Via della Luna turns out to be less of a street and more of a suggestion. The stone path winds up the hillside past silent houses with shutters closed against the afternoon sun.
Number twelve is at the very end, separated from its neighbors by overgrown gardens and what might generously be called "creative landscaping." The house itself is... well, calling it a house might be a tad bit optimistic.
It's more like a stone cottage that's been in a fight with gravity and lost. The roof has several tiles missing, one shutter hangs at a drunken angle, and there's something growing out of the chimney that definitely isn't supposed to be there.
"Rustic charm they said," I mutter, fitting the key into a lock that takes three tries and some aggressive jiggling. "Original features. Authentic Sicilian experience."
The door swings open with a horror-movie creak, and I step into my new home.
It's dark. Very dark. And it smells old. Old and maybe a little bit like something died in here, which hopefully is just the result of being closed up for months.
I fumble around for a light switch, find one, and flip it.
Nothing.
"Of course there's no electricity," I announce to the darkness. "Because why would there be electricity in a house no one lives in?"
I use my phone's flashlight to explore, which immediately reveals why the house was only one euro. The listing said "needs some TLC," but this is more like "needs a complete miracle and possibly an exorcism."
The main room has stone walls that might be charming if they weren't quite so moldy, a fireplace that's full of what I'm hoping is just debris, and windows that provide a lovely view of the village if you don't mind the fact that one of them is missing most of its glass.
The kitchen appears to be from the medieval period, which could be quaint if you're into the whole "cooking over an open fire" aesthetic. The bathroom... well, let's just say I'm grateful I researched the locations of all public restrooms in the village.
Upstairs, there are two bedrooms with slanted ceilings and enough dust to start my hay fever up. One of them has a window with an actual view of the sea, which would be romantic if it wasn’t blocked by thick cobwebs.
I sink onto what might have been a window seat in a previous century and look around at my new castle.
It's a disaster.
An absolute, complete disaster that's going to take every penny I have and probably some I don't have to make even remotely livable.
And I love it because it’s all mine.
Every cracked stone, every missing roof tile, every medieval plumbing fixture that probably hasn't worked since the Middle Ages. It's mine to fix and turn into something amazing.
I pull out my phone to take a few "before" photos. The camera flash reveals just how much work I'm facing, but that's okay. I have time, and a completely unrealistic belief in my own ability to handle home renovation projects. I’ve been watching YouTube channels for months in preparation.
"Okay, house," I announce to the dust dancing in the afternoon light streaming through the broken window. "You andme, we're going to figure this out together. All you need is a little bit of hard work."
I'm still sitting there, mentally cataloging everything that needs fixing when my stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl.
I've been so caught up in the excitement and house exploration that I completely forgot about dinner. The sun is starting to set, painting everything in that golden hour light that makes even disaster houses look romantic.
I should probably venture back into the village and find some food. Maybe that little café where the old men were sitting earlier. I could meet some locals and start building the community connections that will make this place feel like home.
Plus, I need to figure out the electricity situation. And probably find someone who knows about old plumbing. And maybe a structural engineer, just to be safe.
I grab my purse and lock the door behind me, though I'm not sure what I'm protecting. A family of bats? The ghost of Giuseppe, the previous owner? The collection of broken furniture?
Walking back down Via della Luna as the sun sets, I can't help but smile.
Yes, the house is a disaster.
But this will be so much fun! I’m so excited I don’t know how I’ll even sleep tonight.
I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Even if "where I'm supposed to be" currently lacks running water and electricity.
