Remember the three rules of The Princess Bride, like “Never get involved in a land war in Asia”?  We have a fourth one to add: “Never attempt to drive anywhere in Tuscany without a superb GPS and a firm grasp of Italian.”  Also, Dramamine.

We were so naïve this morning, optimistically setting out with Google directions and insufficiently detailed maps.  The villa in Tuscany where we’ll be spending the next week was supposedly about 3.5 hours from Rome, and by going a bit out of our way, we could also hit a very cool-sounding attraction on the way: a thermal spring area with warm turquoise waters cascading down over a series of waterfalls.  This area is known for the healing powers of its waters, and has been used for thousands of years.  It’s also, we discovered, quite a bit off the beaten path.

We quickly discovered our Google directions were useless, since they said things like “Turn onto Provincial Route 105”.  In Italy, provincial routes do not appear to be labeled by number.  Instead, they’re labeled by the next (too small to appear on the map) village that they lead to.  Also, in rural Tuscany no one seems to speak English.

It took hours to get to the Terme di Saturnia.  Luckily it was a very cool place – beautiful and free and totally unspoiled, despite the substantial number of people there.  It was fortunate that the waters were warm, because the day was quite chilly.  It was unfortunate that we had no towels, but we managed none the less.

Then came more hours attempting to get back to the highway.  We were winding through an absolutely beautiful landscape, but no one was much in the mood to appreciate it.  We all chose to focus instead on not throwing up in our new rental car.  Bob and I summoned up our Pimsleur-language-CD Italian skills and managed to ask for directions, but the flaw in this plan quickly became evident: we would be answered in a torrent of Italian of which we understood not a word.  People were very friendly and helpful – one elderly man talked nonstop for five minutes, gesturing all the while – but we pretty much just had to rely on going the way they pointed then stopping to ask the next person along the road.  (Bob and I later theorized that maybe they were saying things like, “Whatever you do, don’t go that way.  That would be the WORST possible way to go.”)

We thought our troubles were over when we finally found the highway again, but we soon discovered that the directions to our villa were less than stellar.  The first clue was when the exit we were supposed to be taking from the highway (again, not numbered) did not exist.  There followed several more increasingly desperate hours of travel, particularly when we discovered our directions ended at a random point and there was no indication of where to go from there.

I think the low point was when we stopped at a random roadside house and I had a long conversation with an elderly deaf woman and her daughter, who tried valiantly to assist me.  (At one point we even attempted to speak in French.)  Eventually she pulled me to the window, and pointed across the steep valley to a distant house on the opposite hillside.  “Ma dove es LA VIA?,” <”but where is THE ROAD?”, I think> I cried in despair, and there she couldn’t help me.

Now before you feel all sorry for us, let’s turn to the tale of our friends, the Brookses, who were BIKING to the villa from Florence.  We passed them on the road at one point when we were all under the impression that we were a couple of kilometers away.  This was a very mistaken impression.  We were about 14 kilometers away, over very steep hills, and it was getting dark.  Bob had been planning to go back for them but this didn’t quite work out when we couldn’t find the villa ourselves.

Eventually, thankfully, we made it, thanks to a helpful resident of the tiny village of La Pescina, who was willing to walk with me and actually point out the (small, dirt) road we needed to take.  Upon arrival our hostess Silvia came running out with a camera.  Her husband Stefano and his friends had gone off to rescue the Brookses, and he’d called her and said, “You have to bring out your camera for this.”  It was now fully dark; one of the friends drove home a few of the Brooks kids while the others walked the bikes up the final steep hill.  The saintly Silvia made us a big pot of pasta since no one could conceive of getting back in a car (and it was now 8:30 at night).  And she’d left an amazing tiramisu in the fridge.  And the villa is amazing enough to make up for everything.

 ***

From Bob:

We won’t talk too much about today, save to say that a few rules applied above and beyond Murphy’s Law.  One is that the longer the road is, the better the meal at the end.  Another is that anything is better with the Brookses involved.

                We will get the added pleasure of seeing them observe the surrounding countryside for the first time tomorrow morning.  Most of them arrived after dark and were only able to take in the building itself, which is plenty, really, to bite off in one sitting.  Like the Coliseum, it loves up to our elevated expectations.  Give it high marks for remoteness.

                While we’re at it, we’ll give Europecar a thumbs up for convenience and for giving decent driving directions out of Rome.  Driving there was something I’d been dreading.  Thankfully, Jen  planned for us to be leaving on a Saturday morning and traffic was light.  Signage was not great, though, and we had one snag before we hit the A1.  It would not be the last.

                The girls also deserve much applause for rolling with the highs and lows of a marathon driving day.  Zoe’s singing lessons carried them all through the worst of it.