Tuscany South Untour, Spring of 1997
by Fay & Len Reisfelt, Walnut Creek, CA
Monday and Tuesday, May 19 and May 20
6:15 p.m.and we were off to Italy on Air France. It was a long, uncomfortable flight on the hard and crowded seats of the airbus. The hard working crew were all very pleasant, and the food was good, but one could hardly move through the narrow aisles, and there were only 4 bathrooms to serve everyone in the crowded plane. We managed only about 3 hours sleep before landing in Paris at what was 5:30 a.m., Pacific Daylight time. There, we waited with Bob and Eleanor Wilson, another Idyll couple, until 7:00 Paris time when our delayed flight finally took off for Florence.Bleary eyed, we arrived in Florence at 8:30 and hired a cab to take us to our hotel, the Hotel Belletini. 8:30 was rush hour in Florence, and the traffic was incredible. Motor scooters, cars, and pedestrians were scurrying in all directions. We arrived at the hotel, right in downtown Florence, and the cab fare startled us awake. It was 30,000 lire which sounded like a small fortune but really amounted to about $18.75.
The Hotel Belletini was wonderfully located in the heart of Florence, and our room was neat, comfortable, and had no frills. The shower wet most of the bathroom as the curtain was way too short to do any good, and it didn't go all the way around.
As sleepy as we were, we needed to walk, so we walked for about an hour, ending up at the Duomo. Though it was in the process of being cleaned and restored, much of the work was complete, and we marveled at the carvings and the walls, marbled in pink, green, or white. We window-shopped for a while and then returned to our room to take funny showers and fall asleep, exhausted by our trip.
Wednesday, May 21, 1997
We slept blissfully until 8:00 this morning before going down to the nice breakfast buffet in the dining room. Then, finding we had some time before our scheduled meeting time at the airport, we went for a little walk to take a picture of the Duomo. We just happened to pass a store, Soldi Pelletteria, with a lovely display of leather coats, and just happened to walk in to look at them, and I just happened to walk out carrying a brand new, beautiful leather jacket, my birthday gift from Len.We did get to the Duomo, and I took my picture and bought a postcard as well, as it was impossible to capture that magnificent building in its entirety with my camera.
We returned to the hotel to retrieve our luggage, and the couple who had just vacated our apartment in Buon Convento were just leaving the lobby! They were bubbling over with tales about Tuscany, its beauty, and its food, and we really got excited.
The taxi that was to take us to the airport was parked in front of the hotel in a street so narrow that there was barely room for two cars. As horns blared and traffic stopped for a block behind us, the driver loaded our bags into the back, and we were off for our rendezvous with Idyll.
Harriet, Idyll's Italian representative, and her daughter, Laura, rounded up all the untourists, loaded us aboard a bus, and we were off on the hour long journey through lovely green rolling hills, past farmland and grazing sheep to Siena. There, we picked up our car at Avis and, in caravan, followed Laura to Buon Convento. Our house, a 100 year old brick and stone building sat near the end of a long private lane. Bordered on one side by trees it was partially hidden from the road. Though it looked a little forbidding from the outside, we were delighted by its interior and Elisabetta, our landlady, who met us there and showed us through. Massive exposed beams towered about 16' high over our 5 large and cheery rooms decorated in colorful country print fabrics. The big kitchen held a washing machine, a gas stove, an electrical oven, and a refrigerator stocked with milk, lettuce, cucumbers, eggs, cheeses, and cold meats. The long oilcloth covered picnic table running down the center held a loaf of bread, olive oil, garlic, a package of spaghetti and a bottle of sauce, tea, cookies, and a basket of fresh fruit. What a welcoming sight! The living room held a brick fireplace, its massive wooden mantel stocked with books of all descriptions and decorated with cheery fresh floral arrangements. There were 2 print sofas and a solid colored couch for seating, and the tile floor had an area rug with a red, beige, blue, and brown pleasing geometric design. There were 3 bedrooms, and ours had a king size bed and a couch on which 2 terry cloth robes were laid out for our use. Since it was about 4:30 and Howie and Lennie were quite late arriving, Elizabetta took us downstairs to their apartment to orient us so that we could show them its features. She gave us some postcards she had had made of their place. A covered patio at the back was intended for the use of both families, and offered shade from the hot summer sun.
