listened to Lorenzo and didn't bring my jacket, Giovanni, a silver-streaked gentleman in his 40s, came to shelter me with his umbrella gallantly. I accepted his kind gesture because I really hated half-fu%ked rain and secondly he didn't seem sleazy (although he did raise my eyebrows by asking me if I wanted a caffe at a bar).

A brief polite conversation ensued and he kindly dropped me off at Piazza Gramsci (bus terminal) where I found my waiting bus (5,20euros) to San Grimignano. It was a slow one and half hour ride passing by small towns such as Poggibonsi. I killed time by scrutinizing the women's stylish dressing and their perfectly coiffed hair, and smiled to myself when I saw the children waving goodbye to their mamas. Soon enough, I spotted the striking brick windowless towers of San Grimignano high atop the hills and excitedly asked the driver where I should get off.

Like Lucca, it was an ancient town encased in a wall of brick; its remaining 14 towers out of the 76 from the 13th century erect like birthday candles. The quaint medieval town was so well-preserved it felt like stepping back in time as I fought the crowd from Via San Giovanni to Via San Matteo, stopping for a chocolate-hazelnut gelato (the best I ever had!) and nipped into the shops for Tuscan specialties like the crumbly ricciarelli biscotti - a diabetic nightmare of moist ground almonds, candied peel and honey. And who could also resist the different panforte? *salivate* The chunky noughat-like torta along with the other confectionery delights, were squatting in the caffe's window, begging for me to buy all the varieties - Cioccolato, Marzaphane and Margherita panforte. Si si!

Lured in by a whole stuffed wild boar, I asked the delicatessen's shopkeeper if the 10euros bottle of Vernaccia (a popular local white grape) was 'buono'. She nodded 'si, e' buono' with a gentle smile and proceeded to wrap it and 5 thin moist slices of proscuitto ham, that was screaming 'take me home'. To escape the light drizzle, I took refuge in the must-see Collegiata Basilica (3euros), one of the most intact and frescoed cathedrals in Italy and gave the more commercial Tortura Museum a miss.

With the help of an Austrian couple, I got on the bus to Poggibonsi stazione where I tried to call Lorenzo on the public phone but it didn't seem to be working and the recorded Italian voice was driving me mad. I tried to explain my predicament to the stern-looking bartender but he couldn't understand and frowned at my horrible rambling Italian (telefono cattivo!). Luckily a friendly customer offered me his handphone and that saved the day!

That evening, Poli and Lu (we called each other affectionately by our family names!) tucked into a deliciozo cena of proscuitto di Daniele ('it's one of the best proscuitto in italia' I told him in joy and he said why I know everything!) and a stew of gamberi (shrimps) that he bought by mistake, much to my delight. Yeepee!

Home Alone

More gardening duties kept me busy this morning and we started off by picking up some natural fertilisers - si, steaming fresh cowdung from the stinko barns. Yucky-merda-poo. Under the dreamy toscana sun, I weeded the garden plots and piled on the shit literally, in between bites of fresh figs plucked off the trees (no, I didn't wash my hands and yes, the mossies are killing me!). At times like these, I wished there were a few other Woofers around. Boredom was creeping in and I was making plans for my next leg of the trip down south. Hmm, shall I revisit my beloved Firenze again?

In the evening, Lorenzo went to Firenze and hung out with his mates at the local Piazza Santo Spirito and I was home alone again with my spaghetti con aglio e olio, vino rosso, cigarettes and iMac. I was surprised that it didn't bother me that I was alone in the house, on the contrary I never felt so secure and contented, and slept like a baby plugged into my ipod listening to la musica di 'Casa'.

