Correction Appended I had to hand it to Claudia, my Italian real estate broker. I told her I wanted to see the "cheapest property in Pienza" (yes, I'm that crass) and she brought me here: a place so grand and stately the yard could only be referred to as the "grounds." The pool was spectacular. The view was impressive (this in a country that doles out impressive views at every turn). And the house was huge and symmetrical in a way that makes you want to host a party for a thousand people and wear a big, unwieldy gown. Let me put it this way: If Kenneth Branagh and I were going to film a Shakespeare comedy - the kind where all the women wear flowy white dresses and streamers float inexplicably in the breeze - Ken and I would have our set. "There is simply nothing for sale in Pienza right now," Claudia said apologetically. Maybe. Or maybe Claudia thought that I would fall so madly in love with this mansion that I would be forced to admit that I actually did have $6,264,500 (what Google tells me is the equivalent of 5 million euros) in my checking account. Research is research, I rationalized: If I know what 5 million gets me, maybe I'll have a better sense of what I can get if I move the decimal point a bit to the left. I dragged my friends Sam and Taylor (in Pienza on vacation) along with me to look. The property was just outside the tiny medieval Tuscan village of Monticchiello, in the shadow of Pienza, and as locations go, this is it. Montichiello has one fantastic restaurant and pretty much nothing else - meaning you can always eat well and not worry about getting trampled by tourists. Plus, it's close enough to Pienza - only 10 minutes by car - to do a little shopping, go for a drink, buy some cheese. Driving down the windy, dusty road, I started imagining my life here and realized: This was a dangerous line of thinking. Sam, Taylor and I walked the grounds, while Claudia kept a respectable distance. For 5 million euros I would want a 360 degree view; on closer inspection, this view was more like 180. We strolled around the infinity pool, feeling decadent, but for that sum I would want a pergola, or at least a young Italian man folding towels. To be fair, the house also came with 20 hectares (about 50 acres) of woodland. But what was I going to do with 50 acres of woodland? By the time we walked inside, I was growing more cynical: this place was grand, of course, but grand enough? The ceilings on the ground floor were so low, I felt like I had to duck through doorways. We wandered into a bedroom - a cold, severe room with heavy curtains, a stone floor and two hard beds with sharp wooden headboards. It would be perfect for a monk. With a bad back. Who had taken a vow of scratchy fabric. As we were leaving, I saw the best the place had to offer. To one side of the entrance, there was an outdoor dining room with a slanted wood beam ceiling and an enormous brick oven. To the other side, a stone annex with additional bedrooms. And in between, a worn brick courtyard with a tasteful fountain. Standing there, it was hard not to feel like a 19th-century Tuscan contessa. The revelers would be arriving any minute! There were candelabras to light! And wine to pour from ceramic jugs! So it's not worth $6,264,500. But at least I know Kenneth Branagh would approve. The name of a Tuscan village was misspelled in a previous edition of the post. It is Monticchiello, not Montichiello.