There was no sun that afternoon. Instead, at about 4:30, it began to rain. A short time after Elisabetta left, Howie and Lennie arrived, very tired from the long trip. They had had a terrible time finding the road that led to the apartment and had been driving around for ages. We all unpacked and then drove in the rain to Buon Convento, about 2 miles from our dwelling, for dinner at da Mario's, a restaurant highly recommended by the Idyll staff. Run and staffed by the da Mario family, and filled with local residents, the restaurant was an informal place with excellent country food at very reasonable prices. We had a local wine, salad, tortellini or tagliarini with a choice of several sauces, and we shared biscotti, English pudding, and cake and berries for dessert. It was a good meal and a harbinger of all the good meals to come, and it cost only about $11.00 per person.
Thursday, May 22, 1997
Before orientation, this morning, we went to the Co-op market in town to purchase some essentials. It was the only market in town and was quite small by our standards. No one spoke English, but we found what we wanted quite easily. Buying fruit and vegetables required one to put the plastic bag on the scale and then push a number on the machine that corresponded to the shelf number of the selection. The machine would then eject a self-stick label with the purchase price to apply to the bag. It was the same good system that we used in Holland, and it was fast and easy to use. .Orientation was in the town hall, (called the commune by the townspeople). Harriet, Idyll's Italian representative, conducted the meeting and gave us many suggestions of places to go and things to see. She handed out a list of festivals that would be held in Tuscany during our stay, and she answered any questions that people had. She confirmed that Italians were a menace behind the wheel, and she counseled us to be "humble drivers." Harriet was an American, who had attended college in Italy, met and married an Italian, and had made her home in Italy. She was a delightful person, vivacious and warm, and we enjoyed her presentation.
After the meeting, Howie and Lennie had to do their marketing and we strolled through town, exploring and looking for a place to buy postcards. Stopping in a little tabac, we selected some to send the kids. The proprietor gave me directions to the post office in Italian, and I understood perfectly! My studying had paid off.
We were to meet Howie and Lennie at the apartment for a hike and a picnic, so we headed for home - we thought. Instead, we found ourselves on the road to Rome, and we drove for many miles before finding a place to turn around. Finally seeing a turn-off, we headed back on the same two-lane road. A slow truck was in front of us, and, seeing no one coming, Len decided to pass. Suddenly, out of the blue, a car sped toward us. Len's expletive deleted, but he immediately became a very humble driver. We got back just in the nick of time much to the disappointment of the ambulance that was behind us.
After about an hour on the road, we finally found our way back to the house. Howie and Lennie, watching for us, were having their picnic on the patio, and we belatedly joined them. Then we went upstairs to change to hiking boots. To my disgust, I discovered that I had packed one old boot and one new. One had a high ankle and one had a low one, and the blue trims were many shades apart. This was going to be an embarrassing trip.
We decided to start by exploring the countryside around our apartment. Down the hillside splashes of bright red poppies contrasted with the vivid blue of a pond and the lush green grasses growing tall and thick at its borders. All around us were rolling hills, and a short walk took us into woods and the shade of poplars, oaks, cypress, and pines. The country quiet was broken only by the songs of the birds as we walked along an empty gravel lane. An occasional lizard with a startling fluorescent green back darted across our path. As we left the woods, we heard the sound of bells, and came upon a herd of sheep clinging closely together, the lambs frolicking, and their mothers, heavy with milk. A stone bridge over a little stream brought us to a field of seedling sunflowers. They were being machine weeded, and the clean rows made a geometric pattern in the field. Soon we passed another truck. A worker stood in it trailer loading forkfuls of grasses. Fields of sprouting maize stretched beyond, giving testimony to the richness of the soil. A big group of bicyclists came pedaling along at a leisurely pace, and everyone smiled and said hello. They knew our nationality before we opened our mouths! We answered, "Buon Giorno," and watched as they went on their way. There were no cars on the road during our entire walk.
