Here It Is...The Crazy 21st Birthday Story

Horseback riding, wine tasting, and a lunch in Tuscany. Not a bad way to spend a 21^st birthday!

Deanna and I began the day meeting at Lion Café—you always need to start your day with a little Sem (cute Italian barista).

We headed over to the meeting point, getting lost on the way, but finally finding where the email said the vans would be waiting. Sammi, our third member for the outing, was nowhere to be seen, which was unlike her. The girl’s got a good head on her shoulders.

We waited for 45 minutes; the tour bus delayed leaving. I started to get worried. Deanna and I swiveled our heads frantically every second, looking for our curly-haired redhead to come bobbing around the corner. I called her. Messaged her. Nothing. I felt like a Mamma Duck who had lost her duckling. Finally, our tour leader Christian suggested we try the tour a different day—our deposit was nonrefundable, but could go towards a different booking.

This was my 21^st birthday. And I was worried sick about Sammi. And we were angry that she didn’t show up. She wasn’t answering our messages. If she was alive, I was going to kill her.

We said farewell to Christian, and Deanna and I started heading to her apartment, ready to bust down the door to make sure she was still breathing before we strangled her. As we turned the street, I received a text from Sammi: “I’m in front of the McDonald’s at the train station.”

She had the wrong meeting point.

Correction: Funintuscany.com sent her to the wrong meeting point. The confirmation email we had all received saying “Meet in front of this café” was a different email than the one Sammi said—later, the company apologized for “the technological error.”

We met up, called Christian, and caught a taxi, which took us to Via Roma, where the van was pulled over waiting for us. We received death stares from everyone waiting in the van, who had already delayed their trip 1 hour because of us. I got in the van, ready to apologize, but the ever-fiery Sammi addressed the entire bus: “Hey, y’all. Sorry you had to wait. But I am expecting an explanation from the company as to why this occurred, as well as payment for our extra taxi.”

Christian raised his eyebrows, a little frightened. But, it all smoothed over, and within a few moments we were driving through the hills of Tuscany, passing villages where scenes from “Under the Tuscan Sun” were filmed, as well as the monastery where a scene from “Twilight” was shot. Christian talked to Deanna and I in the front seat as we drove about his life in Florence, his love of American students, his interests, etc. I mentioned to him that I was the one who had previously emailed him about whether or not the “provided lunch” was able to accommodate Celiac disease. He smiled, and said, “Oh yes, I remember you! Yes, they will most definitely have something for you. You are going to love this place.”

We arrived at the horse farm, “Il Vecchio Maneggio,” where we walked around admiring the view as Christian plucked pieces of rosemary and basil off the plants for us to hold and smell. We were shown the bee farm where the honey was harvested. Finally, we were introduced to our horses, and Jacamo, our riding guide.

The horseback ride was stunning. Taking pictures from horseback is difficult, so there are minimal shots of the process. Jacamo spoke only Italian, and we talked with him about where we were from, what we liked to eat, what we cooked, who we lived with…basically everything covered in the first term of an elementary conversational linguistics class. There were multiple occasions where he would prompt us with a question, and Sammi and Deanna froze, unable to formulate a response. I knew what he was asking, but we didn’t know how to respond. I would then take a deep breath, and the words would just fall out of my mouth. He would smile, proud that I was able to respond, and continue the conversation. He laughed as we talked about food and what he liked to eat and whether or not we liked it too. After every sentence (“Si, mi piace fragole.” “Si, mi piace crepes.”), I would say, “Con Nutella!” He laughed, nodding his head, agreeing that everything tasted better with Nutella. “E vino,” I added, causing him to laugh again in agreement.

The ride lasted approximately an hour, after which we met with Christian again, and sat at a table of other English-speaking travelers while we had a honey tasting. I met a gorgeous young man who was an American study abroad student in Rome, as well as his (already slightly tipsy) mother and aunt who were visiting him.

