Although our coordinates look similar year after year, we’ve come at it from a different direction this time. Pisa is a seaside, regional Tuscan airport accepting jetliners full of primarily Euro fliers seeking some Vitamin D, a well-priced glass of vino rosso, and a bit of stylish culture that comes in many forms. Celebrating the arrival of all our four checked bags, we wait at a shuttle bus stop with others seeking a pre-arranged rental car. As has happened in the past, a conversation about our love for Italia results in a premium model, without the associated cost. When I hand Monica my business card promoting Ten Years in Tuscany, she pushes it back across the counter with a pen. Most of my native speakers might think it to be Larriano, it turns out the actual word she used was: Autografo.