My last morning at the Basile farm was very embarassing. I was trying to distract myself by re-debriefing the next girl on how to put things in the dishwasher and my voice kept cracking. I brought my bags downstairs and then Yellow by Coldplay came on the radio and I started to get watery eyes, and then the hunky farmhand showed up at the door and the waterworks began. I couldn't even speak. My heart was broken when little Fede refused to give me a kiss goodbye.

So then it was a bus to Paganico, another bus to Grosseto, and then the trainfest.

hey guys. i miss you. how are things going back home? what's new? hey um HOW COME NOBODY TOLD ME THERE WAS A VOLCANO?? I only listen to the radio station that plays prank calls here in Italy, so I didn't hear anything about it, I guess the family assumed I knew. But I didn't, and then proceeded to look like a complete tool while travelling to my next farm.

The first train of what COULD have been a smooth six hour, three connection trip, was delayed two hours. A large line was gathering at the ticket counter. As I waited the sign clicked again and now it was two hours and forty minutes. I asked the lady ahead of me if they often had delays like this. She said, "No, no, this is because of the volcano." I laughed hysterically. "Always the volcano right when you need to hurry, eh?"

So I spent fourteen hours in transit. Waiting and sitting on the trains all day long made me grumpy and lethargic. I had phoned the lady for the next farm ahead of time and informed her of the delays. She told me her daughter would be downtown studying and would come get me. I tried to stand around waiting and looking cool outside the train station when two girls about my age came running over. "Liza?" Close enough.

Iris is a year ahead of me, and although her parents were born in England she and her brother were born here in Italy and speak perfectly fluent Italian and perfectly fluent English with adorable British accents. She asks if I feel like maybe grabbing something to eat. Within minutes they take me to an amazing terrace right in the centre of the beachside town, where they both work and therefore know everyone there. Big juicy beers, something that I call quesadilla but they have a different name for here, and tons of really hilarious friends. I have more great conversations naming the days of the week and different types of alcohol. We stay until the bar closes and then scooch our chairs and table outside to continue on until the wee hours of the morning.

I couldn't appreciate the farm as I stumbled in last night but this morning it was incredible waking up and having no clue how I landed in the middle of a movie set. I swear, this place is breathtaking. When you envision a British family starting a farm in Italy you have these romantic ideas about bright colourful houses and lots of animals lounging around and vines everywhere and this is it. The parents Suzie and Phelan are both artists as well so it's even more surreal with an outdoor Roman bath laid with handmade mosaic overlooking the freshly built wooden deck.

Here I feed the animals. Yes, it was as disastrous as you can imagine. The goats got frisky and Suzie ended up having to beat them away with a stick. The sheep. Jesus.

"Watch that one," Suzie is watching me from a distance, "He gets a bit biffy."

Mr 'Biffy' isn't pleased with the speed I try to scatter their food and I learn about his namesake firsthand.

The chicken stink and I am afraid of their giant momma rabbit who is VERY protective of her children. I can't stop laughing at the ducks and the pigs are actually the least frightening for now. One of their three dogs and one of their two cats are very friendly and fight to climb on my lap whenever I sit down.

I can't believe it's only been a month ago I left.