It happens that a joyful tender Panda visited us and wrote the funniest and touching story we ever heard about Vigne di Fagnano…

Having the permission of Bobsi, and of him grow-up Peter & Julia, we share here his story, as well as his selfie 🙂

Bobsi in Italiienan — the story of the old noble-house, the sky-pirate-plane and the bamboo-amadillos

Hi there, all my many, many friends – Yes. It is me. Bobsi.

And I know what you are thinking.

You are thinking: “Where has Bobsi been? Why has Bobsi not written to us? Have the klop-klops eaten him? Has Peter made him answer emails? Has Julie hidden him in a suitcase?”

No, no.

I have been in Italiienan.

Peter says it is called Italy, but I think Italiienan is much better, because it sounds like a place where the sun is warm, the grown-ups say ciao, and the roads go left and right and up and down until nobody knows where they are anymore.

We went there because Julie and I had become old –  Very old, I turned five –  And Julie also had birthday, but I do not know how old she is. Only that she is older than me. Much older. 

And because Julie has been working almost as much as Peter — and Peter is always working, walking around with phones and papers and saying things like “we need to be exact” — I thought: Now Julie needs relax “So I called my friend, the Sky Pirate – He is the Sky Pirate, because he flies a sky-pirate-plane, which is much more fun than just a plane. Especially when you are five and have a Bobsi heart and a Bobsi soul.

I said:

“Halloooooo, Sky Pirate. Can you fly me — and of course Julie and Peter also — somewhere where we can do nothing?”

And the Sky Pirate said:

“Bobsi, I know exactly the place. But you must be ready very early.”

So we got up very, very early. So early I am not even sure we slept. Then we went to the sky-pirate-place, which Peter calls an airport, and there he was. The Sky Pirate. Waiting with the sky-pirate-plane.

And then we flew away.

Away from Sweden. Away from normal things. Away from emails. Away from work – And into Italiienan.

We landed and drove to a place called Langhe, where the hills are soft and green and full of grapes, and where the grown-ups keep saying words like wine region, Piemonte, and beautiful view.

I looked around and thought: This place has many kinds of bamboo.

Then we came to our house.

But not just a house. A very, very old noble-house called Vigne di Fagnano.

It was built in 1709. Maybe even before that, because very old houses sometimes keep secrets. That means it is almost as old as Peter.

Carlo told us the story. Carlo and Manila are the people who own it now. 

They bought the old house and rebuilt it into the most amazing estate and hotel. They worked and worked and worked, and now it is a place with old walls, beautiful rooms, quiet corners, warm light, lovely food, and the feeling that time has slowed down – I call Carlo and Manila:

The nicest hotel-noble-house owners in the world.

Because that is what they are.

The house also has many stories inside its walls. During the war — and grown-ups always say the war, like there has only been one, which is confusing — the house was part of secret and serious things with resistance people and headquarters and maybe Switzerland and many complicated adult words.

I listened very carefully.

For a little while – Then I saw the garden, and when Bobsi sees a place to explore, Bobsi must explore.

Julie walked around taking pictures and saying, “This is beautiful,” and Peter said, “Yes, very special,” and I found all the important things. The grapes. The strange plants. The little paths. The secret corners. The red bamboo with hats, which Julie says are strawberries, but I know better.

“They are bamboo berries”.

And if you eat one, you must eat another, because it is important to check if they all taste the same.

That is being exact.

One day I said:

“Halloooo, let’s go somewhere.”

So we went to Alba.

To get there, we drove over the hills and mountains. First the road went left. Then right. Then up. Then down. Then right again. Then left again. Then around and around. It was like driving on a serpent.

Peter kept saying:

“Ohhh.”

“Ahhh.”

“Look at that.”

“So beautiful.”

I also looked – Mostly for bamboo.

The Italians — or as I call them, the Italieenas — are very nice people, but they cannot make straight roads. Maybe they tried once and thought: No, too easy. Let us make the roads like spaghetti.

In Alba we walked around and looked at streets and houses and shops. Then suddenly the sky made a big white flash.

And then:

KAPOWWWWW.

I said:

“That is kapow-weather.”

Julie said:

“Let’s get a coffee.”

That is what grown-ups do when the sky says kapow. They find coffee.

So we sat down, and the grown-ups had coffee, and I had something nice, and after a while the sky stopped making all the drama. Then we drove back through the serpent-roads to Vigne di Fagnano, where everything felt calm again.

