“Take off all of your clothes and put this on. I’ll be back in 2 minutes” Simon said to me as he flung a package no bigger than a matchbox in my direction. As I unfurled the package hoping beyond hope it would expand considerably, disappointment and apprehension set in as I stared at a tiny, paper g-string that was meant to be my only form of coverage for an hour long massage. It wasn’t meant to be like this – I’m not a ‘massage kind of guy’ but the thought of a relaxing back rub in a cabana overlooking the hills of Tuscany seemed as good a time as any to try. And other guests had raved about the relaxing hands of Valentina when they had their massage the day before. So it was a surprise when Krys came back from her session with a mixed look of surprise and mirth to say ‘ummm the massage you are about to get is what I would call interesting. And will be delivered by a man with firm hands’.
Simon came back into the room to see me in my sliver of paper coverage, made an accent laced comment of ‘it is on back to front, but I can work with it’ then proceeded to rub me with such vigour that I thought he was trying to start a fire with my thigh hairs. All while manipulating me into shapes that were significant extensions of the normal range of body motion and appearing to become agitated if I wasn’t relaxed. I’d given up any pretence of relaxation when Simon starting to rub and twist my neck – the site of a pretty major operation 3yrs before. It was then that I heard the cabana door fling open and Krys urgently exclaiming ‘don’t crack his neck, don’t crack his neck!’. She’s been in the shower post her violent rub down, realised some heavy neck manipulating was unexpectedly coming my way so leapt from the shower, left the kids and sprinted across the grounds to breathlessly stop any neck damage before it could occur. To say that my stress levels were significantly elevated before it was time to take off my glorified bandaid as underpants and rinse off the layer of massage oil was an understatement. I needed to drink a bottle of wine just to get back to my pre massage state.
But this was a rare moment of stress in an incredible end to our Tuscan experience. We were staying on a property surrounded by rolling hills, with lounges that sat on the edge overlooking the scenery below. The property had rabbits, cats and a mini playground for the girls meaning they could play while we ate and drank. It really was the closest thing to parent heaven on Earth.
And all run by a family who had a farm and vineyard in the nearby town where the girls could extend their animal harassment to sheep, pigs and chickens. The farm was run by a charming Italian farmer whose handshake had me wondering if years of avoiding manual work had left my own hands and grip too far on the feminine side. I’m going to start really bashing that keyboard when I get home to at least toughen up my fingertips. And he took quite a shine to the girls, and a particular shine to Krys – I’m not sure if a few comments had translation issues or if his admiration for Krys was that direct. Could hardly blame him – just had to hope we didn’t have to arm wrestle for her affection.
We got a couple of interesting lessons during our Tuscan property stay. First was regarding driving rules. A lot of the evenings were planned around excesses of food and wine, and these dinners were in neighbouring towns. When I expressed some disappointment that I wouldn’t be able to hit the wine as hard as I would have liked because I had to drive, I was met with a quizzical look by the property owners who commented ‘you don’t need to worry – I think the limit is 0.4 or something silly like that. No one pays attention to it – and you are a tourist so even if you are stopped just pretend you don’t understand what they are saying and they will just let you go’. I was about to point out that I think she meant 0.04 as the limit but then couldn’t be sure – perhaps Italy did set their legal blood alcohol limit around the point of intoxication induced death which they ignore anyway? But apparently park on a road with a yellow line rather than a white line and feel the full force of the Italian Police.
The other lesson – don’t try and hit an Italian supermarket after a long lunch. After a few wines I was dispatched for the afternoon grocery run, and on the list were some ‘feminine hygeine’ products for Krys. This exercise would have been hard enough sober as I tried to decipher Italian words for ‘wings’ and make an appropriate judgement on ‘flow’. After about 5mins of just staring at the feminine hygiene section while reeking of red wine I was starting to get some suspicious looks. At this point I was contemplating swinging by the farm on the way back, stealing a sheep and letting Krys work out the rest. But instead made a random guess that apparently was close enough to the mark.
Our Tuscan experience ended with a lunch visit to Cortona on the way to the ferry across to Croatia. Again it is a beautiful city perched high on a hill but Cortona also holds a special place for those with lady parts – it was the settings for the movie ‘Under the Tuscan Sun’. So of course we had to go hunting for the villa where the movie was shot. And it was a complex epic trying to find it. It was almost like the locals play a game of ‘make the compliant husbands and boyfriends hunt for a needle in a feminine haystack’ so there are no discernable markings for the property, and when you do manage to find it, it is perched precariously half way up some impossibly narrow and winding Tuscan roads. The only way I could tell we were getting closer was the increasing intensity of cars shuffled to the side of the road, and these cars were filled with frustrated and exasperated men poring over maps while the women smiled wistfully beside them. We got there in the end and Krys’ lady parts returned to the car satisfied (for now).
We have since had an interesting introduction to Croatia, where the national food appears to be tobacco. But more on that later.
Buona giornata.
Trent, Krystal, Emelia, Olivia and some massage oil still lodged in some hard to reach places.
smallthoughts 