Afterwards, Christian drove us to San Gimignano, where we toured the microscopic medieval town of old towers and stone streets.  We had the world champion winner for gelato, and traveled to the panoramic view site. Afterwards, Sammi, Deanna, and I prayed in a tiny church, and we were ushered into the car to return to the hills of Tuscany, where we were to eat lunch at a charming winery.

Let me preface the next portion of my story with a little prequel: When signing up for this (very expensive) horseback riding and wine tasting tour that boasted a full Italian meal, I was hesitant to book due to the lunch component.  I by no means expect any establishment to ever provide gluten free food. I do not have a sense of entitlement and believe that every place should have something that accommodates my allergies. I have an allergy, it’s unfortunate, but there will be places where I can’t eat and I don’t expect special treatment. However (and this is a big “however”), if an establishment guarantees that accommodations will be made and charges the same amount for my assured gluten-free four-course meal as everyone else, I expect to have a meal comparable to the gluten meals.

So, I had emailed Funintuscany.com about two weeks prior to booking inquiring about the meal. I received a lovely response stating that yes, they would indeed have food for me. So, I faced the price of the bill and paid it, gracious that my parents were urging me to have these opportunities.

We arrived at the winery and its finely decorated dining hall, with walls lined by aged bottles of Italy’s finest wines and truffle oils. At each table setting was a heaping plate of appetizers. I went to the host and quietly questioned where I was to sit, as each plate had bread on it. He motioned towards an empty spot, with no food.

The wine tasting commenced, and everyone dug in. I was finally handed my own plate, with the appetizers minus bread, and instead a Quaker’s rice cake. My friends and I snapped pictures, thinking that it was adorable that they gave me a dry rice cake in place of bread. Most places would have given me nothing!

Then, the second course came. By this point, we had worked our way through our first three (very full) glasses of wine for the tasting. The second course, a traditional Tuscan soup, featured lentils, spices, and, the star of the show, bread. I sat back patiently, knowing they had not forgotten about me. Sure enough, another appetizer plate was brought out for me, this time with tomatoes and mozzarella. I looked longingly at the soup, but was thankful for my substitution.

Two more glasses of wine later, the third/main course arrived. A very delicately layered lasagna that looked stunning, topped with truffle oil. Each person dug in, and I watched as the waiters came out of the kitchen with…another appetizer plate, this time with only some slices of prosciutto and…more rice cakes. I had eaten about 4 rice cakes thus far, as they were the main part of each of my plates. I sat back, a little dizzy from the lack of food and abundance of wine, and thought back to the email I had received about there being a 4-course meal for me. Did I misunderstand? Surely I did not pay (insert ridiculous dollar amount here) for rice cakes?

After the plates were cleared, some of the other travelers I did not know looked quizzically at me, saying, “Are they ever going to feed you? You poor thing!” I tried not to be upset, and look forward to dessert as they brought out an orange-colored dessert wine.

Before bringing the dessert, the host (quite an attractive young man) asked for a volunteer. My friends volunteered me, and I stood up (a little less stable than preferable), and he placed me on one side of the room. He then walked to the opposite end of the room, explaining to us that in the Tuscan tradition, when drinking this wine in a bar and seeing an attractive woman across the room, you take some biscotti (at this he took a piece of biscotti out of a basket at his side) and swirl it in the wine, making your way over to the woman like she was your pray. I eyeballed the biscotti as he seductively made his way over, obviously enjoying his little act. However, I had my gluten radar on. He made his way to my side, and said a pick-up line smoothly in Italian, holding the biscotti up to my mouth. He winked at the crowd, saying in a low voice, “At this point, the woman, if she accepts your display of flirtation, will…”. He then proceeded to put the biscotti near my mouth, and I (equally flirtatiously) held up one finger to stop him, and in a high and cute voice said, “Ma sono celiacha; senza glutine?”