At dawn, I woke up to a raging storm outside and the loud mooing of the distressed cows. Lorenzo was missing but crept in later with a hangover, so we slacked and cleaned the house all day, joking about Oscar the mouse who was often spotted. Once it was sleeping in the hood of my backpack and it ran off stunned when I screamed in shock! Another night, Oscar and his friends are having a party ranning all over the house, and it was a bit disconcerning to hear rustling sounds beneath my bed. Anyway today's lunch was simple yet mouthwatering - boiled Maremmana rice di Grosseto, with the freshest mozzarella (it looked like a man's head with a fur coat - my fav foto!), pomodori, insalata, pecorino and vino. It was no surprise I didn't miss Chinese food at all as I had all the rice and pasta I needed for a carbo high.

With time on our hands, Lori suggested that we made gnocchi again for dinner for the gang tonight, so I braved my third attempt - this time with the larger patate - and it turned out benissimo. Guiddo, Gianlucca and Valentina heaped me with praise and polished up their plates, while their grouchy-looking bulldog Camilo sulked in a corner. He wasn't the prettiest thing but quite a comica resilient character, judging by the series of unfortunate events which happened to him. Gianlucca said he once ate a block of 'herbs' and was stoned for days.

Another time, they were in the woods and a porcupine attacked him and his face was full of pines! Finally to test his 'immortality', Gianlucca accidentally backed his car and ran it over his left hind leg which left him limping now. I felt so sorry and developed instant respect and affection for him! Dinner ended on a sweet note; namely a Tuscan specialty flat and sweet bread called 'schiacciata con l'uva' that was dense and flavourful with juicy grapes and fennel (which incidentally flourished abundantly along the driveway!). Yummilicious.

One week itch

Last night Lorenzo returned from Venice and we had squid stewed in pomodoro, riso and fagiolini (I stir-fried the french beans with garlic and the kickarse piccante chilli flakes). When I was washing the rice, Marco looked stunned and asked me what I was doing. I replied 'Err, I'm washing the rice?' - duh, wasn't it obvious? And he went 'Ahh'. And when i washed it the 2nd time, he gave me that bemused look again and left me at it. Later I found that apparently the italians don't cook rice like we asians do! When I measured the right level of water in the pot with my index finger like how my mamma does it, he looked incredulous again. A few days later, Lorenzo showed me how they boiled riso like pasta in a big pot of salted water and then sieved - molto interessante!

Anyway Marco and Anita left for a 4-day holiday in Elba, so it was just me, Lorenzo and Ciro (the dog) doing our mundane work and chilling on our own. For the second time on the trip, I played barber again at his request and razed down Lorenzo's hair with an old batty electric shaver. I was laughing hysterically the whole time because the shaver was shitty and I had to press it really hard against his skull while he was grimacing hilariously. I was no David Gan but he was pleased with the look. Haha. Brava me.

Back to work, the duties were non too demanding but it got a tad routine (me being the only Wwoofer) and the fu%king mosquitoes and heat were killing me! Yes, you'd think it would be damn bellisimo under the sole di Toscano but the army of zanzara and horseflies immediately wiped out all my romanticised notions. On my last count, I suffered 40 bites (20 alone on my left arm) and for some weird reasons, I had a breakout on my face. Porca put@na! I need a good facial, cucumber scrub and body wrap now. Argh. Ok I didn't want to sound like I was complaining. It had been a week here and each day I woke up feeling more alive, slapped some mosquitoes and pinched myself to remind me how blessed I was to be in Italia.

The food and vino were my constant pleasures; from the specialty dolci to simple homecooked pasta. I especially worshipped the juicy green figs plucked off the trees on the property and I would suck the sweet jammy flesh or mash them into a pulp for my original cocktail called Figitini (just add lemon juice, honey and Zivana, a 45% alcohol grappa-like liquor that Anita brought from Cyprus!). Otherwise, I'd make myself a Sangria or sip a glass of wine with every meal.

I also enjoyed the rides that Lorenzo and I took to nearby Montaione to pick up the groceries at COOP. I ogled at the range of salumi, including a solid thick chunk of cured fat which would be thinly sliced and eaten like ham. That evening, we tucked into farm-raised pollo (chicken which I marinated with our garden-fresh rosemary, sage, limone and honey) grilled over logfire with my homemade patate mash and a bottle of Chianti vino rosso. We had a good chat (he used to do gymnastics which explained the 6-pack) and I taught him lots of Chinese characters and tested him again and again...

