Trulli Wonderland

After a restless night, I got up at 6am and boarded the first early morning autobus at Piazza Liberta to the train stazione. There was no one in sight and only one passenger on the bus. The elderly man in the biglietti booth didn't make it easier for me to leave; he asked me in italian why I had to leave Spoleto. Isn't it beautiful, he inquired, as if reading my mind. I sighed and explained 'si, è perfetto ma devo partire' (yes it's perfect but I have to go). A huge part of me couldn't bear to leave and I nearly tossed a coin just to convince myself to stay. But I pressed on, wondering when I will ever return.

Despite feeling like a zombie, I made it to Alberobello after an exhausting train journey from Spoleto at 7am and reached the quaint small town at 5pm after switching trains (40 fu%king euros!) at Ancona and Bari (which was 'brutto' compared to the quaint Umbrian towns). The scenery in Puglia was spectacular; a red earthy landscape and vast stretches dotted with olive groves. As I got closer to Alberobello on the private rail, I caught glances of the mystical cone-shaped trulli which perked me up - I certainly hope this UNESCO site was worth the journey.


At the station, I got directions to the trulli zones and called Alessandro to tell him that I had reached my destinazione finally! After what seemed like 10mins, Trullidea was located easily as there were signs pointing to it. I had called the popular albergo listed in my guidebook to reserve ahead at Bari and upon reaching the reception, bargained from 68 to 60 euros for a cosy white-washed trullo hut, complete with a small dwarf-ish attic, kitchenette, bathroom and back garden.

Feeling exhausted, I dragged myself to explore the two trulli quarters which were an amazing spectacle. However I found it too touristy for my liking as there were many giapponese tourists and even the shopkeepers spoke giapponese to me! My ready reply was 'Sono di Singapore, not Japan!' which earned an amused look accompanied by 'va bene, ci vediamo dopo'.

The main Alberobello town was dead quiet, September being a low season I guessed. But still it was charming especially in the evening when the locals came out for their passegiata, and the streets lining the piazza and church became alive, glowing with strings of fairy lights for an uncoming festa. I asked round 'vorrei mangiare e dove è un buono ristorante?' and was pointed to a local trattoria.

Cena was delicious and cheap (12 euros), comprising the Apulian homemade pasta 'orecchiette' (little ears) in ragu sauce and contorno of the freshest boiled spinach tossed with lemon juice. Barely able to keep my eyes open, I hurried back but got lost instantly trying to locate my trullo among the hundreds of similar-looking huts along similar-looking lanes! Cazzo! Luckily I could see the humour in the situation and laughed at myself hysterically. Soon enough with some luck, I turned the key in my trullo numero 6 and dozed off to gnome land tucked tightly in my big double bed after saying goodnight to Sandro.

The next morning, I packed my backpack after colazione and chatting with the adorable gnomish trullo-cafe owner (I even took his picture and he took one of me behind his bar counter!). I was in two minds about my next pitstop and he advised that Matera (the ancient location of 'Passion of Christ') was only accessible by car and the coastal town Tropea in Calabria was 'normale'.

So I found myself in Taranto an hour later and bought a ticket to Taormina in Sicily, feeding some of my panino scraps to two poor hungry dogs staring pathetically at me. Masato, the lone 27-year old bookish traveller, came up to me thinking I was also Japanese and we instantly took to each other, happy for the familiar Asian face. He was travelling alone in south Italy after spending a few months in Greece studying the language. So to him, Italian was totally Greek and I was only too glad to give him a crash course!

We caught the same train heading to Sicily and found ourselves in a cabin with sweet Donatella, who was my age but already a mother of 2 - she was travelling to Paola to see her mamma. I broke the ice first by asking her in italian if Taranto was nice. She was reserved and polite in the beginning but before long after my constant ribbing in italian, we were all yakking and laughing in italian! Her English was worse than my italian, so you could imagine the number of times we had to consult my phrasebook but we managed to debate about everything under the sun and even had a forbidden cigarette break giggling like schoolgirls when Masato wanted to have a puff too (even though he doesn't smoke)! She was like my long-lost italian girlfriend and I was sad to say goodbye to her at Paola. I told her I liked her and she replied the same. It was times like these that the journey was definitely more gratifying than the destination.

I'd always remember Paola as the place where three strangers struck up a beautiful albeit short friendship. Memories like these lasted a lifetime. Masato stayed on the train to the southern tip of Calabria while I switched to another one to Taormina. As the train passed along the deserted Calabrian coast, I witnessed the most dramatic sunset where the skies were heavy with dark gloomy clouds and the last rays shone through a gap, shimmering in one spot as if someone had shone a bright touchlight from above. Bellissima!

