A Hotel for My Fellow Eccentrics

High expectations, exceedingly met in a Medieval castle in the Tuscan countryside.

Did I move to Italy to be close to really, truly, Special hotels? Not specifically, but yes – it was a driving factor. Some have dreams of climbing Everest or running a marathon, but what thrills me most is staying at a hotel that speaks to me. In Italy! This should be news to no one, nor should it be that it took me a mere six days of living in Florence before I jumped in a taxi to the airport to pick up a rental car.

While I was buried in the chaos and infinite tedium of packing up my life in San Francisco, my mind still prioritized booking a stay there, finally. Finally!

I made a TikTok about the hotel a few years ago, and have tried to weave it into every Italian itinerary of mine since, to no avail. I’ve written its name here many times. Castello di Potentino! Potentino!! Consistent, loud shouts from my gut that I decided to just finally do something about. After all, this is my job, which is never not insane to me.

One of the perks of being 33 and single (and an only child) is that you get to know yourself pretty damn well. I knew that there was a total chance that week one of my new residency might be hard. I wanted something to close it out that would surely be a win. Plus, for whatever reason, driving on the Autostrada is some strange sort of therapy for me. I always like a road trip, but I really love it going South from Florence. My rule is audiobook on the Autostrada, Italian classics as soon as I get off. I do some of my favorite thinking within this specific rhythm.

As it turned out, my first week was anything but hard, but I excitedly awaited my Friday departure since touchdown.

I happen to live on a block with a taxi stand, so I quickly snagged one and 15 minutes later arrived to no one in line at Avis (shh, I cheated on Sixt). A woman with the same amount of intensity as me tried to analyze why I can’t ride a bike (she thinks its my inner ear) and handed me the keys to a Jeep (was not thrilled). I walked out of the office and tried to get a water from the vending machine, but it was cash only and I had none. The woman came out asking if I wanted water and then proceeded to use her badge to void the need for payment on the vending machine and handed me my water, proudly proclaiming “usually, I’m such a bitch.” I told her she’s my bitch, and grazie mille, and I was on my way.

I love a solid human interaction to start a trip.

When I had entered the hotel into my maps app, it said it was a mere 55 miles away. But going to a remote part of Tuscany means it will be at least double, if not triple, because of the wonderful meandering routes.

It was a perfect blue sky day, warm for this time of year. The two-and-a-half hour drive seemed like fun, and it was. I decided I would just stop at whatever random hill town I passed when it was definitively time for lunch. That ended up being Monteriggione, which I had never been to before, and I lucked out without it being quite empty (a rarity), bar a group of Italian school kids and their very attractive teacher. I had a surprisingly fantastic lunch of oversized tortelli with garlic and meat, cooked with taleggio cheese and a lot of truffle, roasted in parchment paper. And then a really, really good side of my most favorite – patate al forno. Roast potatoes. There are few things I love more when done as they did them.

Satiated, I was eager to just get there already, and you probably are too, reading this.

Castello di Potentino is in a very unique part of Tuscany. Right on the border of the Val d’Orcia, yet in the province of Grossetto, therefore not far from my beloved Maremma. The nexus of my favorites. Suffice to say, the drive was extra dreamy, dotted with all the requisite cypress trees and winding roads like I grew up on and feel powerful traversing. Even before the trees have started to bud, the Tuscan countryside is blatantly beautiful.

The welcome email I had been sent had given specific instructions about where to park, and for the last ten minutes of my journey I was just hoping that they would be obvious as I pulled in. I seem to always park the wrong place, but I did not here. It was obvious.

I got out of the car and was greeted by a very cute small blind dog, who I was trying to tell in both English and Italian that I’m so sorry, you are so cute, but I’m allergic to you.

She (could have been a he) led the way up the Medieval ramp to the entrance of the castle. And a castle it truly is. Something more typically found in France, than Italy, but it is so very Italian.

Weirdly, I felt kind of nervous approaching the front door. I had such expectations in my mind for this hotel and we all know that expectation is often the thief of joy. Spoiler, it was not. It enhanced it.

I walked in and was greeted by Charlotte, the owner, a British woman who really gets the magic of Italy and it’s history and land and culture. She is a supremely cool woman, the kind Americans often envy in the Brits. When they bought and renovated the castle, she did not hire a designer – it is all her stuff, the stuff that was already there, and mostly, her eye. And what an eye!

We got to chatting and she asked what I do, I told her I’m a hotel writer. She immediately wanted to clarify, you know this isn’t really a hotel. Which is important for you all to know, but to me, it very much fits my definition of a hotel. It is a place where you pay to spend the night and you are not responsible for making your bed. And, more importantly, it’s a place that embodies the land it’s on and where it is incredibly easy to be inspired. It is so very not just a place to lay your head.

Entering the castle is like entering a spread from The World of Interiors. It is exactly the type of space that lights something within me, makes me giddy like a really good first kiss or a really good first bite of an unexpectedly fantastic meal.