Carl Solo Again

After dinner, both of us tucked ourselves under the mosquito net and I couldn't get up on time this morning so I took the day off amd chilled out with Katie before she ran off to meet her parents in nearby Lucca. We explored the estate and I showed her the farmhouse with Ciro tagging along everywhere we went.

At noon, we sadly hugged each other goodbye and promised to meet up in a trullo in Alberobello a week later. I'd miss Katie as I enjoyed talking to her. We had a lot in common - both free-spirited female travellers seeking our own holy grail. Being on the road on our own had made us stronger, more empowered and more certain of what we want from life. I personally learnt so much about myself and relished seiziing life by the moment, making split-second decisions, taking calculated risks, trusting my instincts and living by my own rules.

After Katie left and with Lorenzo away in Venice for the film festival, Marco let me drive the beat-up red Fiat Panda - a small mean dynamo - to the other 2 farmhouses because he might need me to greet and guide the new guests later. I handled the manual gear well enough and manouvered the car up the rocky winding path. He seemed anxious at first but relaxed and praised me when we arrived in one piece! The mini apartments housed in the restored farmhouses were charmingly rustic yet artistically modern, courtesy of the splashes of vibrant paints and quirky fixtures.

Over the next few days, I was the resident housekeeper busy with the interior maintenance work and also played the role of the friendly Asian gardener. Imagine me trimming the roses, cacti, rosemary bushes (grandissimo!) and grapevines while pointing out the elderberries, peaches and luscious green figs to the curious guests. Anita, Marco's girlfriend, arrived from Cyprus in the afternoon; she was lanky and skinny, well-tanned and had a pretty bambi look framed by black curls. The couple stole time off on a date and I settled to my dinner of aglio olio spaghetti, Sangria and cigarettes.

Me And Katie Again

I finished up my work at noon and strolled down the hill just in time to greet Katie whom Marco picked up from San Miniato. We hugged and couldn't believe we'd meet each other again so soon! It was great fun catching up on our adventures during the past week and reminiscing our stay at Casa Lanzarotti. Over dish-washing, we also hatched a retirement plan to buy a plot of land near Gotra and imagined running an Asian health spa retreat with the help of Wwoofers.

To celebrate our reunion, we braved a second attempt at making gnocchi for dinner since Marco's friends were coming over that evening. Gianlucca came with his family, Guiddo and Filippo with his bubbly girlfriend. It was a riot in the piccola cucina as we yakked excitedly over vino and our gnocchi. Despite looking beautiful, they sadly turned into pulp after we scooped them out from the boiling pot and into the hot sage butter sauce. We had taken a chance with the tiny round patate and it proved to be unsuitable. I joked that we had planned the mushy polenta in the first place and they were very kind, especially Valentina who praised us for the lovely effort and finished every mouthful. Luckily there were lots of good bread, cheese, insalata and a huge mushroom which Guiddo had picked from the woods. He said he wasn't sure if it was edible and there was only one way to find out. We didn't foam at the mouth after a bite so I guess we survived.

Filippo (who was soft-spoken and yoga instructor) had arrived with a 'Dolce Pane' - a delizioso crumbly sweet specialty bread from Elba, the holiday isola off Toscana. Katie and I had also earlier nibbled at the Panforte, a dense dark and sweet cake spiced with cloves and cinnamon, that she bought from Siena. Hmm, I couldn't wait for my day off to the medieval ancient towns of Siena and San Gimignano to indulge in their specialty sweets, white wine Vernaccia and wild boar ham!

Frances Mayer at work

My first official day of work started at 8am, relatively late compared to Casa Lanzarotti where I had to peel my eyes open at 6.45am. Marco drove me in their trusty red Fiat Panda to the big holiday farmhouse on the hill where I spent the day varnishing the wood furniture and polishing the brass doorknobs and windows sill till they gleamed. My imagination ran wild and I role-played as Frances Mayer, pretending to prep my summer Toscana house for my guests.

