Chapter 45
Hanna
Nearly two weeks have passed since my breakup with Florian. Twelve days and nights in which I've done nothing but rack my brain over how to save the estate.
Today, I find myself once again sitting at Noah's handcrafted kitchen table, surfing the internet in search of ideas.
Taking out a loan is out of the question. No bank would give me the money for that. And I don't know anyone I could ask for financial support. The crowdfunding campaign I started last week in my desperation is progressing slowly, despite my efforts to attract attention.
I rest my head on my healthy hand and gaze out the window at the mountain lake at the end of the clearing. What else could I try?
Playing the lottery and hoping for a miracle?
Asking for donations?
I blow the bangs from my forehead with a sigh of frustration. Then, in my desperation, I type saving buildings into the browser's search function.
An article about activists barricading themselves in a house to prevent demolition appears on my screen. There's also an advertisement for a book on building renovation and real estate listings.
"That was a dead end, once again," I say to myself.
Despite my unsuccessful search so far, I can't give up. On the contrary, I need to step up my efforts, as the sale of the estate could be imminent. Semmtal is a small village where everyone knows everyone and everything. I'm aware that Florian hasn't returned to Tuscany yet, which means the sales contract hasn't been signed. But that doesn't mean it couldn't happen tomorrow.
"How do you get money?" I voice the question, hoping that saying it out loud might help.
How do you get money? , I repeat in my mind. How did Florian get money for the inn whenever we needed it?
Funding.
Yes. That's it. I need to search for funding opportunities!
My joy is short-lived, though. Because I have no idea how these subsidies work. Florian never let me help when we applied for funding. No, I correct myself with a touch of bitterness in my heart—he applied for funding. But in the next moment, I refocus on my goal.
Where did he learn about possible funding opportunities? Where did the money come from? I rummage through my memory and find some helpful information.
Florian used to boast that there are funding opportunities everywhere. Regions, countries, states—even the European Union has multimillion-dollar funds just waiting to be tapped into.
That sounds fantastic. And it's the first real glimmer of hope.
Feverishly, I type the corresponding terms into the browser's search box using my index finger. I start by scouring the websites of the State of Tyrol and the federal government, and then move on to the European Union's website.
There, I find a list of subsidies, which I translate one after the other into German with the help of a website.
I click on Restoration of Cultural Heritage and painstakingly work my way through the sections that describe the funding, relying on my limited knowledge of English. With each passing second, my excitement grows.
This could be the right fit.
If I manage to declare the country estate as culturally significant, I can apply for the subsidies. I search for the button to submit the application, but I can't find it. Instead, I notice a bolded piece of information at the bottom of the page.
Application deadline: 31st of March , it says.
It's already April. And there are no other suitable fundings listed on this page either.
Dammit. My hope dissipates, and I lean back in disappointment, staring at the screen.
Could this really be the end? Do I have to give up?
Frustrated, I continue to explore various subpages of the website, and I'm eventually redirected to a page of the Italian government.
Of course! Subsidies are also granted within Italy. But can I, as a foreigner, even apply for them? Especially when I don't even own the country estate?
Never mind. I'll deal with that later. I search the website, but nothing seems to fit. So next, I look for regional subsidies for Tuscany, and surprisingly, I find something.
"Fund for the Revitalization of Original Agriculture," I translate and delve into the application details. The Italian language used is so complex that I can barely understand it. I have to look up words multiple times until I have a somewhat clear understanding of the requirements.
I need a revitalization plan—whatever that is. Moreover, not only the plan but also a cost estimate must be presented to an allocation committee.
The application deadline is… today!
I have neither a plan nor anything else, but I click on the button labeled Electronics Preregistration . As soon as the new page opens, I encounter my first problem.
In the top fields of the online form, I have to enter the name and address of the property owner, who also seems to be the applicant. With my heart pounding, I type in the information—I don't have any other choice anyway. The rest of the details come easily to me, as I have already gathered most of them for Florian's checklist. I provide the construction year, area measurements, condition, and the size of the agricultural land.
The next field is a free-text box. Here, I have to describe the purpose for which the money is needed. Without hesitation, I write about a new oil press, renovation work on the house, setting up a farm shop, and funds for acquiring additional plants. Then I scroll down, filling in the missing information as best as I can, until I finally reach the button labeled "Submit Now."
I exhale with effort. My finger hovers over the Enter key.
I shouldn't doubt myself, but it happens automatically.
Pressing this button means I will have to face a committee and convince them of a project that doesn't even exist yet.
I, Hanna Daydreamer, have to deliver an impassioned speech and risk being ridiculed.
Am I really ready to do this?
"You can do this," I tell myself, clenching my fist.
My heart gallops, my hands are sweaty. But I do it.
I press the Enter key.
Seconds later, a new page appears.
Thank you for your application. Please have a signed copy ready for your hearing.
Your presentation appointment: April 15th, 2:00 PM, Palazzo Vecchio, Florence, Room 12.a.
My heart comes to an abrupt halt. My breath stops.
Oh my God, that's tomorrow already!
With my casted arm, I can't draw up a plan, nor can I drive a car. How on earth am I going to manage this?