At this moment I am on Lufthansa Flt. 474, from Munich to Montreal, around seven hours long. It is Monday, the 18th and I left Tuscany this morning for the ride to the Florence airport and that place is a circus, very small and very chaotic. My flight to Munich was delayed due to weather, which I was told is a common occurrence and you usually count on it. I found myself getting anxious about missing my connecting flight, the one I am sardined in at the moment. I didn’t like the return of tension, something I hadn’t felt since I gave it up in Lucca at the start of this odyssey. I finally boarded that first flight on Air Dolomiti and while getting increasingly anxious about talking off, I watched the on board personnel having a wonderful time up front, animatedly chatting the way Italians seem to do, no matter where they are.

I started thinking about the last, very emotional piece I wrote, feeling too close to all I had experienced in Tuscany and unable to find the words. I was also feeling I had created this self-inflicted obligation to write everyday and as the end of my time approached, I needed to have quiet time for myself. I turned off the motor and allowed Tuscany to flood me, like the walls of an emotional dam, unable to contain itself and I just gave in.

I spent my last full day at Castello di Casole, having turned in the car the night before. I was incredibly fortunate to have been able to visit a kind of luxury most of us don’t get to experience even once in our life time. It is a magnificent place, a jewel that glows within the spectacular setting of Tuscany. Never, for a single minute did I take any of it for granted, continually awe struck by the elegance. Trust me, I didn’t waste any of my precious time thinking about whether I was worthy, I just enjoyed the hell out of it. Allegra was kind enough to show me several of the “villas” on the property. They are homes that were mostly built up from existing, old structures on the land, retaining as much of their original character as possible. I took tome photographs, which I shared, but no way I could convey the jaw dropping beauty of the architecture or the interior design. Martha Steward would likely have hemorrhaged.

Everyday, I got to walk under the Tuscan sky, early in the morning, in the middle of the day and under the watchful eye of the stars at night. Each time, I would deeply inhale and then breath a sigh, a sigh of too much to take in all at once. I have been touched by this place and its people.

It is behind me now and I can feel it slipping away already. Whenever I leave Kauai, days before, I make a conscious effort to draw it in, so I will keep it with me wherever I go. I ride my motorcycle, I go to the beach, I gaze lovingly at the lush, green interior, where the spirits live. I hug its essence and it stays with me. I began to think of Tuscany in that way because it deliciously seeped so deeply into my soul.

What will I take with me? What are the memories that time will not erase? When I am back home, immersed in the minutiae of life’s endless details, what will this place called Tuscany conjure up in my hungry imagination? I tried to think about it when I sat down to write the last time and I just couldn’t do it. I decided I would take the time on this long plane ride, to touch it as best I could.

First, I honestly didn’t think I could pull this off at all. I didn’t have an ounce of confidence in my being able to navigate any part of this trip. The five planes and thirty hours of travel sucked me dry. I ended up at the train station in Lucca, not believing there was a place for me to stay or that anyone would appear. I would just stand outside the station and completely lose my mind, nightfall engulfing me, mute with fear. A car pulled up, with Lenuta at the wheel and her sweet, smiling boy in the back seat. We drove to my little place and she explained things like turning on the hot water for the shower and how to operate the espresso maker. On my first morning, my tour with a very well intentioned and well informed Wanda seemed like too much, too soon. It added to my feeling uncomfortable and alone and overwhelmed. Four days later, they knew me across the street at the restaurant. I could walk around Lucca without panicking and my run along its wall was part of my routine. More than anything else, I will remember the kindness of Lenuta and her family and my actually believing this whole adventure was starting to gift me more than I could ever have imagined. The original idea of growing when you go outside your comfort zone sounded like some well meaning bullshit when I wrote it, but I’ll be damned, it is a bottom of the ninth, tie breaking home run.

I was very sad when I left Lucca for the train to Florence. I had started to grow comfortable in my newfound routines, always a dangerous pattern for me. I think the first part of the trip helped me to find my equilibrium, to be comfortable surrounded by nothing at all familiar.

From the moment Dimitri met me in Florence for the ride to Tuscany, the magic wand of fantasy touched me gently on the shoulder. As we got closer to Castello di Casole, the landscape started changing and I could feel the place slowly beginning to inhabit me. When he pointed out the hotel off in the distance, sitting delicately on top of a hill, I felt myself entering a very private land, where dreams and reality live in complete confusion.

I love Tuscany and I think my eyes will always well up with tears, just as they are doing right now on Lufthansa Flt. 474. It is the land and its people. The streets and churches of Siena and Vertolla will dim with time in my mind, but my heart will never forget how it felt when I gazed off into the distant hills, with their medieval villages, majestically keeping watch over a long ago time. I love the people, who seem to know things I don’t. They exude a light, the same light that brings these hills to life with every sunrise and a grace that comes as the shadows slowly embrace the land each night.

On my last night, it was time to revisit Bar Visconti for some margaritas. I studied the bartender and how meticulous he was in crafting my drink. Every move was beautifully rehearsed and it was not for show. It is simply how people are in this land. The pony tailed, tattooed, apron wearing owner of Locanda del Molino, the restaurant down the hill, where I met Nina Simone, had a style and confidence you don’t learn, you are born into it.

The beauty of Tuscany and its people is constant, timeless and unforgettable.

Lastly, I want to thank you for coming with me. You were like my Harvey, Jimmy Stewart’s rabbit that no one else could see. Everywhere I went, you were with me and I was always hoping your sense of direction was as bad as mine, so I wouldn’t lose you.