It was strangely therapeutic rearranging the plates and glasses in the cabinet and polishing the kitchen counter, while plug into my i-pod and singing my lungs out loud. In between cigarette breaks, I would look out the kitchen backdoor and admire the breathtaking view, sighing at the Toscana landscape. Soon Lorenzo collected me for lunch and I found out over spaghetti alla frutti di mare that Guido whose family owned the farm was a Count (as in royalty) and I joked that perhaps I shoud curtsy in his presence.

Of course I didn't do that when I met him that evening when we picked him up on our way to the ancient medieval town of Certaldo on the hill, where there was a political festival of sort. He reminded me of a cuter, younger Kiefer Sutherland with his slightly aloof aristocrat air at times. At the popular outdoor diner's, Lorenzo presented me with a small pot of flowers he won in a lucky dip at the door and we all joined Daniel, a friendly English guy who spoke fluent Italian, and his 2 lady friends. Under the open starry night, I tucked into a bowl of Ribollita, a traditional hearty Tuscan soup made from kale, vegetables and stale bread (4euros), followed by deep-fried mixed seafood (7euros) with lots of vino, of course.

The medieval town was charming like how I'd imagine it centuries ago - there were even royal crests adorning the fortress' bricked walls. We all cringed at the really bad live act outside the cafe; the guys had their obligatory post-dinner expresso and gelato, while I couldn't resist buying my favourite Italian snacks of sfogliatella (crispy horn-shaped custard and nutella pastries!) and cantucci sweet biscuits for breakfast. I was also excited that I'd meet Katie tomorrow again, having contacted her in the afternoon that she could crash at the farm for 1 night before meeting her parents in Lucca.

Under the Toscana sun

I dragged my ass to the Lucca treno stazione in the morning and caught the train to Pisa and switched to San Miniato where the extremely affable Marco, host of Barbialla Nuova farm, picked me up shortly. I couldn't believe I made it this far and was going to experience another 2 weeks of farm stay in the heart of Tuscany!

The grande 500-hectares property was a short 25mins ride away, surrounded by gentle hills of dry land (being ploughed for planting of wheat) interpersed with forests. In comparison with the cool climate at Casa Lanzarotti on the North Appennino Parmense hills, the weather here was extremely hot and stifling despite the breeze, and I had to constantly swat at the irritating flies and mosquitoes.

Besides rearing Chianine cows (meat for the renowned Firenze T-bone steak) and harvesting white truffles in autumn, the farm also promotes agritourism where guests can choose between self-catered cosy apartments or a large holiday farmhouse on the estate. I would share a separate house with Marco and Lorenzo (both around 35 and very easygoing chaps) who managed the farm along with Guido and Gianluca (both 30).

I had a cosy bedroom to myself and it felt like I was living on a funky campus, where we'd share the bathroom (great view by the way!), office and kitchenette. They were in no hurry to get me working on the first day, so I just relaxed and got to know them better over lunch of simple pasta, 1983 Vin Santo (made by Gianluca's grandfather) and expresso. They were really into Asian holistic treatments, so they liked my gift of jasmine-scented incense.

Later we drove past the nearby town of Montaione to buy groceries from this biodynamic farm, where I ogled at the array of plump organic vegetables, wheat products to different cheeses made from goat and cow milk. Yum. On the way back, our car zipped past the classic Toscana landscape which I remembered fondly - a patchwork of wheat and withering sunflowers, vineyards, olive and tall windbreaker cypress trees on sweeping hills. Sigh. Welcome back to Toscana, I congratulated myself.

At night, the guys prepared a welcome dinner for me consisting of mouthwatering pork ribs and thick sausages cooked over an open woodfire in the yard, accompanied with lots of local red vino, conversation and cigarettes. What a great start!