At 6.30pm, the train backed into the belly of a gigantic cruise (yes you heard that right!) and we were off to Sicily! When the train rolled into Taormina stazione, it was almost 8pm. I asked a geeky guy for directions to the town on the hill and a young Swedish couple approached me for help after overhearing my bad italian, thinking I was probably not as lost as them. We made our way together on the bus and a short hike to the youth hostel for one night (16 euros) as it was late already to find a proper hotel. Yay, I was finally in Sicilia!

Bello Spoleto

Life is full of gambles and I took a calculated risk by going to lunch at Alessandro's ancient casa which turned out to be such a beautiful experience. His mother made homemade Strangozzi con funghi, followed by grilled sausages and more mushrooms, endless rosso vino and a tray of local sweet cakes. Initially I was a little uncomfortable being the only stranger among his childhood friends but they quickly made me feel at home and luckily Lucca's girlfriend Marina spoke English or else I'd gone mad struggling in my limited Italian!

The town was abuzz as there was a vino festival and we carried an empty glass each to all the tasting caverns and topped up with different wines and liquors from all over Italy, in between cigarettes, Silician cioccolato and local cheeses. Alessandro was flirty and affectionate while his amici were warm, convivial and thoughtful - I never felt so welcome in Italy as we laughed and said 'ciao' to everyone. My Italian improved more as I drank more vino, listened to their conversation and joined in without feeling conscious of my bad grammar.

In the evening, Alessandro and I met up with his other crazy client Danielle, his wife of Indian descent Shima from Canada, Francesco and his partner Sabrina for dinner at Il Panciolle again, this time at the terrace because the rain had finally stopped. They ordered so much food (amazing antipasti of tartufo dumplings and liver crostini!) and indulged in 5 bottles of different wine and spumante to celebrate Sabrina's 42nd birthday at the stroke of midnight.

As the evening came to a close and we all kissed arrivederci, I never felt so delirious yet depressed as if someone just yanked my heart out. Over just 2 days, I already formed a forlorn attachment to the ancient town and its charm. As much as I'd love to stay in the warm circle of my newfound amici, I knew in my heart that I had to move on with my journey as more adventures awaited my discovery. I was just so glad and heartened that I took a chance and experienced a perfect Sunday in Spoleto.

Spoleto Surprise

When the train rolled into Spoleto at 8pm, I was already cranky and tired from the half day of travelling on the bus and train from Saturnia. It didn't help that it had gotten dark and I had just missed the bus to the town centre. Porca putana! When I called all the 3-star hotels listed in my guidebook, they said all their camere were 'tutto pieno e completo' because of the popular summer festivals. With not much choice, I hopped into a cab (at a cut-throat 10 euros for a short 5mins ride) and tried my luck at the 4-star hotel 'I Duchi' which was also freakin' full even though I was prepared to pay. The kind lady receptionist referred me to the nearby convent saying it was cheap at only 25euros a night.

I was figuring out the directions to the convent when the wind picked up and snatched the map out of my hands. I cursed at the sky which threatened to pour and almost fell over with the heavy backpack weighing me down while chasing the map dancing in the breeze. After asking the directions from an Argentinian and getting lost for 15mins, I finally found the heavy bolted door of the convent tucked away at the end of a small dark lane. It turned out to be a really charming and tranquil location, far exceeding my tentative doubts of a dark, austere and cold place. When I finally settled down in my attic cosy double-bed room, it was already 10pm and I was so tired that I ignored my tummy's rumbling and dreamt of the tartufi that I'd be tasting the next day.

In the morning on my way to the tourist office, a guy requested to take a photo of me from the opposite street and I obliged, still sleepy but starting to feel like a celebrity. The tourist office offered a lot of helpful info and brochures including various tourist trails around Spoleto. The first and easiest trail led me through the major sights from the ancient Piazza del Mercato, past the short Via Dei Duchi with its smart shops (there was a trendy looking one devoted to olive oil alone!), then turned right via Aurelio Saffi housing more ancient palazzo and finally the grand cathedral was in full sight.

Miraculously untouched by the Umbria earthquakes in 1997, the Duomo's masterpiece was the stunning frescos by Friar Filippo Lippo and there was a lovely smaller chapel adorned with equally vivid frescos. Outside, the piazza was filled with chairs for the public festival shows and there was a nice buzz in the air as the festa officials went about preparing for tonight's programs.

I made a detour from the trail to make dinner reservations at the highly recommended Il Panciolle, and continued to the ancient Rocca Albornoziana and crossed the amazingly well-conserved imposing Roman Ponte Della Torri amidst the lush hills, olive groves and deep valleys below. Bursting with energy from a restful night, I hiked up a 15mins hilly footpath in the cool tranquil Monteluco woods and was rewarded with a breathtaking panaromic view of Spoleto, the Rocca and Ponte. They probably still looked like how they did centuries ago.

