All Before "Colazione Numero Uno".

It is that delightful time between first and second breakfast and I am sitting on the balcony taking in the view.  The view...  We are perched high up on the side of an ancient Tuscan hilltown looking out at the  green, gently rolling hills.  While driving here the other day we noticed certain patches of green that were so intense that we thought if green had just been invented this would be it's newborn incarnation. 

It's been a while since we've been here in the spring and I am almost overwhelmed by the intensity of colour and new life.  The hills below us are dotted with red brick houses, some very grand with pools and cypress trees that surround them like tall soldiers, others more rural, unassuming, but as pretty as can be.  The hills are mostly green grass but you can see their ancient sea-bed origins visible beneath the vegetation like the facial bone structure of a handsome man or woman.  Copses of woods are predominant on the tops of hills and in the bottoms of valleys defining the low intersections of the hills.  Olive groves and vineyards give evidence of human love of this land.  Verdent hilltop forests in the foreground give way to misty mountains in the distance - these define the lower edge of the immense pale blue skies that are the playground of the dare-devil swallows who dart through it with what appears to be pure joy.  Watching them reminds me of aerobatic shows, however the birds are so much more agile and peaceful than fighter planes.

Just below us is an old stone house that is being renovated.  It looks like it would be an enchanting place to call home and it reawakens that old dream of living here.   However, this house is being done up not for real life, but rather as a vacation rental.  Oddly the sounds of hammers and drills don't annoy me.  Perhaps this is because they are nearly drown out by the birdsong and rooster calls.  The workmen call out to each other in a sprinkling of musical Italian. They are probably saying banal things like "pass me the chisel" but in my imagination it just sounds beautiful and romantic.  And the distant ringing church bells seem to rekindle a memory buried deep in my d.n.a.

I've already been for my morning walk.  Since we are here for three months this is something I've told myself is non-negotiable since there needs to be a balancing factor in regard to pasta and wine.  There is a lot of thought and consideration given to the route since we are located a little over mid-way up the hillside.  No matter which way I go there will be hills to content with.  How energetic am I today?  I've learned that there are several levels to the intensity of workout on offer from intense to easy.  Today I've chosen "moderate" but have incentivized myself with the reward of a brioche for breakfast number one.  

As a warm-up I start with the downhill part.  Out the front door and to the left I go, giving a quick "Buon Giorno" to the resident outdoor cat.  He gives me short-shrift because I've forgotten his usual kibble treat upstairs.  Passing by the cozy stone houses I realize that you never see their inhabitants this early in the day despite the fact that they obviously have been there to set out the daily refuse.  Today it is "organico" or as we call it at home "green waste" day.   Tiny compostable bags are left beside each door for the collector who comes by in his tiny white truck which must be bespoke designed for the narrow vicoli of Italian hill towns.  My guess is that they are manufactured by the same company responsible for "vespas" and "apes", two other ubiquitous Tuscan get-abouts.

This morning I am treated to another vehicle.  The street washer, which is also a diminutive version of the one I am used to.  Noticing him being behind me I duck into a side alley hoping to avoid getting in each other's way.  This takes me past a little house we looked at last fall with a thought to purchase.  Today I realize that above the other detractions we observed then it is also too close to the road traffic on the east side of town.  The morning sun however is lovely.

Sticking to the town wall for as long as possible affords me the chance to allow the street cleaner to get in front of me and to soak up a bit of the morning sunshine.  I emerge at the Torre del Pulcinella where I catch a glimpse of an old woman putting her washing out on the line under her window.  I resist my instinct to say 'Buon Giorno' to her - she doesn't looking like the engaging in small talk-early in the morning type.  My intention was to walk up the steep section of Via di Gracciano but I thought why not stick to the edge and see if I can find some new territory to explore.  It turned out to be an easier route - until it wasn't.  Eventually I had to climb a very steep section in order to emerge out onto the corso before Caffe Poliziano.   This climb left me significantly out of breath and I had to take a few moments to compose myself before entering the caffe.  I've heard that locals can identify tourists by their heavy breathing (due to all the hill climbing) and the last thing I want to do is give the impression of an out of shape foreigner (regardless of the facts).  

With my breathing in check I enter to cheerful greetings from Veronica and Leonardo.  These two along with a couple others at Caffe Poliziano have become some of my closest acquaintances here.  We've been coming here for close to fifteen years now but our friendliness really began at the beginning of covid when Italy was one of the first countries to be badly hit by it.  I had sent them an email to just say I hoped they were all okay and since then we've become what feels like "special" customers.  So, like the locals, I stand at the bar, order my espresso and knock it back quicker than the Ferrari pit crew can change all four tires - about 2.5 seconds.  As Lenoardo serves me the coffee he looks me in the eye and asks me if I want a drink of water.  Perhaps he's seen right through me and knows I'm recovering from the climb?  I am vindicated when an American beside me orders "two large cafe lattes to go" in English.  When Leonardo sets out the two paper cups that hold maybe 12 ounces each, the man says "do you have large"?  I looked over,  gestured to my espresso and his take away cups and said "around here that IS large"!

Fuelled up on caffeine and supplied with due cornetti con crema I was reenergized for the long hill in front of me.  The street cleaner was safely ahead of me holding up traffic behind him in what seemed like an act of sheer willfulness.  Maybe that's what's required to be a street-cleaner in an ancient city not built for cars.  I walked past our "old place" where we normally stay and said "Buon Giorno" to  the old signora and her two corgis.  They make a twice daily passeggiata  (morning and night) barking all the way from their house to the park.  I'm pretty sure the lady didn't recognize me, but I don't mind - not every interaction has to be equally reciprocal.  To me those two dogs are part of the fabric of Via del Poliziano and it did my heart good to know that they are still at those daily walkies.

I have always been a morning person.  I always feel that morning brings infinite opportunity.  I feel like any wonderful thing could happen during the day that is about to unfold.  It's like a gift you have yet to open. (Yes I do realize how saccharine that sounds, but it's true).  And on this particular morning I feel like a four-year-old who's just awakened to find a Christmas tree burgeoning with glittery presents left by Santa.  This morning is the morning I dream of.  I am embraced in a story-book scene too beautiful for words.  And what's more is that there are a whole summer's worth of them to come.  As I look out towards my favourite Italian church, Tempio di San Biagio) I silently give a word of thanks before continuing back down the hill to the appartamento di grande bellezza and to my loved one who will be happily surprised with the croissants filled with pastry cream I've brought home for breakfast number one.