Notes of agrotourist

Three hours after landing, making a fair hook by the autobahn through Bologna, passing through Apennins and passed Florence, we drove into a sleepy town, imperceptibly fitted in one of the mountain valleys of Tuscany. Rolled on the road snapped by gravel and soon stopped at the gate quite the Mussolini Villa. There, behind these gates, agrotourism in Tuscan was waiting for us ..

"And what do you, fool, is not sitting at home", – I once again thought, throwing a suitcase into the car of friends and going to Domodedovo. By the way, the airport building is obviously not among the priority construction projects "East Line", Why still stands in the forests.

However, and everything remains unchanged inside: the same "Tails" For registration – boys in Kozhanka on Murmansk and Chelyabinsk, colorful aunt on Sharm el-Sheikh and Antalya, Debel Virgin with "Papika" on London and Zurich. If the airport is the country’s face, then our homeland is still very strange.

Against the background of the growing crowd, our empty rack on Forli looked very lonely – a spent Italian town in Emilia Romagne (Emilia Romagna), the inhabitants of whom, obviously, do not cease to be surprised, to whom the bright idea came to build them under their nose international an airport. But, on their and on our happiness, we flew still not to them.

On the road, on board the Sicilian airlines (my friends and I would have a friendly discrepancy between the Italian language and air transport), we brought together (or rather, did not imagine), as we will raise olives, collect grape harvest, care for pigs and kill evenings in conversations With a word of italian synoroy under a slugging cycade.

In general, with some fraction of irony composed all nonsense, able to come into the head of urban snobs at the thought of the so-called rural idyll. Reality hit the nose, ears and eyes right behind the gate of the villa. The first is incredible in purity and concentration of mountain air. Next – Absolute silence of sleeping village.

And after all this – a magnificent guest house of the XVI century about two floors. Casps on massive doors, cream cabinets, medieval wooden chairs, seized by worms beams on the ceiling, stone floor and elevated walls – all not "under ancient", Namely old.

Although I prefer a shower, but with the animals of the faded ladies, the will of the fate of the tsarist sorry, he climbed into the cast-iron bath on lion’s paws and, sipping brandy, stared out the window to the colds appealing between the cigarets.

Agrotourism was not so terrible occupation – the grapes have already collected, the next yield of olives has not yet dose, but the outdoor pool located next to the house, the hostess was going to merge no earlier than the next week, although, according to her, no sensible person will not swim in 18- Degree water. Well, it, of course, I got excited – the Russians are not freezing. However, the dangers still arose on our way. Then in the form of frightened to death of deer joined both from under the ground on the night road and headlights rushing in uneven light, as if Bosshovsky ghosts.

Then in the form of a swarm of evil, like a thousand devils, bees, who decided for some reason for a couple of meters to accompany our BMW. Then in the image of hunters (honestly, I thought they would live only in fairy tales) who opened the art-rode just at a time when we do not know what fright went to collect white mushrooms on the surrounding hills.

Notes of agrotourist

Fortunately, as a game, we did not interest them. But this is not the main thing. How well wake up on the beds under the Baldakhin, surround with sleepy eyes, massive ceiling floors and for a few seconds to ask the question: And where am I actually? – And after how to pull, sigh satisfaction and answer yourself: "In Tuscany, dear friend, in Tuscany".

And although the sun rose already as hour four years ago, for the guest house only began. First of all – get to the pool, heal to the sun bed and instead of more relevant for the agrotumist morning jogging to smoke the first morning cigarette.

Then, heading towards the house, which is already a clear look to the fantastic beauty of the neighborhood and with the stubborn naivety of a five-year-old child to try to fix all this stronger somewhere on her cleaner, so that in flat, like a pancake, cloudy Moscow to restore every folding of Picture Tuscan in memory Relief. Separate History – Local food. No, not a kitchen, namely food – no youselves, everything is simple and hard.

When in some insidea in the midst of a clean field you first ignore (because not a fig come to 19.45, if the institution opens in 20.00), and after without unnecessary rodearks bring written from hand on rough paper "menu of the day" on Italian with a minimum set of dishes, you feel a pupil of the Catholic school, while one of the most severe.

But the result feel the stomach. Here are not worried about the products – here they do not spoil them, which ultimately has a fabulous action – after you only have to be surprised, as you can easily know how to know Antipasti, Accept, Sendi and Dolce with Chianti and Vincento and feel not that is excellent, but quite worn for such Barmaleev.

Stupid to hide that "rest" 24 hours at the villa, admiring dandelions, – a mortal boredom, and my friends with friends every day in the surrounding castles, Mollams and Enotekam. But as the hotel’s room is not more pleasant to return, even if the most luxurious, and in your own (although a week), to feel like an invarious surrounding life, play the role of the real Toskan and dull when at the reception of the flight Fortrol – Moscow It will firm in Italian.

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