Chapter 1
All this instead of just giving me the man’s number, and letting me deal with it like I had for decades with my own properties in America. She’d remain in my life ‘helping me out’, and then charging me every time for said help until I’d put a stop to it. I no longer contact Annabella, but still see her around town occasionally and cordially say hello in passing. My wife and I appreciated her efforts initially, but some of the biggest frustrations experienced once living in Italy were a result of Annabella ‘helping’ my family transition. But nobody is a dick when you represent a possible commission check plus residuals. You Can Renovate! It had been extremely difficult scheduling a real estate agent to show me Italian houses. Anyone who’s serious about purchasing property in Italy, and doesn’t understand the system here has experienced this. In Italy, you don’t even need a pre-approval letter to view homes for sale. You need nothing but someone to unlock the door. What’s more, Annabella wasn’t even my initial contact person. I had originally reached out to a British gentleman who runs a Lucca property website. That man put me in contact with Annabella, and she showed me everything he had available. Because of the immense friction and difficulty arranging showings in any part of Italy, by the time I arrived here, I’d look at any houses a realtor would take me to regardless of price or location. Annabella chatted my ear off. She insisted on telling me about the history of the region, but I blocked out the chatter. I hadn’t asked about it, and this wasn’t my first rodeo purchasing property. I was much more focused on what the area looked like, how far we were traveling from the train station, and anything that stood out. I sensed she would keep talking whether I wasn’t listening closely or not. The first property was up a steep road with switchbacks. We parked alongside a stone wall with no room to park just outside the original natural thermal spa that made Bagni di Lucca super famous with Napoleon’s sister. Located inside a cave, that thermal spa is now permanently closed. As we approached the building, the last one before the entrance to the old spa resort, I looked up and saw a man on a small terrace directly above. I smiled and waved, but he didn’t smile back. He just stared judgmentally and shook out a towel to hang. Would that be my neighbor if I bought this place? The front door to the apartment was about two meters from the building’s shared entrance. We entered into a small living room, with a window to the right and the hallway to the rest of the apartment on the left. The apartment was all hallway with doors on the right straight down to the bathroom. First was a small kitchen with semi-upgraded cabinets. If I had to guess, it hadn’t been used in years. Then, a bedroom, then a second much larger double bedroom, and the bathroom was at the end of the hall. The small bathroom had been severely neglected, with a mildewy shower curtain dangling from a broken, plastic shower surround. It was the worst room in the apartment. “You can renovate and redo the bathroom however you like,” Annabella assured me. Renovate the bathroom? I could barely fit in there! I was not reassured. But other than the awful bathroom, it was a good first showing. The second house showing was back down the hill, and very close to Ponte a Serraglio’s piazza. A lively place called ‘Bar Italia’ was in the center of the piazza. We parked just up the road, and made our way along the narrow sidewalk towards the apartment. We were met by two grandiose solid wood front doors with large fixed, hand made wrought iron door handles. They were one-off art pieces that I did not know were put there by the current owners. Standing outside the apartment while fiddling with keys, Annabella said something surprising. “The nice thing about this apartment is that there are three units in total if you purchase it,” Annabella stated. I was enticed. I took a few steps back to the side, and snapped two photos of the front with a street view. “Are we going to get to see all three units today?” I asked. “If I can find the keys,” she answered. Good Vibes “Another nice thing about this apartment is the private entrance. The owners do not share this entrance with anyone,” Annabella said, right before inserting the key into the lock. I didn’t think much of it. I understood what she meant, but did not digest the gravity of her statement. However, after living in Italy for two years, having a private entrance into your home is a huge deal if you live in a shared building. Not sharing is heavenly. She opened the oversized door, and we entered into a very spacious, double groin vaulted living room. The walls were painted faint yellow, and the enormous ceilings above were white washed. There was a large table in front of the door, and a few pieces of furniture to the side covered with white sheets. It was an impressive space with lots of potential. A magnificent square brick pillar sat at the center of the apartment. The kitchen’s backsplash was painted orange, and the background wall had a pleasing texture. The cabinets and countertop were white, and to the one side were open shelves where pots and pans sat. Colorful artwork adorned the kitchen walls. The back wall of the kitchen had a tall double door with windows. Annabella unlocked the door which led to the elevated, substantial terrace overlooking a beautiful, emerald green river. I could hear the river from inside the kitchen, but once outside, I could see bits of it through the trees and shrubs. From the terrace, a cast iron stairway to the left led down to a very nice, grassy garden below that was shared with a few other neighbors. The entrance from the street into the front door was at ground level, but out the back door was raised up high above the garden. It was a homey, satisfying scene, and I was taken by how nice and natural it all was. On the right side of the terrace was a small laundry room with a washer and a few shelves for storage. It used to be this apartment’s bathroom, which means inhabitants had to go outside every time they needed to wee. Annabella failed to tell me that, but she knew. Of course she did. She’d spent the last thirty-five years in this small town, and