We headed back, stopping to see the converted abbey where Idyll lodged many of its clients. It was a spectacular sight situated on top of a hill. We peeked into the courtyard, and startled birds flew from the rafters, and circled around before settling again on their perches.
We'd walked 4 1/2 miles before returning home to change from our hiking shoes. It was time to go by car, and we joined Howie and Lennie for a ride to Murlo, a 4 square block village established in 1777. The area was the center of the Etruscan civilization which reached its peak in the 6th century B.C., and the former Bishop's palace has been converted to an archaeological museum. We walked through the displays admiring the interesting bronze and clay artifacts. There were many lovely pots lovingly restored by the archaeologists, and an almost complete roof and pediment from a 5th century B.C. building.
After browsing in the museum for a while, we walked around the village looking for a place to eat. The only restaurant was a pizzeria so we decided to explore the village for a while before going elsewhere. The cleanliness was really impressive, and every home had colorful pots of flowers decorating the steps, the doorways, and the walls, breaking up the austerity of the architecture.
Then it was back into the car and off to Chiuso to try to find a restaurant recommended by an Idyll couple who was living there. We searched and searched until the car balked on a steep hill, stalling its 4-cylinder engine part way up and forcing two of us to get out while Howie backed up and turned around.
We drove to Montalcino, a large hill town with many stores and restaurants. The posted menu at the San Giorgio Pizzeria promised much more than pizza and we decided to eat there. What a fortunate decision! We had riboletto, the bread soup typical of the region. It was marvelous - full of spinach, beans, favas, and potato with hunks of bread floating in a lovely broth. One bowl would have made an entire meal, but we had ordered entrees. Three of us had vitello di tono, cold veal topped by a tune and caper sauce. Accompanying this scrumptious feast was a 1/2 bottle of Brunello wine, rich and mellow and grown only in the Montalcino area. For dessert we shared a slice of fruit tart. The cost translated to about $20.00 per person.
After the sumptuous meal, we walked up the hill to the public phone and phoned Judy. Then we drove home, arriving around midnight.
Friday, May 23, 1997
We were up early this morning as we were to meet Howie and Lennie at 9:00 to make arrangements for some future excursions. I had another disaster - I discovered I had left my curling iron at home! What a mess I was going to be with my mismatched boots and my straight hair.Our first stop was the railroad station in town to arrange our trip to the Cinque Terra. The earnest young stationmaster tried very hard to be helpful, and, with my broken Italian and his broken English, we managed to work out our route for the trip. We had purchased a pass good for a total of 5,000 kilometers divided among 4 people, and it was also to take us to the Swiss border at the conclusion of our Tuscany sojourn. The trip mapped by the stationmaster would allow us enough left to get to Switzerland. As we started back to the car, we realized that we didn't obtain the schedule for the trip back to Buon Convento, so we went back to the ticket window. The stationmaster was seated at a desk pouring over a schedule, and his face lit up when we came in for he had found an easier way to go and wanted to tell us about it.
Armed with the new schedule, we hunted down a public phone in order to call the ticket office in Massa Maritima to reserve seats for Sunday's parade and crossbow contest. The call was taken by an English-speaking woman who told us to be at the museum before noon on Sunday to pay for and pick up the tickets.
The next call was to Anna at the Palace Hotel in Levanto to confirm our reservations for May 27. A man answered the phone and informed me that he didn't speak English. I asked to speak to Anna (the English-speaking woman at the desk), and he said there was no Anna there, and could I call back later. We decided Anna must be on the night shift, and we would try again one evening soon.
We then drove to Monteriggioni, a lovely walled hilltop village, and the starting point for the Monteriggioni ring walk described in Walking and Eating in Tuscany and Umbria.
Before hiking, we made dinner reservations at II Pozzo on the town square.
