Beautiful Chaos in Tuscany: Goat Paths, Lost Luggage & DJ Meatball
A travel update from Palazzuolo sul Senio, with pomodoro sauce, goat trails, and a co-pilot named DJ Meatball. Here’s what happens when a digital nomad lands in rural Tuscany.
I haven’t managed to get my usual curated nomad stories together this week, but I’ve got a bit of an update for you anyway. We’ve just come back online after a Wi-Fi outage that spanned multiple mountain villages.
I’m in Palazzuolo sul Senio, a tiny, charming town tucked into a green gorge in the Apennines, in Tuscany’s Mugello region. The valley was carved by the Senio River, and the town itself was once a key hub between Tuscany and Romagna. Now, it’s mostly home to friendly locals, a handful of stray cats, and (this week, at least) a few awestruck Canadians and Americans.
Imagine flinging open the shutters in the morning to the sounds of church bells, cooing pigeons, and kids playing in the cobbled streets. The smell of fresh bread wafts up from an ancient oven just down the road. Locals meander past — chatting with friends, walking their dogs, moving through the day with nowhere urgent to be — and for the first time in a long while, I’m reminded what that word really means.
I could get used to this.
It’s not all sunshine and unicorns, of course. Our arrival in Italy was not exactly smooth.
Four of the friends I’m staying with arrived, but their luggage didn’t (thank you, British Airways). And just as we got settled, the Wi-Fi vanished. Not just at our place, but in the entire village and several surrounding ones. For three days.
That means no ATMs. No debit or credit in restaurants or shops. (It also meant a convenient excuse for the luggage gremlins not to answer their phones, apparently.)
I’m calling it picturesque with a side of chaos.
So, it’s been a week of tethering off my eSIM for critical tasks, helping friends cobble together outfits from the local tabaccheria and the suitcases that did arrive, and exploring the village on foot (which is honestly the best way to find everything from the bakery to fresh plums to the best gelato in town).
The downtime was... enforced. But not entirely unwelcome. We wandered. We swam. We played cards and pool, and read books on paper. We talked to actual people in real life. I may have developed a bell tower obsession.
And then came the tomatoes.
When my One Week Each Year friends took a pasta-making class here, I somehow ended up as sous chef for the local Italian chef. He handed me a giant pot and asked if I could stir (Sì, signore) and I swear to God, told me stories about how his Nonna recycled the leftovers.
It felt like I’d wandered into the middle of an Italian film, all garden-fresh tomatoes, flour-dusted aprons, and warm family lore delivered over bubbling sauce.
And that sauce… his kids brought in sun-warmed tomatoes they’d just picked from the garden, and the villa’s caretaker wandered up with a fistful of basil while the women here rolled and cut fresh tagliatelle at the table. It all just came together like it was no big deal.
These are the otherworldly moments that make all the travel hiccups worth it.
Speaking of calming the chaos, let’s talk about DJ Meatball.
She’s one of the women in our travel crew, and she’s earned her new nickname this week for two key reasons: impeccable navigation instincts earning her the shotgun seat, and a Spotify playlist that seems to contain every classic Italian crooner ever recorded.
With DJ Meatball navigating and curating the soundtrack, our drives through Tuscany should’ve been dreamy. And they almost were… if not for the clearly sadistic streak in our in-car GPS system. It keeps sending us “the scenic route,” which in this part of the Apennines means roads that look more like goat trails and feel like a Choose Your Own Adventure story written by Stephen King.
I’m convinced it’s trying to kill us.
We’ve been directed down goat paths that barely qualify as roads, climbing hills with gradients that make your ears pop, and navigating switchbacks with stone walls on one side and sheer drops on the other — all while serenaded by Lucio Dalla ballads and the like.
One minute it's Andrea Bocelli. The next, we’re white-knuckling it down a 17% grade to the dulcet tones of “Volare.”
But with DJ Meatball at the helm, every hairpin turn has its own soundtrack to drown out my internal screams. If this ends in a roadside musical, just know we went out in style.
More soon. Until then, may your signal be strong and your luggage arrive on time. 🙃
✌🏻 Miranda