Transforming a Medieval Church into a Tuscan Home: Kyle Ball’s Inspiring Journey

Melissa asked me to write about living in Italy and/or learning the language. I found driving in a foreign country to be challenging, especially in Italy. One-way streets, pedestrian crossings, blind corners, and restricted access areas all contribute to the chaos if you’re trying to park and walk into town. Our home was in Greve-in-Chianti, only a 30-minute drive south of Florence, so I would often find myself in, literally, a tough spot trying to find a parking place in Florence.

One morning, I was late for a meeting with my notaio (lawyer) whose office is located in the heart of the city. Visibility was low, and the rain-soaked streets made for slick stops and starts. As I rounded a corner towards my favorite parking garage a moped – driven by a helmeted young man – swiped just to the left of my car, almost striking the mirror. I slammed on the brakes and said a silent prayer of thanks for not injuring the rider. I said a couple of other things I had learned in Italian, but they are not printable here. He had come out of nowhere, and exited just as quickly, weaving in and out between the parked cars on the road. As he flipped up his middle finger, the universal sign for his frustration, he yelled out an Italian phrase that has stuck with me ever since, and one I thought was warranted considering the circumstances: “Stupida Donna!!!!”

Friends who visited us and rented a car to tour the Tuscan countryside were a constant source of amusement and amazement. I would rarely agree to ride with them, my basic survival instinct, coupled with the raw fear of their incompetence behind the wheel pitted against Italian drivers, in full gear. They would inevitably call my cellphone during outings, asking how to exit the area around the Duomo in central Florence and find a parking spot on the Ponte Vecchio. (A word to the wise – there is no parking on the Ponte Vecchio.) How they drove that far into town without being stopped at a checkpoint, or how they negotiated the tiny cobblestoned streets meant only for pedestrians, was perplexing. If they didn’t arrive home in time for an aperitivo at 5 pm, I started the cocktail hour without them.    

A visit from our friends, the Tilghman family, provided an interesting lunch outing in Castellina-in-Chianti. This tiny Tuscan gem has several nice restaurants in the center of town, but one of our guests suggested a country eatery he had read about in a “Slow Food Guide to Italy.” Things were a little crazy with so many guests, and I neglected to call ahead and see if the restaurant was open. We chugged along in our rented minivan towards the address, but eventually ended up in a field with no discernible road thanks to Dave’s GPS and “foolproof” printed directions. As it turned out, the restaurant was long closed, and I had to back up through a field of cows and sheep, trying desperately to get back to the main highway.

The lessons I learned to live by in Italy, which included a three plus year renovation of an abandoned church, still stand. Most problems are better solved after a glass or two of Chianti Classico Riserva.