People matter, it goes without saying.  But there is something special about
getting to know someone, learning their background, building a bond.

Architecture strikes me the same way.  When I see an interesting building,
normally the old kind, I can’t help wanting to know the history behind the
arches, the decisions behind the layout, and the reason for its site selection.

At La Contea
(meaning, ‘The Countryside’), our villa perched high on the side of a Tuscan
hill quite near the Umbrian border, we had the collision of both.  To me, the building was
fascinating.  It was all stone and
concrete and tile, with big, wooden shutters that were extremely functional for
blocking out the scorching mid-day sun and preserving some semblance of cool
inside for the night’s sleeping (I say some
semblance).  It was situated on
terraces carved into the hillside, amidst an active olive grove, with a
panoramic view of the valley below, including Lake Trasimeno in the
distance.  Its design was extremely
effective and infinitely clever. 
Someone had sunk hours of thought into this place.

That someone is Giulio Marcelli, the owner and current
operator of the property.  He
speaks not a lick of English (though he asked us the English word for ‘fire’
and ‘wood’ once), but this fact didn’t stop him from conversing with us in
Italian.  When he and his assistant
Daniele would come around in the mornings to make sure everything was molto benne, there would always be some
interesting interaction, some incredibly confusing conversation for which we
might pick up half.

As the weeks went by, we learned more and more of this
gentle septuagenarian and his background. 
He and his wife had lovingly designed and built La Contea as a working olive grove in 1980, and perched it on the
site of some old ruins, the type of which we could never discern.  Then she died of a debilitating
muscular disease years ago, the elevator in the far end of the house then going
into disuse.  He moved out of the
place five years ago, turning it into a rental property where tourists thirsty
for immersion in the joys and mysteries of old Toscana could base themselves;
even a gang of six from America. 
Giulio gave us olive oil fresh from his property, and shipped us a bunch
more.  He kept our pool immaculate
with loving care every morning before we were awake.  And perhaps best of all, he told me about a motorcycle trail
that followed the ridge on the mountain behind us all the way to Tuoro, where
the Roman Flaminus and his 16,000 were slaughtered by Hannibal and his Carthaginians
a couple millennium ago.

About to leave on the last day, one of our children pointed
to the many trophies on display on the high shelves of the library.  Giulio explained that they were his
son’s, a motocross racer of some renown, who was “always on his motorcycle all
the time.” That is, until he succumbed to the same disease that had taken his
mother.  When we asked how long ago
that had occurred, Giulio looked down at the ground forlornly and held up one
finger: a single year ago. 

Daniele is sweet and has smiling eyes.  She showed up to greet us the first day
dressed in a white summer dress that was as bright as her attitude.  She and Terri just kind of clicked
right from the beginning.  It was
good that Terri’s Spanish familiarity helped her with the puzzle of deciphering
L’Italiano, because like Giulio, Daniele speaks absolutely no English. But she
has the rather cute tendency to keep repeating Italian words and phrases, dead
certain that with enough repetition, we’ll come to understand it.  Daniele and Terri would somehow have
whole conversations that just left me baffled.  Occasionally, though, I could decipher a word or two Terri
couldn’t smoke.  Glad to be of
help. 

As we said our goodbyes and arrivedercies on the last
morning, Giulio gave me the customary double kiss and waved a hearty buon
viaggi.  Daniele hugged us all,
complimenting the behavior of our children.  The clunky white mini-bus ambled up the bumpy gravel drive
one last time.  Tuscany and all
that we experienced here was now transitioning into memories. 

“I love people,”
Terri said after a kilometer or two.

We rode along in silence.  There was nothing to add.  With three words Terri had summed up why it was bearable to
leave this place we’ve grown to love so much.  We were heading home; to buildings yes, even of our own
design.  But more importantly, to
the people we love and miss.