Sono arrivata!

ciao to my beloveds,
well, it goes without saying that there is no shortcut to paradise. this will be a long entry, so prepare yourselves.

i will short cut the front end as best as i can. summer, my dear friend, took me to the airport and there i was. flight to newark was uneventful until we were about 30 minutes out, when the captain came on and told us no flights were being let into newark because of bad weather and we would have to circle. so we circled. and circled some more. and then we ran out of fuel, so we had to land in dulles (washington). the man in front of me was freaking out because he didn't speak english so well and he thought we were having to turn around and go back to dallas. anyhow, we sat at dulles for 2 hours, waiting for clearance into newark, and so that was the beginning.

i missed my flight to london, but i was told there was another one i could get on. fast forward through me racing through newark, trying to find the flight (i was given conflicting sets of directions), finally finding it, etc and then that flight was 2 hours delayed as well. and because that 2nd flight was so late, i arrived at gatwick 4 hours behind schedule. my baggage wasn't there, which turned out to be the best part (this happened once before, and it is actually better, because then they deliver it to you and you don't have to mess with it). but the bad part was that i missed my flight to milan, which was leaving from a totally different airport. i was told there were no more flights till FRIDAY (this was Wed am) but that I could go to Luton and wait on standby. Having no other option, I went and waited for 6 hours. Luckily, there was a seat, so I paid 60£ ($120 "missed flight fee") and got on.

Arriving in Milan, I had to take an hour bus ride to the station, where I then waited 3 hours to take a train that left at 11 pm. A bit seedy that time of night. I got on the train and 6 hours later I stepped off the train onto the platform in Castiglion Fiorentino. A man was standing across the tracks and shouted "Vanessa?"

He was the driver for the hotel and so proceeded to take me there. It was lovely at 5:30 in the morning. We drove around and past Castiglion, which was an eerie feeling, and into the mountains. It was trying to be sunny outside but was succeeding only in being a soft Van Gogh, sort of foggy and streaky and quite lovely. The drive to the hotel consisting mostly of Roberto taking hairpin turns at 90 mph but I survived. There were times when it seemed the road would fold in on itself, so sharp were the turns. But I strained my neck to look out the window into the ghostly valley below, and when the sun finally did break through, I was rewarded with pinks and blues and soft mossy greens.

40 minutes later we began a steep ascent to the Palazzo, which is 1800 m above sea level and at one of the highest points in this area. There is really no road, just a gravel drive (which makes the restoration work seem even more incredible). The drive is lined with gorgeous yellow flowers and cypress trees, which i suppose are meant to distract the tourist from the bumpy ride (and it works). We pulled up and it felt very like a fairy tale. Hazy, misty morning, giant yellow building rising off the side of this hill, gorgeous English garden all around with pink roses and vines and off to the other side, a sheer drop into an amazing valley, partioned in that Umbrian way you may have seen in postcards...the land is sort of rolling and divided by hedges and rows of cypress, like a great green patchwork quilt.

Anyhow, dazed and sleepy (I really hadn't slept at all in the las 48 hours), I stumbled into the dark hotel (it was still only 6:30 at this point). Sarah, the owner of the hotel, had left me a plate of croissants and fruit and instructions to ring her at once, and so I did. She came down and was the best thing so far of the trip. She is so British she seems to be nearly a caricature of herself, but I mean that in the best way possible. She fluttered all over me, asking if I was totally shattered, calling me dear dear dear, instructing me to sit and have a hot chocolate, telling me she would prepare a room for me so that i could shower and sleep...totally fussing over me like a mother hen. it was nice after stone-faced airport employees with whom my tears made no headway.

This, I suppose, is the worst part, so brace yourselves. Just before showing me to my room, she asked if I'd like to take my guitar. I had seen it in the dining area but it was in the case and I hadn't yet opened it. So I did so with great excitement and not a little trepidation, which sadly proved to be completely warranted. In short, the entire head of the guitar was completely broken off. I have no idea how that could have happened unless someone dropped the guitar out of the case while inspecting it. Regardless, the head had been placed inside the compartment on the inside, which means someone knew about it while they delivered it. I was so shocked and tired that I couldn't even think or react or cry, which was probably best. Sarah gasped and said, "my dear! you are fated!" which didn't make me feel terribly better, I am afraid. But she said we would mend it and if not possible she would get me another.

And now I have to go because the children have just arrived home from school and so I will have to pick up later. If you know someone who needs a copy of Sparkler, please tell them to order it so that the proceeds can go into the guitar fund, else the fall tour may be off.

But not to end on such a sad note - it is incredible here, and I promise to upload pictures as soon as I have my camera (which is in my missing bag).
Much love to you all and I will write more soon.
vanessa