The next day we had another adventure.

Peter and Julie wanted to see more of Langhe, so we went out again. Over the hills, through more serpent-roads, past grapes and old houses and views that made Peter say “ohhh” and “ahhh” many times.

I was starting to think maybe Peter had become a little Italian.

At the end of all the turning and turning, we came to a very big thing.

Julie said it was a distillery.

I said it was a big, big thing – It was called Berta, and inside there were barrels everywhere. Big barrels, small barrels, sleeping barrels, serious barrels. 

The grown-ups looked at them like they were treasure.

They said:

“Amazing.”

“Wonderful.”

“Very impressive.”

I also thought it was impressive, because I saw very good hiding places.

So I asked Peter:

“Can we play football here? Or maybe I can hide and you can all try to find me?”

Peter looked at me with his strong Peter-eyes.

“No, Bobsi. It is too dangerous.”

That is grown-up language for: I am not fun right now.

But then something happened that made everything better.

We got amadillos. Peter says they are called amaretti, but that is much too complicated. I call them bamboo-amadillos, because they are small, sweet, wonderful things and they taste like something a Bobsi should have many of – So I ate one.

Then I looked at Julie.

Then at Peter.

Then at everybody else.

Then I gave my biggest Bobsi smile.

And maybe a hug.

And somehow, when you hug people, more amadillos arrive.

That is not stealing. That is charm.

Soon I had eaten enough bamboo-amadillos to make the biggest Bobsi-amadillo-stomach in Italiienan. 

I became very tired. I think I burped a little before falling asleep – Not a naughty burp, a noble-house burp.

That evening, we sat outside on our little terrace at Vigne di Fagnano. The sun was going down, and everything was soft and warm and quiet. Julie and Peter talked about the old house, the hills, the kapow-weather, Alba, the distillery, the food, the wine, and all the things we had seen.

Julie said it had been some of the most relaxing days she had ever had.

And I agreed.

Because it is very relaxing to be in a place where the house is old, the people are kind, the food is good, and nobody asks Bobsi to answer emails.

Then Manila and Carlo came over – The nicest hotel-noble-house owners in the world.

They said hi-hi and talked with Julie and Peter, and the evening became even more cozy. I tried to listen, but then the little talking bee came back and buzzed near me. It told me stories about flying over the vineyards and the flowers and all the secret places only bees can see.

The grown-ups talked.

The bee buzzed.

The old house stood quietly around us, like it had seen hundreds of evenings before and still liked this one – And I fell asleep.

Then came the day we had to go home – But first we went to Milanoii.

Peter says it is called Milano. I say Milanoii, because it is better with “ii” at the end. More Italian. More Bobsi.

Milanoii is a very big city. There were many people, many cars, many shops, and a very big building that Peter called a cathedral.

Cathedral is a complicated grown-up word, so I call it:

The big Italian house with many pillars.

Much easier!!

Julie looked at beautiful things. Peter looked at buildings. I looked for bamboo. There was not enough bamboo in Milanoii, which I think the city should work on.

Then it was time to go to the sky-pirate-place again. 

The Sky Pirate was waiting, and the sky-pirate-plane was ready.

I helped, of course, but I cannot tell you everything, because some sky-pirate things are secret. I sat very carefully and looked very important, in case anyone needed Bobsi-help.

Then we flew home.

Away from Italiienan.

Away from Vigne di Fagnano.

Away from the serpent-roads, the kapow-weather, the bamboo berries with hats, the big distillery thing, the bamboo-amadillos, and Carlo and Manila.

But not really away.

Because Julie brought home the relax. 

Peter brought home the views.

And I brought home the story.

Now we are going back to Sweden. Back to the klop-klops, which Peter says are deer. Back to football. Back to normal days.

But I am not completely the same Bobsi anymore.

Because now I know that in Italiienan there is an old noble-house from 1709, maybe even older, where the walls remember stories, where the hills roll like green waves, where the roads are made like spaghetti, where the sky sometimes says kapow, where amadillos taste very good, and where the nicest hotel-noble-house owners in the world made an old place magical again.

So ciao for now, my many friends – I promise I will try not to be away so long again.

This was Bobsi, five years old, with a Bobsi heart and a Bobsi soul, telling you about his big adventure in Italiienan.

Ciao-ciao.

That means hi-hi and bye-bye.

At least I think so.

Bobsi the best adventures little panda in the world 🐼❤️🐼