Past & present threads….
Unexpected though very exciting developments at House hunting blues. New and favourable circumstances are blowing the German couple in their quest to buy a home in Italy. They have made an offer on il Cedro and are actively involved in the ongoing negotiations. The usual. First offer rejected. Owner made a mark on the ground and said, he would NEVER cross it, and then he did. Was nudged by the real-estate agent. Good. THE LATER Earning his keep. The wife of the couple heartily agreed with him… said it seemed silly not to come to an agreement over the difference of a few Euro’s. May I say?…
this particular real-estate agent, a young man, is and has always been a congenial, available, honest!!! person and I am quite grateful for his help and participation. People like him are not often found in the real-estate business… here in Italy. What I remember from my experiences with real-estate agents in America were they were either bored housewives needing to make regular leasing payments on their late model Jaguars or, Gay men with too much personality and doctored smiles. Honesty or, much less, integrity were not on their maps. To be fair, I can tell you stories about said creatures on both sides of the Atlantic. Would raise the hair on your back or, make your hair curl. Whichever happens first. Might even make a book. But, back to the winds of blowing…
Price has been agreed upon and, apparently, a contract written and sent to the two parties for their signatures.
These kids are sharp. I say kids because, now that I am actively brushing 70 years of age, most of the World is younger. They have been remarkably thorough with their conditions, requests, solicitations, participation. Good deal. They are purchasing a house they have not seen with their own eyes. Other have sussed the place out. It passed muster. These kids took the reins and are riding well and onto a happy conclusion. They have my respect and admiration.
But, not so quickly for others. I have comments…
I have followed clients over the years, apparently successful and wealthy individuals, couples, who have bought properties at home where they live full-time, and yet, in doing the same in Italy, chuck Good Sense or, simply and completely ignored the procedures, details and the questions to ask in buying or, selling property here or, they have blindly deferred to others, as if on another planet, raising their heads only when it came time to write out a check. Real-estate is no different in Italy than anywhere else in the World. One simply needs to ask the obvious questions, take the time to read the documents, which can easily be translated, reply in kind, actively participate. It’s part of the fun. Some get it. Others not.
And, it’s important…
years ago, in our own search for a home in the Lunigiana, a real-estate agent sent me an email with a listing of a hay barn. Its caption was… Potrebbe essere un gancino per Voi nella Lunigiana…. or, hook, for You & Me in the Lunigiana. T’was truly time to get things rolling after a four year off & on house hunt. Some disappointments along the road. Never did manage to see the gancino place but, a week after that email, You & I were on our way to acquiring il Poggiolo. Our circumstances, our attitude had changed, allowing us to find just the place to our liking and budget. When it happens, it can happen fast. Wake up. Be attentive. You & I did. Same story for the German couple.
Now, I wonder if they are planning some kind of celebration? Understand they had three wedding parties. Our German friends sure know how to party. They drink. An indication for a good party in my book. They’re young.
No special reason but, I thought I would mention it anyway…
the first bit of colour, say around mid-February, harkening the arrival of Spring, is the yellow of Forsythia or, January Jasmine, if you come from The Deep South. You HATES yellow flowers. Forsythia is one vigorously prohibited, as is any other yellow flower, for that matter, in our garden at il Poggiolo. Right now though, at the end of September and with the 21st behind us, the garden of il Poggiolo is overrun by yellow. Cistus plants and its yellow blooms. An oversight on my part. The tag showed white-ish flowers. I bought several. And, I am probably and deplorably not good at obeying Rules & Regulations. From anyone. Duplicating the previous mistake and, oblivious to the pre-declared edict/s, I extracted from an abandoned house’s garden these stalky, flowery things with huge, bright yellow flowers. I thought they look charming, festive things. They were weeds. WEEDS!!! Now, You & I are indentured to pulling up these abhorrent flore at every whisper of their germination. And, as the culprit, I must endure You’s grumblings on why I cannot follow The Rules & Regulations. His Rules & Regulations. Not mine. Yet, a Lesson learned and not repeated to date. Only to defend myself. Though, in hindsight, I wonder why, after twenty-one years of sharing real-estate, canines, stuff, You hasn’t gotten the Math about me? Oh, well. Got news for the man despite whatall. The last flowers of Summer are these daisy looking flowers… in Small, Medium & Large dimensions… and in the same darn yellow colour You hates so much. Must mar his views of the Lunigiana landscape driving in his beat-up AUDI from Aulla to Codiponte. Oh, well.
And, for the moment…
as for A light at the end of the tunnel, You & I are happily inside enjoying the warmth of our two newly fitted out fireboxes and, weary from our collective and individual toils with our latest adventure in Home Improvements. YIPPEE!!! The Dog’s keen too though he dislikes the noise I make loading logs onto a raging fire. Ahime’… But, Good Riddance to those toils. Not the attitude to take, yet really, folks, too much time and stress and over my dead body to suit a sensitive soul as mine. I earned my 68 years old. Cannot speak for You. Un carroarmato.
I want everyone to know, however, You single-handedly re-hung and placed everything you see in the above photos. As many insiders are aware of, I do not drive nails into walls. Gives me the creeps. And, I hate to see freshly painted stucco walls marred by a misplaced slam of the hammer, creating unsightly defects… ugly shots of white, so evident with our Signature Blue.
