I inch up a stony path, convinced my little Fiat 500 car will beach on one of the mounds of pebbles or burst a tire. This dirt road is one of Tuscany’s strade bianche, part of the landscape and the heritage that, unfortunately for unprepared out-of-towners, can’t be asphalted. Soon, however, I’m distracted from the ordeal by the sight of the villa, atop a hill, ivy creeping up the facade and a vineyard spread out below it. I crunch to a slow halt and take a moment to gaze at the paradise that will be my new temporary “office.”
While spring brings frothy blossoming trees, chirping
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