Lunch break was a fresh creamy ricotta cheese and cinghiale ham panino dressed with the ultra-smooth and luxuriant extra virgin olive oil of Umbria, washed down with a pack of vino rosso at a breezy spot on the bench facing the Ponte. I had earlier been drawn by a handwritten sign 'Tutto Tartufo' in the window of this quaint salumeria at the Piazza del Mercato where I intended to just buy a simple packed lunch but ended up with more than expected.

Which true gourmand could resist all the local produce including the bottles of tartufo nero salsa (oooh), slabs of black truffle cheese (hmm, so good), proscuitto and salame (yum)? I was swimming in paradise until the jolly oily elderly shopkeeper interrupted with his enthusiastic recommendations. He could probably pass as my grandpa but his actions were contrary, as he kept pinching my cheeks and leaned far too close to praise his gourmet treasures and culinary tips. I wanted to tell him I was hungry and not deaf, but I didn't know how to do it in italian!

Nonetheless he was kind enough to let me smell a bunch of fresh tartufo nero kept in a brown paper bag - heaven! - trying to convince me to buy the whole tartufo in olive oil (20 euros). He also handed me a pinch of the creamy ricotta cheese with some biscotti and urged me to pop them in my mouth. The mild salty flavour and crunchy sweet texture were perfetto. I'd have married him there and then but I smiled gratefully instead and he couldn't resist caressing my chin again like a dirty old uncle. Yucky poo!

In the evening after jostling with the locals along the busy downtown Corso Garibaldi, I climbed up the slopes to Il Panciolle and was disappointed when it started to pour which meant I had to be seated inside at the warm dining room, instead of the open terrace. Ravished, I splurged on the local homemade Strangozzi pasta with tartufo nero (it's like meepok but with an insane amount of perfumed black truffles at only 14euros!).

The professional English-speaking waiter's recommendation of contorno was spot on - the freshest porcini mushrooms dressed simply with olive oil, parsley and salt and grilled over an open fire. The funghi cap was divine melt-in-the-mouth texture, almost like eating foie gras, and the stem was like a crunchy thick white asparagus. I washed it all down with a small carafe of vino bianco and gleefully made tasting notes and took pictures discreetly so that they won't think I was bonkers!

My stomach was bursting by this time but before I could cancel dolce after my pee break, the dense specialty local cake Crescionda (like a vanilla pudding) was staring at me, accompanied by a scoop of melted orange sorbet. I couldn't finish it of course and my bill came up to 37 euros - a bit steep for one person but worth every euro! The kind of quality was something money couldn't buy back home.

While dragging on my sigaretta at the terrace waiting for the drizzle to relent, I had a hilarious chat with Alessandro and his best friend Alberto, both tipsy and extremely friendly. Alessandro had visited Singapore a few years ago and was trying to explain to me in italian that he was afraid to litter because of the heafty $500 fine! They seemed harmless so I agreed to hang out with them for a glass of vino for only a while. I wagged my finger at them saying 'perche domani l'autobus è molto presto' (because tomorrow I have to catch the early bus) to which Alberto joked I didn't have to worry as he was a bus driver!

We grabbed a bottle of vino from the undergound tavern and 30mins soon escalated into a 3-hour intoxicated conversation at the open hatchback of Sandro's car. I was supposed to leave for Alberobello tomorrow morning at 7am but they were literally begging me not to leave and promised to show me the real Spoleto. So I grabbed their innocent bypassing amico Gerry to toss a coin so we all won't cheat. As fate would have it, they won calling heads up so I'd stay on for another day, much to their delight! Anyway I was too hammered to depart on the first bus and only crept back into the dead quiet convent at past 3am (praying that the nuns were not staying up or worse bolted the doors!). I felt my way up the stairways in the dark and tucked in at almost 4am. Yawn...

Mission Possible

After 2 lovely days feeling like a local in Firenze hanging out with the guys at Piazza Santo Spirito and only looking at my map once, I left the keys at the butcher for Anita and hopped on the wrong bus no. 11!All thanks to this young Italian girl who was blurred like a sotong - and we both ended up on the other side of town instead of the train stazione! Darn!

My prayers went unanswered on the cab which got stuck in the morning jam and the driver shook his head saying in Italian that we won't make it on time when I begged him imploring that I have a train to catch at 9.27am. Alas at 9.30am, we reached the stazione and I grudgingly paid 12 freakin' euros; cursing 'f%ck, f$ck, f£ck - porca putana'. Holding back a flood of frustrated tears, I tried to calm down and reminded myself that things happened for a good reason, like they had always on the trip so far.

True enough, my sunshine optimism paid off as the 10.27am train somehow miraculously managed to reach Grosseto at 1.10pm (15 mins earlier than scheduled!) and I ran to the bus ticket box outside and jostled with the manic schoolkids on the crowded 1.15pm bus with a sign advertising 'Saturnia'! Yay, I made it on the bus after all!

