Black clouds roll in over the mountain, bearing the first rain of the summer. The freezing rain plummets towards the earth, shattering like glass as it collides with the rooftops. Our car can be heard tearing up the dirt driveway , the path eroding as our wheels grip the sodden earth. For the first time we pull up to the villa which is crumbling slightly from years of constant weathering. Nestled high in the mountains, the small structure had stood strong, fighting the effects of time. Previously an old mill, the building had been carefully reconstructed into a beautiful Italian home.

My sister, still staring aimlessly out at the patchwork countryside, takes little notice of what is to be our home for the next couple of weeks. I, on the other hand, jump out of the Jeep breaking into a run towards the stone building. Meanwhile, my parents are busy unloading the vehicle. My mom pointing towards bags, shouting to my dad to complete the manual labor. At last, they manage to pull my sister from the vehicle and we work our way to the front door.

The oak door has seen better days as well, stains and spots are ridden across it’s face. The keys jingle as my father flips through them, making a feeble attempt to unlock the door. My sister is no longer with us, she is off exploring the fields and examining the olives that are dangling in the orchard. The door opens hesitantly, letting out a long, defiant screech. We move our bags inside, their wheels clacking as the roll across the stone floor. I notice something strange as I enter the home, a pleasant warmth that didn’t seem to touch the outside world. A strange scent also clings in the air, one of olives and strong wine. As I pass through the door, I can’t help but run my hand along the walls, their rough surface hinting at the strength of the rocks.

Slowly we work our way upstairs, emerging out into a beautiful living room. A gorgeous fireplace is off to the side, logs stacked neatly to it’s left. In the center is an old leather sofa, paired with a chair of the same vintage. We are joined by my sister, eyes open wide with excitement. I beckon for her to follow me to the third floor, the metal staircase shaking as we clamber up the steps. We emerge into the best room in the house, the humidity clinging in the air. Two suitable beds are nestled in the corners of the room, draped with authentic bedspreads. Songbirds can be heard in the distance, and we watch them flutter above from our windows.

Over the course of the week this villa grows into our favorite place in the world. We spend all of our evenings here, playing board games and cards. After long days of town exploration and hiking we come home and enjoy exquisite Italian cuisine, and head to the living room for a “game night” by the fire. Life can feel so strange in a different country, but the villa soon comes to feel like our home. Secluded up in the mountains of Tuscany, the place beams with peace and tranquility. The golden silence, the soft smell of olives, and the warmth of our home makes for an amazing visit in the Italian countryside. I will never forget the beautiful villa on the mountainside.