Duck Girl and Boss Man

We were awakened in the early morning light by doves, pseudo-cuckoos, roosters and cheery twittering birds.  The laundry was mostly dry.  We had breakfast on the patio with roses, little white butterflies, birdsong and views, the green hills rolling away to a villa settled on a hill with Italian trees on the ridgeline.

After we left Il Pozzo, we nosed around very local roads looking for points of interest that don’t exist past the sign, then found the place we had been directed to yesterday to buy an Italian SIM card for my phone, the Studio Foto Video in Monteroni.  How hard could this be?  But we stood in the tiny shop for over an hour to sign me up for the Italian SIM.  While the shopkeeper worked assiduously at his computer and made phone calls for further support, his assistant (who was wearing a shirt that said “determined feisty friendly duck”) sat on a stool next to him chatting with a visiting neighbor, answering her phone, looking at her fingernails but not helping the four other customers who had gathered by the time we left.  Eventually Duck Girl picked up her purse and hastened out of the store.  Is the Italian economy in trouble?  Do we wonder why?  I suppose all the purchases and tech stuff have to be done on the one computer, but then why does the boss have an assistant?  We left with instructions to insert the SIM card at 1400.

It wasn’t too far to Le Chiuse, our farm away from home, where Stella, whose parents-in-law own the place and whose husband is the winemaker, showed us around.  They have eight hectares of grapevines, some olive trees and several apartments for visiting vacationers.  Our apartment, the remodeled capella, is spacious and lovely. 

Me & my attractive new blue flip-flops at our chapel-apartment

The side entrance steps down into the living area with a little fireplace, some seating, a small kitchen, a long table, a piano with B and C so out of tune I cannot play it, and stairs to the extra bedroom in the loft.  On our counter was a sample bottle of their wine, the seven-euro rosso di Montalcino; the Brunello (the good stuff) costs 20 and 50 euros a bottle. 

Between the fireplace and kitchen a little hallway leads to our bedroom in the back of the chapel; its wooden doors leading outside seem solidly fixed in place but they have little windows in them that open.  Over the big built-in closet/armoire, halfway to the barrel-vaulted ceiling, is a wide inaccessible shelf/loft with a decorative vase, two paintings and old artist’s folding chair.  Off the little hallway is a roomy bathroom; across the hall is a tiny bonus room with some shelves, an iron, a few cleaning supplies and a safe; we’re calling this room the wine cellar.

Outside our door, the view to the left is grapevines and the mountain crowned by Montalcino; to the right we look past the big 19th-century former stable (now containing apartments, a brick barrel-vaulted tasting room, and various workrooms and offices) to green and gold patchwork hills.   It’s all charming and we are quite pleased.  If only we had some luggage to unpack.

Early morning light on the vineyard and mountain

Sunset over valley and hills

The magic hour of 2:00 pm was approaching so we sat in the rockers in front of the fireplace and tried to set up my phone.  Haha.  It took over an hour and a half to make the thing work.  Since for whatever reason we couldn’t do it when we bought the card, Duck-Girl’s boss had shown us how to physically replace the card and gave us a tiny key to remove the tray.  Did we have such a key? he had asked.  Right.  Maybe in my missing suitcase.  But he made it look simple.  Well, we kept getting messages on the phone that made no sense, and I guess it would have been simple if the AT&T overlords hadn’t locked my phone—that’s right, the new phone I bought for, what, $500? $600? whatever enormous amount I paid so I wouldn’t be locked in to a carrier.  I wanted to smack someone but no one was around except patient Maurice.  So I had a lengthy online chat with AT&T’s Maria.  Dear Maria.  She tried to get me to sign up online to have the phone unlocked “in 24-48 business hours.”  If the powers that be approved it, of course.  I kept telling her it wasn’t supposed to be locked in the first place.  And on and on.  It wasn’t until I said I bought the phone on my own and was not paying ATT for it that she said, “I will unlock it for you.”  What do you have to do, know what code words to use?  And unlock it she did, and we got the phone Italianized, and it wasn’t even turned on to cellular.  Now how did she do that?  This is mysterious stuff.

We drove back to Buonconvento’s hardware store to get Maurice a chair for painting.  It’s lightweight, foldable, and, according to Jerry who has been scoping out possibilities, the only option in all Tuscany.  At the Co-op we stocked up on groceries.  The shoes I want are still there and still not for sale.  Back at Le Chiuse our luggage has not arrived.  We put our libations in the wine cellar.  Fixed spaghetti and salad for supper.  Greeted fellow artists Dewey and Jenelle in their apartment in the big house.  Put on our white sleep shirts and sank into our crisp white cotton sheets.

Bunoconvento