The children were on their way home after morning classes and I was the only Cinese tourista with no freaking idea where I'd get off in the middle of Maremma in south Toscana! I waited till there were only four of us on the bus and asked the driver in my shaky Italian.

"Scusa, parla inglese?" (excuse me, you speak English?) to which he made a funny face.
"Vorrei andare per Cascate del Gorello in Saturnia ma no loso dove fermate." (I would like to go to the Gorello hot springs in Saturnia but I don't know where to stop) and his reply was he'd tell me where to get off later.
I added "Possiblite' hotel vicino il cascate?" (possibility of hotel near the hot springs?) to which he nodded and pointed at the gas stazione, agreed the local auntie nodding her head.

I prayed that they understood me and took a giant leap of faith off the bus because hell, there would not be another bus untill tomorrow! Anyway it paid off alright because from that moment, I experienced one of the most beautiful days in my life. Il Complesso Gorello turned out to be an all-in-one appartamenti-ristorante-bar pitstop for travellers who were seeking the cascates.

My mini appartamento was so quaint with its wood-beamed ceiling and kitchenette which opened to the lovely lush Maremma landscape - plus it was a steal at 60euros. Despite the lack of pranzo at 3pm, I hugged myself, shrieked in joy and jumped like a mad woman on the big double bed, congratulating myself that I made it to Saturnia on my own!

After changing into my bikini, I asked the gas stazione men "Scusi, dove Cascate?" and a kind old mechanic drove me to the spot 5mins' walk away. I had no expectations of the hot springs because the closest thing I'd come across was probably the hot jacuzzi at my aunt's condo. So when I heard the whoshing cascades, my heartbeat quickened and I couldn't contain my excitement at the sight of the pretty swirling pools, tiered like lily pads mirroring the colours from the azure skies, white fluffy clouds and surrounding greenery.

I grinned at everyone like a mad woman possessed, dipping in the warm suplphurated waters while everyone especially the men stared openly at me, the only Asian traveller, with keen curiosity. I climbed over the edges to the top of the cascating falls and let the pounding torrents cleanse my body and soul. At that perfect moment, I even spotted a mini rainbow projecting above the waters. Perfetto paradiso.

As I was walking back, a car stopped and Albert greeted me in Italian, asking me where I was from. We had a polite awkward chat in Italian and I accepted his invitation for drinks at my hotel's bar after a split-second deliberation based on my well-honed sleaze-radar. It was hilarious talking to him as he didn't speak any English but my Italian improved vastly over a delizioso dinner of 'acquacotta' (traditional Florentine thick chunky vegetable soup over toast and a poached egg on top) and Cinghiale alla Maremma (tender wild boar Maremma-style in a slightly oversalted pomodoro sauce) flushed down with plenty of vino rosso.

I found out that Albert was only 28 (he baulked at my age and thought I was 22!), the youngest in his family, came from Triest in northern Italy near the Slovenian border and spoke a few East European languages (but still insisted he was stupido for not speaking any inglese!). He was on a break having driven down all the way from Triest to also survey some vacation houses here for his work (he built foundations of houses from what I understood). Albert was so polite and patient while teaching me a lot of new words (such as 'pieno' and 'piano') and corrected my retarded pronounciation as we bantered and smoked in his car, sheltered from the cold outside.

When I told him I was tired and wanted to sleep, he asked me if we could 'baciare' and proceeded to close in with a kiss but I said no and he kept asking me 'Perche?' (why?) desperately, to which I replied 'err, molto difficile dire' (very hard to say). How was I to explain to him in Italian that he is such a sweet guy (great build like a soccer player with snazzy shades and designer goatie) but the thick Italian ah beng silver necklace was too much for shallow me? Plus I was not attracted to him that way and decided that we were far off better as buono amici (good friends).

The next day, he turned up as promised at 10am to send me to Grosseto as the only bus was at 6am. We hung out at Roccalbergna, a small town 20mins away, where we climbed up an old fort for a glorious view of the greenery and then drove to Santa Caterina, another quaint town where he was staying. I chatted with his kind neighbours and inquired about their vegetable plots and legumes. After a long lunch with him and his friend at a local kopitiam, I blew him a kiss with a heavy heart and caught the 1.50pm bus to Grosseto, knowing I will never see him again.

I'd always remember him fondly as my Italian tutor and part of my perfect day in Saturnia. South Tuscany was so beautiful, wild and untainted that it made my heart sing and weep. At that moment I wish somebody was here with me to witness all its glory. When I reached the Grosseto train stazione at 3pm, it was too late to travel all the way to Puglia in the south so I picked the quaint medieval hilltown of Spoleto in nearby Umbria as a stopover. Somehow I liked the sound of it - Spoleto - perhaps it reminded me of polenta!

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.