Blue Skies, Long Walks, and Emergency Bathroom Prayers

Date: November 23
Location: Montepulciano
Weather: Sunny and 40 degrees

I woke up to soft morning light filtering through the window, convinced I was hearing the dribble of rain running down an ancient gutter. When I opened the shutters, it was the complete opposite – a panoramic blue-sky day, and the water I heard was a bubbling fountain in the garden. I stepped out onto our upstairs terrace and spotted Bruce below, already taking photos of the spectacular vista.

We’re sharing the villa with Bruce and Brenda – dear friends from Orange County – and their daughter and son-in-law, Ally and Stan, who flew in from Colorado.

“Buongiorno, Bruce! Will this do?” I said, sweeping my hand across the view.

He laughed, “Si, si, si!”

I went downstairs to greet everyone and joined Bruce outside to soak in the ridiculously blue sky. Church bells drifted up from our village, Castelmuzio. Any moment, I half-expected a chorus of nuns to start singing How do you solve a problem like Maria? The whole scene had that cinematic, Sound-of-Music energy.

The four of them were heading off to a four-hour cheesemaking class and lunch at Caseificio Piu in Sarteano. Carla and I had our own plan: Montepulciano. The Christmas markets were opening today – an annual highlight for me. Montepulciano is one of my favorite towns in all of Tuscany: the views, the shops, the charm. It checks every box.

But first, breakfast. We had our inaugural bumbling morning in our little upstairs kitchen, opening hidden drawers, learning which cupboards hid what. It always takes time to understand a new kitchen’s logic. Still, we managed a delicious meal of eggs, toast, fruit, and rich coffee from the jumbo Bialetti Moka pot. That iconic pot has defined Italian coffee culture for nearly a century – espresso so strong and flavorful you wonder how such an old school pot can pull this off.

Soon we were off, winding through the countryside toward Montepulciano. The first hurdle: parking. The medieval village sits high on a hill, surrounded by vineyards, which means most parking is at the bottom – and the trek up is a workout.

We huffed and puffed our way up from the Sanctuary of San Biagio. Built in the 1500s, it’s considered a Renaissance masterpiece. But my more vivid memory of the area? The cheese shop on the corner that once swindled me out of over $200 for a few “basic” cheeses. I peeked inside – the same woman was still there, waiting for her next victim.

No wonder she gets business; her shop is the final stop before the insane ascent to the top. We paused many times to catch our breath, looking back, looking ahead, and noticing – of course – a giant parking lot with open spaces right by the city arch. I briefly considered hitchhiking. Cars zoomed up past us like it was nothing.

Once we climbed under the arch, the soundtrack shifted to Christmas music. Not Andrea Bocelli…but Mariah Carey. Then Michael Bublé. What is up with that? The festive American playlist guided us up to Piazza Grande, home to the largest Christmas village in central Italy. Wooden stalls filled the square, local craftsmen selling their creations. The air was crisp – low 40s – so we wandered in knit caps, rosy-cheeked, taking it all in. No wonder parking was impossible; it was opening day, and locals were out in full force to kick off the season.

We also popped into countless shops in the village, warming up between bursts of cold air as the sun set and temperatures dropped further. And then, the universal issue: the bladder tap-tap-tap. Public restrooms in Italy are few, usually paperless, unheated, and… potentially shocking conditions. How badly do you really need to go? We walked around for two hours in that state. A friend once told me you can “train your bladder” to wait longer. She’s eleven years younger, so we’ll see how that theory holds up in eleven years. But still I kept telling myself, I am in training.

Eventually, we were shopped out and needed to head back for dinner. But first, another climb – this time up through the village (again!) to reach the top before descending to the car. This long, brisk walk downhill with full bladders was perilous. Any laughter could trigger disaster. Naturally, because we couldn’t laugh… everything became funny. We bent over repeatedly, trying not to let the floodgates open. I half-considered just squatting behind a stone wall.

By some miracle, both bladder dams held. Sitting down in the car was a relief in more ways than one.

We arrived back at La Moscadella just in time for dinner. I’d told Isabella we didn’t want to be in the dining room with all the children, so she arranged a private upstairs space for our party of eight. It was perfect. This time Lacrissa (my work colleague) and her mom joined us. It was wonderful to add them to our party. Lacrissa was looking fabulous in her new outfit she had purchased in Rome. Her mom is a sweet southern lady from Georgia.

The meal was described as a “buffet,” but that only applied to the first course – an ample table of appetizers that truly would have been enough. But after we sat down? The courses kept coming: lasagna, gnocchi, lamb, pork. I’d forgotten how many dishes a formal Italian dinner includes. Then dessert – a tiny cheesecake with two sauces. Everything was delicious, and the conversation grew livelier as the night went on and the wine flowed. Isn’t that always the way?

After dinner we returned to the villa. I was certain – absolutely certain – that this would finally be the night of my long-awaited sleep marathon.