This should be news to no one - I love stuff. Pretty stuff! A lot of stuff. Varied stuff. Antiques, particularly. But also, not stuff that was blatantly procured. And this castle was filled with the most marvelous stuff.

Charlotte told me where my room was and that I was free to poke around all the other rooms as long as I don’t jump on the beds. I did, and I did not. Che wow!

You can’t pick a bad room at Potentino, but I debated for months and months about my choice. Ultimately, I went for the Green Room, as I simply needed to take a bath in that bathroom and it was a clear day and I’m thrilled I made that choice. On my next visit, I’ll go with the Yellow Room. It’s beyond. The ceilings are high in all, but the towering antique canary canopy is really ripe for my interest, as someone who loves material history and the color yellow.

In all the rooms, color plays a starring role. That was definitely something that drew me to the place from the get-go. But not just any and all colors, colors that fit within the Medieval period the castle is from. Saturated, primary colors. My favorites. I’m easily inspired, but I couldn’t fall asleep because I was just that inspired.

The biggest question mark in my mind had been…what about the beds? Will they be a bummer? Too Italian? No! They are fabulous. Perfect, sumptuous sheets with down pillows and duvet. While I wouldn’t have the period bedspreads if it were my own place, I understand their place and it only made it that much more exciting to discover delightful white bedding underneath.

The staircase is perfectly in period, with the cornices (honestly, unsure if I’m using that term correctly) adding so much depth. Every corner, every wall, every space, there’s a vignette with a story being told. Not a diorama, not a pastiche of the past, to be very clear. That is to say, if you find yourself erring on the side of minimalism, this is not your place. Or, if you’d like your bags carried to your room and a restaurant and AC, same same. As the lovely Charlotte said, it’s intentionally eccentric to attract people who appreciate this and detract those who are looking for something completely different in their Italian experience.

This is not a luxury hotel, but to me, it’s about as luxurious as it gets. Not amenity-rich, but I rarely use nor care about those anyway. Sumptuous in style and soul. That’s the kind of luxury I seek and that’s on offer here at Happy Hoteling.

The main hallway upstairs is painted with what I assume are the original walls, a style of which is the definition of timeless and cool. My room, the Green Room, was the first two doors on the left. This is the first time I’ve ever consciously chosen a room with the bathroom outside the room. To be clear, it’s a private bathroom, but it’s on en-suite. It turns out, I couldn’t have cared less, because that bathroom is much more than a bathroom.

The antique tub is perfectly positioned in front of the window, from which you can see the rolling hills and, in my case, watch an epically good sunset with the epically good-smelling Ortigia toiletries. This is my ideal cinema, and the perfect seat to watch the show of life.

On the walls, there are antique illustrations and shells on shelves, all arranged in a way that feels so natural and so cool in equal measure. When you DM me a hotel you think I’ll love and I respond that “it’s not my favorite,” this is the reason why – it’s trying too hard to be something it isn’t organically. And that is not what lights me from within. I have the same issue with buying a full look from the runway – there’s no way that can be authentically you. Buy a piece, make it your own. But anyway, I digress.

I took a bath nearly immediately, because the sun was beginning to set and one does not miss an opportunity from Mother Nature like that. It was perhaps the most memorable bath of my life – I kept sitting there and staring at everything, trying to soak in every detail the same way I do my first day in Capri, every year. I knew I wanted to capture content of this, so I set up a tripod and let it run for the 40 minutes of my bath. I wanted the content but I did not want to create content, I didn’t want to detract from the experience.

Also, small detail, but one that I love, the toilet has a chain you pull from which always feels a bit novel to my American reality.

Another little thing that tickled me is that they request you sanitize your hands before handling the books. Because again, they are not props. Brava!

At the end of the hallway, there is a door that leads to another cluster of rooms. First, you enter what I can only describe as an antechamber, with a spiral staircase laden with piles of books, leading to the (beautiful) attic room. But then, another door opens to reveal the living room. I have never, ever, received so many DMs about a room on Instagram. I felt the same way. If I could choose any singular room to transport to my own home, it would be that. Chock full of antiques and vignettes, but so warm and inviting and curated but not over-thought. Of course, a fireplace centers the room, and a dreamy plush white couch anchors it. I had never seen photos of it before, so I was utterly shocked and thrilled. Again, this was a place I had high expectations for, yet this was something I couldn’t have imagined in my wildest dreams.

Now, if you don’t recall, I am very allergic to dogs. So for me to go out of my way to stay at a hotel where I knew there were dogs was not insignificant. There are three of them, and despite not being able to indulge them with their deserved attention, they add so much to the soul of the place. It is not a museum. It is a home, where I felt so welcome.

After my bath, I took some time to sit in bed, as I like to do, and watched the last dredges of the sunset, which somehow kept its intensity for its imminent exit. I can remember exactly where and when the three best sunsets of my life were, and now I have a fourth.

