If the Alps taught us anything, it's that we travel well in pairs. So for the second chapter of the journal we doubled down: two couples again, plus a few friends from the Mr. Monroe family, one rented villa somewhere between Umbria and Tuscany, and absolutely no plan worth mentioning.
The house was the kind of place you only find by accident or by knowing someone. Old stone, older shutters, a gravel drive lined with cypress trees, and wine fields running in every direction until they hit the hills. It came with a pool, a long table under the pergola, and a kitchen that clearly expected us to rise to the occasion. We did our best.
The Cars, Obviously
You didn't think we'd fly in and rent a hatchback.
This time the garage held two classic Alfa Romeo Spiders, one cream, one deep blue, both convertible, both loud in exactly the right way. There was also a powder-blue Vespa that lived at the villa, technically for errands, practically for showing off in the vineyard.
The Spiders set the rhythm of the week. Mornings started slow, and then someone would dangle a set of keys and suddenly everyone was dressed and arguing about who got the blue one. We drove the white roads through the hills, tops down, no destination, stopping in whichever village looked like it had a good piazza. Most of them did. That's rather the thing about this part of Italy.
Life at the Villa
Between drives, life shrank to a very agreeable radius: pool, pergola, kitchen, repeat.
Lunches stretched for hours. Someone was always coming back from a market with too many tomatoes and a story. The moka pot lived on the stove and hissed away at all hours, which is about as much product placement as we'll allow ourselves in this post.
One evening we rode the Vespa out into the vines just before sunset, linen suits and all, because the light was too good to waste and dignity is negotiable on holiday. Another evening ended, as the best ones do, with everyone fully dressed in the pool. We won't say who went in first. We will say nobody went in voluntarily, and that the photographs are excellent leverage.
The Detour to the Coast
Midweek we pointed the Spiders west and drove out to the Tuscan coast, because when the sea is two hours away in an open-top Alfa, staying home feels like a moral failure.
We swam off the rocks, ate seafood at a place with paper tablecloths and no menu in English, and stayed long enough to watch the sun go down behind the harbour. Two of us climbed a boulder above the water and sat there in silhouette until the light went. The rest of us let them have the moment and quietly took photos of it.
The Takeaway
Switzerland was about the journey. Italy was about staying put. A good villa, good company, two beautiful cars you only drive when the mood strikes, and a week that measured time in meals rather than hours.
We came home tanned, slower, and fully convinced that every trip should include at least one evening that ends in a pool.
A Villa Between the Vines: Our Week in Umbria and Tuscany
If the Alps taught us anything, it's that we travel well in pairs. So for the second chapter of the journal we doubled down: two couples again, plus a few friends from the Mr. Monroe family, one rented villa somewhere between Umbria and Tuscany, and absolutely no plan worth mentioning.
The house was the kind of place you only find by accident or by knowing someone. Old stone, older shutters, a gravel drive lined with cypress trees, and wine fields running in every direction until they hit the hills. It came with a pool, a long table under the pergola, and a kitchen that clearly expected us to rise to the occasion. We did our best.
The Cars, Obviously
You didn't think we'd fly in and rent a hatchback.
This time the garage held two classic Alfa Romeo Spiders, one cream, one deep blue, both convertible, both loud in exactly the right way. There was also a powder-blue Vespa that lived at the villa, technically for errands, practically for showing off in the vineyard.
The Spiders set the rhythm of the week. Mornings started slow, and then someone would dangle a set of keys and suddenly everyone was dressed and arguing about who got the blue one. We drove the white roads through the hills, tops down, no destination, stopping in whichever village looked like it had a good piazza. Most of them did. That's rather the thing about this part of Italy.
Life at the Villa
Between drives, life shrank to a very agreeable radius: pool, pergola, kitchen, repeat.
Lunches stretched for hours. Someone was always coming back from a market with too many tomatoes and a story. The moka pot lived on the stove and hissed away at all hours, which is about as much product placement as we'll allow ourselves in this post.
One evening we rode the Vespa out into the vines just before sunset, linen suits and all, because the light was too good to waste and dignity is negotiable on holiday. Another evening ended, as the best ones do, with everyone fully dressed in the pool. We won't say who went in first. We will say nobody went in voluntarily, and that the photographs are excellent leverage.
The Detour to the Coast
Midweek we pointed the Spiders west and drove out to the Tuscan coast, because when the sea is two hours away in an open-top Alfa, staying home feels like a moral failure.
We swam off the rocks, ate seafood at a place with paper tablecloths and no menu in English, and stayed long enough to watch the sun go down behind the harbour. Two of us climbed a boulder above the water and sat there in silhouette until the light went. The rest of us let them have the moment and quietly took photos of it.
The Takeaway
Switzerland was about the journey. Italy was about staying put. A good villa, good company, two beautiful cars you only drive when the mood strikes, and a week that measured time in meals rather than hours.
We came home tanned, slower, and fully convinced that every trip should include at least one evening that ends in a pool.