Owning a Little Piece of Italy

I saw the house advertised in a magazine about Italy. Restored country home on eight acres with olive trees and grapevines. Recently reduced in price by one-third. Stunning views of the Sibillini Mountains and hilltop towns. Four bedrooms, four bathrooms, 2500 square feet, comes furnished. Restorable ruins on the property and room to add a pool. I showed it to my husband Matt. “What’s the catch?” He asked. “There has to be something wrong with it for that price.”

Kevin, the real estate agency owner, emailed the GPS coordinates, floor plans, photos, and the estimated fees and taxes. Two prior sales had fallen through and the British couple that owned it was ready to sell. “By far, it is the best value on my website,” he wrote in one of his many replies to our questions. He mentioned that the neighbor’s dogs sleep in the road that the house was built curiously close to.

We arranged a trip to see the house and explore Le Marche in February. I had dreamed about having a home in Italy and this house checked all of my boxes. Our original plan had been to fall in love with an area, rent a place for a couple of weeks every year until we could retire. By then, we would get to know the locals and hear about a great opportunity. The night before we departed for Italy, my fortune cookie said: “Don’t be afraid to take a chance when the opportunity of a lifetime appears.”

We visited six other properties before arriving at the one we had traveled 5,000 miles to see. I got out of Kevin’s car and got the goose bumps. It wasn’t from the view. Thick heavy clouds in the grey sky portended rain and obscured the hilltop towns and the Sibillini Mountains. My feet, standing on the gravel driveway, felt connected to the earth in a way they never had.

The interior looked better than the pictures. We loved the wood-beam ceilings, the open floor plan, the many windows. Mild humidity damage in the walls was easily fixable for €2,000. Matt and I returned to see the exterior over the weekend. Two dogs slept undisturbed on the road, no cars passed by to disturb them. We walked through the house again Monday morning and I emailed our offer at lunch. It was accepted that evening.

Before we flew home, we met with our English-speaking lawyer Fabio. With one signature and a photocopy of our passports, he would obtain our codice fiscale, the identification number required to do almost anything in Italy. He would open a bank account for us across the street from his office. He would draft our compromesso, the binding contract written in English and Italian, signed by the sellers and the buyers.

While we had pre-qualified for an Italian mortgage, Kevin had told us “avoiding the mortgage would really help,” and Fabio described a mortgage as “a really big headache.” Thankfully, the day after we returned from Italy we sold our Florida rental property.

The weak dollar was hurting us, with €100 equal to $123 at the time. I obsessed about the exchange rate. I checked it on my phone, (even adding a widget), watched for market fluctuations, and created accounts with four registered currency exchange providers to see which one had the best deal for our situation.

One month later Fabio watched on Skype as we signed the compromesso the required 52 times. We wired a deposit directly to the sellers. We would send the balance to the notaio, the public official responsible for property sales, prior to signing the deed. Fabio said, “Next time you come to Italy, you will own a little piece of it.”

• Read my introduction to Le Marche here.
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• See a map of the area here.