When I had arrived, I asked Charlotte for a restaurant recommendation. She asked Michelin or not. I said absolutely not Michelin, and she said good. La Scottiglia was my place.

I headed down the stairs, ready to eat, but yelled to a unseen Charlotte something I can’t recall. She was with her niece, who I’d love to be friends with, Heather, in their kitchen, playing Scrabble, drinking the red wine they grow and produce and eating Chinese snacks. My type of people. They graciously invited me to sit, right in front of the fire, and I could never say no to such an invitation.

We talked about things of all sorts, hotels, of course, and my trajectory and the topic of taste. They poured me a glass of the red, and my gd, it was divine. I don’t even drink red wine! I really wish I bought a bottle or ten. So light, so lovely.

After a week of trying my damndest to pretend I am not American and speaking nearly exclusively in Italian, it was so nice to be able to chat in English. I was explaining my career trajectory, and that I actually worked at Vogue Japan for a very, very short time upon landing in NYC after college graduation, but that I do not come from a wealthy enough family to have found that fulfilling. Charlotte said that was the bitchiest thing she’d heard all year, and that she loved it, and I felt very seen.

Heather remarked that she thinks that Florence is her favorite city in Italy too, and Charlotte said that she really doesn’t love the notion of favorites. I admire that, as someone who really loves and overuses a superlative. Thus, I don’t know which room is her favorite, or what her favorite Italian city is. I do know we all love Torino and that I will not be rating this hotel in solidarity with that thinking.

Then, full on great conversation but still hungry for a meal, I headed out on a mini adventure to La Scottiglia. I only describe it as something akin to a sojourn because the streets are very small and windy and dark, and it felt like an adventure in pre-daylight savings early-March weather.

I arrived at the restaurant and, as I typically do, tried to go in three wrong doors before finding the (obvious) entrance. I really do have no sense of direction. The restaurant didn’t look like much, but I trusted Charlotte and Heather.

I didn’t say this to them because I didn’t want to over-flex my superlatives, but I think it was the best meal I’ve had in Italy so far. The problem with trying to speak only Italian but only understanding some Italian, is that I don’t know what is being offered to me half the time. I don’t have the vocabulary for local delicacies, or many vegetables (I don’t eat all that many vegetables). I think, I was given some sort of cauliflower puree as an amuse bouche, with perfectly course black pepper, and it was spectacular – enough to have me reconsidering the cruciferous veg I thought I highly disliked. Then, I ordered the tortelli with something inside, again, I didn’t have that word in my Italian vocabulary, but I knew I wasn’t allergic to it. The lovely waiter instructed me to eat them with a spoon, and one by one, never cutting them. I still don’t know what was inside, perhaps pumpkin – whatever it was, I will be yearning for that dish for a long time. And then I had the herb-crusted steak, al sangue, which was about as good as a girl like me can even fathom. A legitimately delightful meal, which I highly recommend for your stay at Castello di Potentino.

I returned back to the castle and missed the driveway, so ended up being happy that I had a Jeep and I bought the extra insurance, as I decided to try to back my way to the entrance to no success, which ended up in a 20-point turn.

I made my way up to my room and that delightful bed, and put on the weddings episode of Love is Blind. Sue me, I like that one reality show and I found these somewhat boring people from Minneapolis actually quite interesting, because I know very few people like that.

The bed I grew up in was very tall, and required a bit of a running start, so I was thrilled to find that was the case at Potentino too. The sheets were even better laying in them, and the mattress a Goldilocks not-too-firm, not-too-soft.

The show ended and it was definitely time for bed. But, I could not fall asleep. I felt so very alive, internally awake. Some spaces really do this to me, like my stay at the Suite Ema at Claridge’s, or the corner room overlooking the Faraglioni at Punta Tragara. When I’m really thrilled to be somewhere, and really feel at home in a hotel room, my body decides sleep is unexciting.

Eventually, I decided maybe I should open the window, as it was so delightfully silent and the air so fresh that perhaps that would be my lullaby, and it was. I don’t think I moved an inch in my sleep the rest of the night, it was golden.

When I woke up, I texted Charlotte to ask what time I needed to be out of the room, as I really just wanted to laze in that bed as long as possible, and I did.

Castello di Potentino has a series of retreats of sort, cooking, wine tasting, cinema, etc, and I would love to join one of those in the future. Regardless, I will be back many, many times. It immediately became my favorite hotel in the Tuscan countryside, and we all know I’ve stayed at a lot.

The goal was for this to make it easy for you to know whether this is a place for you or not. It will either hit you deep or not, and that’s the way it’s intended.

If you do have the pleasure of staying, please tell Charlotte hello, and definitely send me photos.

I can’t wait to return.

Thank you so much for being here. Happy Hoteling, you Good People with Good Taste!

xx Your Penpal,

Marissa