Italian adventure 2

I bend the wire fence a bit further open, and we climb through the gap. There we stand. Like two curious fauns in an enchantingly beautiful Arcadia. We wade through the grass, taking in everything around us. A flock of crows startles and flies up into the air. We walk uphill, toward the house. We reach the driveway, which connects the house to the closed gate.

The path is a bit overgrown, which is compensated for by beautifully blooming rosebushes on either side. On a stone column, we spot a marble plaque, choked by weeds. We pull the plants away. ‘Villa Dea Diana, Montecanino’ is engraved into the stone. The house is named after the Roman goddess of the hunt, Diana. Montecanino is the name of the hill we are standing on, as I had already seen on the map. Montecanino—the word rolls off my tongue. It sounds so lovely, especially when pronounced in Italian. Montecanino. Monte, a mountain, a hill. And canino—something to do with dogs, or rabbits?

On the other side of the driveway, we see an orchard with fruit trees; we leave those be for a moment.

Then we stand before the villa. The magnificent pine trees cast a shadow over the front of the house, and the temperature is pleasant. Between the feet of the trees, we see an antique balustrade, acting like a natural balcony overlooking the lower part of the garden. In the middle is an opening, from which an old, battered staircase leads down. Curious, we walk over to it. A few meters below us lies a sort of pond, perhaps an antique swimming pool. Bone dry, not a drop of water in sight. Sculpted heads adorn the walls, pursing their dry lips in the hope of one day being allowed to spit water once more. All around it is a mess of broken columns, cracked tiles, and collapsed benches. It is reminiscent of the Roman Forum. Those adored, sacred piles of Italian rubble.

Behind the large pine trees, tall palms surround the pool, creating an exotic atmosphere.

We return to the house. At the front is a grand entrance platform with symmetrically rising stairs, easily ten meters wide at the base. Above it, on the first floor, is a gallery with columns—a true loggia. Now that we are close up, we see how neglected the house really is. Long weeds stick out of the gutters, the wooden shutters hang crookedly from a single remaining hinge, or have already fallen to the ground. The weather-beaten, rotting window frames are warped and beyond saving. Such a terrible waste! We walk around the house. At the back, we see a lot of broken glass scattered on the ground. I push aside a crooked shutter and spot a broken windowpane.

I look at Lydia: 'Shall we?'

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Now the fun begins! We find an old chair and use it to more or less safely wrestle our way through the broken window. Inside, it is dim and shadowy. The room we step into looks like a little kitchenette, with a small counter and a lot of grime. This could never be the main kitchen of this grand house.

We set off to explore. What a delightfully thrilling feeling this is, just like when I used to sneak into old abandoned houses as a teenager, always wary of wooden floors and stairs that might give way beneath your feet.

We are at the back now. A magnificent chestnut staircase spirals upward. Probably the servants' stairs. We stay downstairs and find our way forward. We find a door leading to the front of the house. Slowly, I open it. And then we both burst out laughing. We hadn't expected this.

A gigantic space reveals itself before us: an eight-meter-high ceiling, a mezzanine with columns all around, and an enormous fireplace. The ceiling has collapsed in one corner—a leak?—but the floor is made of solid marble and, despite the dirt and dust, looks breathtaking. Like giddy children, we run around! Lydia says: ‘This is f*cking amazing! We are going to do this!’ But I say: ‘Did you look around properly? Every single window and door needs to be replaced, and there are a lot of them. And so many square meters to fix up. That will cost a fortune and a ridiculous amount of time. And weren’t we supposed to stop building? That’s what we promised each other!’

But my complaining aside, we continue our exploration. Large, spacious rooms flank the central hall. Ceiling heights of four meters. That gorgeous marble flooring everywhere. From the hall, a grand, equally chestnut staircase curves upward to the mezzanine. Cautiously, we climb up. The stairs creak. Can we trust them? But we make it up safely. We walk along the gallery to the front of the house, out onto the loggia. One of the doors gives way and opens. We lean cautiously against the somewhat wobbly wooden balustrade. What a view!

From our hill, we look out over the lowlands of Lazio. The towns of Aprilia, Pomezia, and Latina form white patches in the landscape. Far to the left, we see Monte Circeo, the large mountain on the corner near Sabaudia. Then Nettuno/Anzio, and all the way to the right, Ostia, Rome’s seaside resort. In the distance, the sea. The island of Ponza shimmers on the horizon. What a stunning place. Over 80 kilometers of coastline. And those magnificent pines and palms right in front of the house. You could sit here and watch for hours.

But we don’t, because we have a restaurant to get to!!

We quickly explore the rest of the upper floor. Bedrooms with en-suite bathrooms, lined with gorgeous dark-and-white-veined marble. Unfortunately, the water pipes inside the walls seem to have given up the ghost, leading the owner to install hideous surface-mounted white plastic pipes right over the marble. I don’t know if that can ever be restored; the marble is full of holes now. Still plenty more to discover, but via the back stairs, we head down and climb back outside through the broken window. We’re going to have to think about this one. As a precaution, I secure the shutter as best as I can. After all, you never know…

We walk back toward the car via the other side. The fruit trees we saw earlier look a bit wild, but one of them is bending under the weight of its plums. Delicious plums!

Leaving paradise behind, we get into the car. And arrive at the restaurant just in time.

We have a lot to discuss…