He had lost. He had forgotten, and crumpled to his knees in defeat as the crowd applauded me. I laughed, seeing that I had completely ruined his magnificent set-up; an act that he had performed on girls day after day as they came visiting the winery. It was his favorite part of the wine tasting demonstration, and I stopped him! My friend caught this on video, and we later laughed hysterically at his response—the recognition and horror in his eyes, and the sigh of defeat.

I then had to go take my seat as another girl came up and was able to eat the biscotti. Then dessert—biscotti—was served. I drank my wine, and excused myself to go to the restroom.

I am not much of a drinker. Prior to coming to Italy, I had only dappled safely and responsibly with alcohol, and in Italy I only enjoyed wine socially. When I began to fall down in the bathroom and the room was spinning, I knew I had a problem and needed food. Unfortunately, I had not packed any granola bars, anticipating a meal. Not rice cakes. I began bawling in the bathroom, and (after finally managing to unlock the door), made my way out to the winery garden, hoping no one saw the tearstains on my face. I made a beeline for the company van, wanting to get home as fast as possible and away from this place. I was ashamed and embarrassed at everyone who was looking at the poor little tipsy celiac girl during lunch.

Instead, as I made my way towards the car, I heard Christian call in a chipper voice, “Yoohoo, birthday girl!” I whirled around (a little too fast) to see the entire group—winery staff, travelers, and all—standing in a semicircle around a bottle of strawberry champagne. I reluctantly went to the center, terrified that I would do something stupid or fall over. And then, Christian handed me…a sword. A very real and very heavy sword. I looked at my Deanna, who was already videotaping in anticipation for whatever chaos ensued, and mouthed the words, “I am SO drunk!” She laughed nervously and ushered me on, with a worried look on her face. Christian made a little speech to thank everyone for booking their trip with them, and then introduced me, the birthday girl, and declared that I was going to open bottles of champagne for everyone using a sword. It took me way to long to make my brain successfully tell my arm to move with the sword, and even then, after 4 failed attempts, Christian, recognizing the state I was in, came and helped me.

They poured the champagne in my honor, and I did not wish to be rude by refusing a glass. It was very good—my eighth of glass of wine that day. Someone offered me another, and I thought, Well, I’m in this deep.

That last glass was a good decision. It brightened me right up; put me in great spirits! Soon, I was running around the winery garden with this 60-year old lady who was on the tour with her son, Dan. I told the woman as we tromped through the garden: “Listen, l-list—listen to me! I…am going to marry your son. And not just because he’s hot. But because I want you as my mother-in-law!”

Then, my future mother-in-law and I found a goose. We tried to feed it champagne, but it didn’t want any. It almost bit us. We liked the goose.

We got on the van, and remorse hit me again as all the people noticed how drunk I was. I kept repeating, “It’s because rice cakes aren’t absorbent!”

Apparently, on that bus ride home, I told a charming young man that his eyes were gorgeous and his babies will have gorgeous eyes, and that I could tell him that openly because he had a girlfriend so I was technically okay to say it. I also announced to the entire van that Sammi, who kept trying to keep me quiet by laying my head on her chest, had a very soft and ample bosom.

We got back to Florence, and it was Deanna’s job to get me home and fed. I wanted to go to Lion Café to gawk at Sem, and she finally convinced me that I needed food.

We arrived at my apartment, where I ate cookies and potatoes for dinner.

            Fun In Tuscany, after receiving an email from me a few weeks later recommending that they no longer mislead travelers by advertising rice cakes as a meal substitute for those with gluten intolerance, kindly provided me with a 25% refund.  A few weeks later, Sammi, Deanna, and I ran into Dan at a hostel in the Amalfi Coast—it was an awkward reunion, to say the least!

            I never wanted to be one of those people with a crazy 21^st birthday story. I suppose I got one, nonetheless. I suppose when life happens, you simply need to enjoy it. That’s what I learned on my 21^st. And, even if you feel ashamed, sometimes you just need to chase a goose in the garden with champagne.