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A sensuous valentine to author Ferenc Máté's adopted homeland, The Hills of Tuscany brims with lush descriptions of golden dales, scrumptious meals, rich wines, and friendly natives. After years of nomadic roaming from Central America to Canada, Máté (a writer) and his wife, Candace (a painter), visit Tuscany and impulsively decide that this is where they will settle down. A year later they return and begin the hunt for their dream house. As the likeable Mátés (they're funny and suitably grateful for the chance to live in one of the world's garden spots) troll the countryside with a series of colorful Tuscan middlemen, it's impossible not to become emotionally involved in their quest. And when they finally discover the perfect abode--La Marinaia, a tastefully renovated stone farmhouse set amid scenery that Ferenc describes as "like being in the middle of a painting"--you're thrilled right along with them. Subsequent chapters follow the Mátés' growing friendship with their neighbors, who not only help rototill the garden but also reveal where to find porcini mushrooms and truffles in the nearby woods. All in all, reading The Hills of Tuscany is the next best thing to quitting your job, climbing on a plane, and finding your own Tuscan dream house. --Rebecca Gleason
I've read both Frances Mays two books and I found my soul taking flight to Tuscany to find that bit of peace and happiness that only my mind has put into form.
Someday I'm going to take this mind trip and make it into my own special reality.
I've read many many new and old books about Tuscany and other parts of Italy and this is my very favorite. A sweet romance is told along with giving the reader a somewhat secretive map of the region. If you take the time to figure out the north south east and west directions imbedded in the story, you may be able to find several little known and delightful places in and around Montepulciano and even all the way over to the Tuscan coast. I liked this SO much more than Under the Tuscan Sun and in person, I liked Montepulciano so much more than Cortona too!
Reading "The Hills of Tuscany", Ferenc Mate's exuberant, joyful ode to his adopted country, makes one eager to join that expatriate band. After occupying a series of dwellings a "houseboat, sailboat, mountain cabin, that garage in Laguna Beach, the attic in Paris, the cubbyhole in New York, and a whatsit in the Bahamas," the Hungarian-born Mate and his artist wife, Candace, deemed it time for a permanent home.
Central Italy's countryside, where "Everything was small to the measure of man," beguiled them; there "reigned the gentle Tuscan light, and silence, and a calm." They became contentedly sated by "pranzo," the four-course daily meal that resembles in quantity "our average Thanksgiving dinner," and decided to buy a farmhouse, to put down roots in the idyllic Tuscan hills.
Their enchanting dream was a challenging task. Mate spoke no Italian and was woefully ignorant of the vagaries of an agrarian existence. Nonetheless, he set about his search for their perfect home with a Quixote-like zeal, undaunted by a real estate agent cum undertaker who stored his listings with names of the recently departed in a shoe box. A parade of touted homesteads in abject disrepair didn't discourage him. Collapsed fireplaces and gaping roof holes were the norm. Mate zigzagged his way across unfamiliar terrain, following unmapped rutted paths, bouncing over rocky roads until he found his utopia, "a structure with perfect rhythm." La Marinaia The Sailor's Wife. Once that purchase was accomplished, attempts to have utilities turned on introduced him to an implacable, inscrutable Italian bureaucracy. It was explained that there are an almost infinite number of regulations in Italy, " . . . many dating from Roman times, some contradictory, some incomprehensible."
Settling in also meant becoming a part of the nearest town, Montepulciano, "built for humans not for cars, so the main street was just wide enough for conducting daily affairs, evening promenades, and small festive processions." The couple delighted in exploring closet-size shops run by often absent, usually amiable owners. Their nearest neighbor welcomed them with fresh goat cheese covered by a large fig leaf, and they attempted to improve their Italian by watching Telegiornale, the local televised news an "Italian version of reality, a flexible amalgam of fresh headlines, old footage, and clips from Steve McQueen movies."
More than an enthusiastic tribute to the ever astounding beauties of the Italian countryside, "The Hills Of Tuscany" is a paean to the pleasures of the palate as Mate describes in rapturous detail ravioli stuffed with ricotta and wild mushrooms, crostini spread with tuna and capers, rabbit ragu "spicy with tomatoes" plus a legion of dishes bathed, basted, stir-fried, swathed in or caressed by olive oil. He is also unreservedly passionate about the local wine, "wine as robust as the clay," "wine with a deep complexity that tingled all the taste buds."
Today, Mate lives with his wife and young son at La Marinaia, tending his olives and vineyard. It is there, he writes, that "we learned to live and enjoy life as the Tuscans do piano, piano, con calma." Slowly, slowly, with calm. The author's enthusiastic prose is infectious. His word pictures are captivating, as he unveils a Tuscany that is both serene and seductive. "The Hills Of Tuscany" is an invitation to follow your dream . . . especially if it leads to Italy.
- Gail Cooke
