Upon navigating through customs in Pisa, Alex (my husband) and I spot his longtime friend Rick Hensley in an eager crowd of family and friends awaiting the arrival of their loved ones. Rick and Alex go way, way back--40 some years--to when they studied ceramics together at the Kansas City Art Institute before I was even born. The three of us hop in a rented Fiat and cruise north on the autostrada for a while, eventually turning off into the mountains maybe 20 km from the Mediterranean coastline. Italian mountain roads are incredibly treacherous, as they are no wider than a bus, they rarely have guard rails, and they have untold numbers of nausea-inducing switchbacks. I am so fearful that I can't look out the window, for fear that doing so will cause us to plummet down the mountainside. It doesn't really matter, though, because the switchbacks are so nausea-inducing that all I can do is crack the window for ventilation and pray that the house is just around the corner.
We eventually arrive in Borseda, a tiny Ligurian town claiming no more than 40 residents. Rick takes us up to the charming old home he just relinquished ownership of a few days earlier. It now belongs to his American friend, who is gracious enough to allow us to stay there for as long as we are in Italy. The terrace, which is perhaps 20 by 20 square feet, captures wonderful views of the facing mountainside, and as we briefly kick up our feet and relax before a much-needed siesta, I spot some chickens pecking away near the largest rosemary shrub I've ever seen. Truly free-range!
The jet-lag is too much, however, and Alex and I crawl into bed for a nap. A warm July breeze rustles the old lace curtains and tickles our faces as we doze off to the sweet chirping of birds...
One of the views from our terrace at the Borseda house.
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