Yes, ladies & gentlemen, You diligently worked for two days during our last weekend to return what all to their previous-places/former-homes/roosting-positions. Dusting & cleaning were also involved. Required several referrals to my iPhone photos stocks and a great amount of patience…. ON EVERYONE’S PART, THE DOG INCLUDED!!! Oh, and my wisely arranged absence from the premises. I worked in the garden, making amends for the lack of a three month avoidance, due to the extreme heat & humidity in these parts we citizens of Codiponte and elsewhere must now currently endure. After a stint of staying inside in relative cool, but with n’er a window or, shutter even cracked a tiny bit, I might now gladly huddle on an iceberg in a down parka holding a placard calling for more efforts to stem Global Warming. Sadly, I can’t get a flight out of Pisa Airport to go anywhere.
I now have to pay off everyone involved in the initiative.
Visit to the Villetta...
Archive post December 22, 2018…
A mistake to have thought the villa would be perfect. Not a lot, but just enough. Turns out, Could be perfect, would have been the proper verb construction. Bad boy. I should never have done that! It compromised discovery and adventure. I must be rusty. Or, deep down I wasn’t much into it. Sometimes dreams are keener than reality. Or, reality kills them off. My subconscious surely had an inkling. I consistently refused to acknowledge the messages. So…
I went, I looked, I left. Done.
Charm and fascination are funny commodities. What appeals generally might not elsewhere. I don’t think you are supposed to crawl & scratch to get to them. Am I spoiled in my old age? Others, like You, for instance, may disagree. By my guest: scratch away.
The interior of the mock-Palladian villa and its older sister’s Fin du Siecle’ wing left me disoriented, distanced, bludgeoned by way too much stuff. No… excuse me… let me put it like this… WAY TOO MUCH STUFF!!! Furniture, books, clothes, pictures, paraphernalia, every pot ‘n pan known to Man…. farm-equipment!!!… cluttered, disordered and dirtied by the dust of neglect. Hey! Where are the house vibes? Stifled. Unreachable. Hidden. No room for its spirit to breathe. Not even a whisper heard of the villa’s abandonment when i nonni passed away in quick succession back in ‘00. I doubt the three heirs have yet to put a foot inside a doorway. Shame on them!
The villa is in three parts. Normally, Oh! Goodie, would be the response here. The oldest part is the wing lent up against… or squeezed in between… a very tall stone wall of the passing street to its left and the cube-like white & cream frescoed villa in prime picture-taking stance on the right.
The former has a big open terrace and window & door cornices bordered in terracotta brick. Easily spotted and enjoyed. A basement of cantine and a garage capped by that big open terrace, a gracious adjunct to its First Floor salotto of an immense length and little width. An 8 x 3 proportion. A modest fireplace inhabits one corner. This is followed by a luxuriously blu-tinted grey tiled 50’s styled bathroom with classic Italian early-chromed fixtures. The Second Floor has three bedrooms. Their bathroom is at the end of the hallway. A quirk of sorts: the staircase communicating between this wing’s floors fills what would have been the fourth Palladian-squared room in the white stucco-ed main villa. The dimensions fit a stairs.
The later part was either re-styled in a severe Deco mood or the terracotta window & doors mouldings were elaborated and summarily stucco-ed over after the Big Quake of ‘22. The Assessment? Tiny rooms. Stuffed to the gills tiny rooms. Four per its two floors. Scaled down Palladio, if there ever was. Overwhelmingly, each tiny room has A MAJOR FIREPLACE!!! Nice motif, baring the later modifications of shrinking them to miniscule… fits tiny… or plugging up entirely their fireboxes. Stepping through the entrance doors, on the left is a kitchen with its MAJOR FIREPLACE!!!, the quirky staircase, and then, on the right a library with more books than you can imagine… skyscrapers of books in front of skyscrapers of books… and its MAJOR FIREPLACE!!! and a salotto with its EVEN BIGGER MAJOR FIREPLACE!!!!! and the ubiquitous clutter and disorder and dust. Up the stairs… risking one’s neck to climb over the farm-equipment with sharp, jabby things… very scary looking prongs… to the three bedrooms and the proverbial… The bathroom’s at the end of the hallway, dear. Ditto clutter and disorder and dust. Cobwebs too.
Behind these two sections and up a treacherous series of stone stairs and through the accompanying jungle is the small Servants Quarters… I suppose. Could not get through the door to find out. An apartment. Once-upon-a-time, servants and/or other could come & go undetected by escaping up another series of dangerous stone stairs to the bridge above. To Freedom!!!
The garden in front of the two houses is a lumpy grassy terrace. BIG LUMPS. Sorry, no badminton or soccer. The Good News is you could land a helicopter on it. The surrounding foliage is quite picturesque. Italian evergreens mixed in with deciduous Italian nature. Cluttered and disorder. Cement and terracotta planters repose underneath the overgrowth in a scenic sort of distribution. Now that IS charming.
No deal. No perfect-ness. Off onto new horizons. We might build.
May I speak of stuff? No doubt about it: SUPERCALIFRAGILISTICEXPIALIDOCIOUS!! Just look at what’s on the mantle of the EVEN BIGGER MAJOR FIREPLACE!!! Merely a hint of what could not be adequately photographed. Peccato. The house may not have moved me, but the stuff surely did. I may go back with You and rummage for some gems. A woven cane seated bent walnut three-seater sofa. I know he’d be up for that or, he wouldn’t be You.