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This week, I have already bought three properties—an ancient hilltop villa wrapped by the verdant embrace of sculpture-strewn gardens and vineyards; a fortified castle looming large over an olive tree-encrusted valley from behind the shelter of thick crenellated towers; and a Baroque confection where the glimmering of crystal chandeliers dances on the angels and Muses frescoed on the walls.
Of course, all the contracts were exchanged solely in my mind. You see, I am a perennial home buyer. I look, dream, but never really get down to buying (which may well have something to do with the depth of my pockets—or lack thereof—although I suspect that the property equivalent of fear of commitment also plays a part).
With an act of sheer willpower, I refrain from wasting sellers and agents time by going on viewings—I have too much respect of other people’s work and time—but nothing prevents me from spending hours browsing particulars of homes for sale on the Internet, at fairs, or simply on estate agents’ windows.
Price is no object (after all, I am not paying) and I am equally partial to city and countryside. I will drool over a grand (with frescoes by Tiepolo!), just as easily as over a rustic casale in grey stone bordered by poppies and lavender and shaded by mature fruit trees in the Umbrian countryside.
But lately, I find myself particularly drawn to the peaceful poplar, oak and chestnut forests of Piedmont’s Langhe. It is a country of dark green undergrowth and mellow hills, knobbly white truffles and fragile cardoons, soaring medieval fortresses and humble stone ciabot (toolsheds). A place where rich, warm notes of forest fruit and spice float from the liquid ruby of a glass of Barolo, while sweet hazelnuts and velvety chocolate waltz together in the billowing perfection of a gianduiotto.
I have been dreaming of roaring fireplaces, beamed ceilings and stone walls in an old cascina lost in the wilderness of the woody Alta Langa, or in the tame countryside of the vineyard-strewn Bassa Langa, for some time now.
And, lo and behold, my dream has now come up for sale. It is a group of lovingly renovated old stone rustici set in a glade among the thick woods of the Alta Langa. Large arched windows frame leafy views over a deep valley but interiors filled with exposed beams, stone walls and wooden floorings rival the panorama. Each building has its own spirit—the former stable block, now turned into an exquisite home. The old farmhouse, which has become a spacious guest wing. An ancient stone shed, which is now a romantic hideaway for couples. And all around it, the hills, silence and pale light of the Langhe. Now, if only I had €460,000 at hand, I could (almost) commit to buying it for real.