Date: November 25
Location: Pienza and Castelmuzio
Weather: 51 degrees, on and off showers
Who doesn’t love the whirring sound of a tunnel-boring machine right near their head at 8 a.m. on vacation?
“Oh geez,” I thought as I started to surface from a blissful sleep. “Are these the quiet tools?”
Once again, my peaceful villa stay was interrupted by the indoor jacuzzi drilling across the way.
Isabella had told me she had spoken with the workers and that they weren’t supposed to start until 10 a.m. Something definitely got lost in translation. I threw on a jacket and walked over to the ancient wooden door to use the jumbo metal door knocker, hoping to ask them to wait. But the machines were so loud, no one could hear me. So instead, I recorded the noise and sent the video to Isabella with a voice text updating her on the latest village happenings.
Back upstairs, I began making breakfast. Today felt like the day to finally tackle the complicated DeLonghi espresso/latte machine – though I kept the trusty Moka pot ready as my backup plan. At the same time, I decided I wanted toast and pulled the bread out of the bag from the night before. The crust was hard as a rock.
With the help of Google, I figured out the stove and used the old trick: sprinkle the bread with water, wrap it in foil, and bake it for 15 minutes to revive it. I needed to be able to slice it for toast, after all. Just then Carla shuffled in, hair wildly disheveled, muttering, “OMG, the drilling over there – it is nonstop.” I nodded sympathetically and offered her fresh coffee.
At this point, I had largely surrendered to the randomness of Italian mornings. I spent the morning writing and sipping on my first-ever attempt at a latte from that fancy machine. It wasn’t bad.
Eventually, the grinding noise became too much, so we decided to get ready and head out. As a final act of resistance, I turned on the speaker system and blasted AC/DC’s Back in Black to drown out the drilling. I’m not a metal girl – never have been – but suddenly I understood the appeal. Sometimes you need loud music to drown out louder chaos.
It had been raining all morning, but we spotted a break in the clouds and decided to drive to Pienza for one of our favorite simple pleasures: a salami and cheese sandwich from the tiny deli in the village.
As we walked into Pienza, the streets were wet, the air crisp, and we both wondered—would the little old lady still be there? Isabella had reminded us just the night before that things change and you can’t expect everything to be just as it was. Still, we hoped.
We turned the corner, stepped into the shop… and there she was. Just as always.
All I had to say was, “Salami, formaggio, and sandweech,” while pantomiming eating, and she understood immediately. Within five minutes we each had our perfectly wrapped sandwiches. Ironically, we already had all these ingredients back at the villa – but it wasn’t about that. We wanted her to make our sandwiches. And she did. And we were happy.
We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering into the shops that were still open. Many close midday, so we were lucky. One shopkeeper said, “Of course the last tourists of the season are here this week – but I’ll close early at 5.” We made a few fun purchases, walked the famous overlook of the valley, and then headed for the car.
We hadn’t visited San Quirico yet – a hilltop village about fifteen minutes away – so we pointed the car in that direction. We briefly debated stopping in on Luciano, but didn’t want to risk catching him mid-nap and answering the door half dressed, so we carried on.
Parking in San Quirico was confusing. We circled the walls a couple of times since every sign seemed to say no parking – even where I usually park. What the?? I finally texted La Moscadella, and they assured me I could still park there; it just meant no parking on street-cleaning days… though no one could tell me when those were. With several other cars already there, I went for it. The last thing you want when you return home is mail from Italy – with a citation inside.
San Quirico itself was very quiet. Only one home décor shop was open, full of charming things – but nothing that needed to be shipped across the Atlantic. Soon enough, it was time to head back for our Pici pasta-making class at La Moscadella – taught by Isabella herself.
On the way back, we stopped briefly at Cretaiole for old times’ sake. No one was there, and it looked like only two apartments were occupied this week. Such a contrast from 2018, 2019, and 2021, when every unit was full and the place was buzzing. Maybe they didn’t market “An American Thanksgiving in Tuscany” this year as much. Carla and I reflected again on what Isabella had said: you can’t really go back and have it be the same. You have to embrace the moment you’re in – and ours was leading us straight to fresh Pici pasta.
On the drive back, the sun was finally peeking through the clouds, casting a soft autumn glow across the countryside. We didn’t miss appreciating that moment.
We pulled into La Moscadella just as Niccolò arrived to teach the other Pici class with the families and children. We exchanged quick hugs and headed inside. Down in the main kitchen, everything was ready. Soon Isabella joined us, aprons went on, and the class began. I hadn’t taken this class since 2017, so I was very ready for a refresher.
For the next ninety minutes, Isabella taught us the history of Pici, the traditional roles in Italian cooking, and how to achieve the perfect thickness. She checked our work carefully and we all waited for that magical “Bravissimo!” moment where she approved our pasta. They served us a lovely rosé to sip while rolling. It was hard work, but everyone did great – and we quickly found our rhythm. Whether any of us could recreate this back home remained to be seen, but for that afternoon, we were accomplished.
Our class was followed by a traditional Tuscan dinner in the wine room. We enjoyed generous appetizers, followed by two versions of our handmade pasta – Cacio e Pepe and Ragù – served in smaller portions so we could enjoy both. Dessert was tiramisu and biscotti. The perfect amount of food. I felt deeply satisfied but not overstuffed.
After dinner, I checked in with Isabella about the construction situation. She told me she’d spent the day speaking not only with the workers but also with the owners in England. She used the video I sent as evidence of the noise levels and firmly insisted the drilling stop. With only a few days left in the season before they close for winter, she asked that they at least wait – and not start before 10:30 a.m.
When I left her that night, I had a very strong feeling her conversations had finally produced the negotiation needed to restore peace to our Tuscan mornings.