The 8 1/2-mile walk started with a downhill trek into farmland. Rows of vegetables flourished in the rich looking reddish brown soil. Cherry, fig, and peach trees stood sentinel at the end of each row. Stone walls separated expansive properties presided over by an occasional old stone and brick farmhouse. Red poppies, white daisies, and other wildflowers grew everywhere, accenting the lush greens with bright spots of color. White puffy clouds floated in the pale blue sky, and we felt our souls expanding in response to the overwhelming beauty all around us. Our sense of timelessness was heightened by the knowledge that we were walking on a path made of stones that were used in the Etruscan era.
Leaving the meadows, we started a steep 3-kilometer ascent. The sun was beating down, and we were melting. Finding a spot in al olive orchard, we spread out our picnic lunch in the shade of the trees and ate before resuming our climb. It was 1 1/2 steep miles up on a hike described in the book as a gentle ascent! To add to our misery, the gravel under foot was slippery, and it was hard to get a foothold. At times, thick woods crowded either side of the road, and we were profoundly grateful for the occasional shade. After passing through long stretches with no houses and no signs of life and almost giving up, we finally reached the top and a monument to partisans killed there by the Fascists.
We headed downhill on the next leg of the trip, following a trail through the woods. Markings of red and white paint on trees or rocks showed us the way, but we were suddenly in deep woods where we realized there were no more signs and the trail seemed to have ended. Reversing direction, we followed a trail through thickets in an opposite direction, but no markers appeared. We were lost and had prospects of spending the night in the woods. It was already after 5:00. We had many miles to go and 7:45 dinner reservations. Len and I stayed to mark our spot, and Howie and Lennie set out to see if they could somehow find our way. After about 1/2 hour they hailed us. Fallen trees had hidden and blocked the path, but, once around them, the markers reappeared and the trail was once again apparent. We were on our way again.
Clearings in the trees on the long downhill hike brought beautiful views of Monteriggioni, made more beautiful by the fact that it was coming closer. Thirsty, hungry, and exhausted, we finally reached the car. We freshened up as best we could and walked to the square. The restaurant wasn't open yet, so we sat at a table outside of a bar, and, together, we consumed 1 1/2 liters of bottled water.
At 7:45 the restaurant opened, and we were ushered to our table. Though the outside was unprepossessing, the interior ambience was charmingly provincial. The tables were set with pink cloths and lovely painted dishes. The food was fantastic. We had a heavenly starter of tortolini and truffles cooked in butter and enclosed in a foil packet. For his entree, Len had quail, and it tasted smoky and wonderful. Howie and I had skewered barbecued sausages, and Howie had delicious beans baked in tomato sauce. Lennie and I had roasted potatoes with black olives and baby tomatoes. We washed it all down with a wonderful bottle of the local Chianti. For dessert we all shared Italian fruitcake and a delectable English pudding slathered in chocolate. The cost of the dinner was $30.00 a person for some of the best food any of us had ever eaten.
The hilarity for the evening was supplied by Lennie who was cutting some sausage when a large piece flew off the table and landed at the right foot of a dignified gentleman sitting behind her. He was unaware, and we were hysterical. Then, we noticed people walking in and out of a door behind us, and couldn't figure out what was in there. Lennie decided to find out, opened the door, and said, "mi scusi," to a man and woman there as she took a quick look around. She came right back out, followed by the two, the man looking furious and giving us a dirty look as he walked by. A woman at another table thought Lennie was looking for the ladies' room, pointed the way to her and Lennie was banished to the powder room while we sat at the table and howled. When she returned to the table, she informed us that all she could see in the mystery room was a phone and a coat rack.
We didn’t get back to Buon Convento until 1:00 a.m.
Saturday, May 24, 1997
We slept until 10:00 this morning, and it felt wonderful. I found my curling iron, and while Len did our marketing at the Co-op, I happily set my hair and picked up around the house. Howie and Lennie slept late too, but we planned to go to Bagno Vignoni to the sulfur baths. I started looking for my bathing suit. I was sure I'd packed it, but I couldn't find it anywhere. Feeling extremely cross, I decided I would just have to go in the water in my shorts and tee shirt. I couldn't imagine how I'd done such a rotten job of packing.The drive was beautiful. The fields along the way were splashed with poppies, an enchanting sight. A long winding road brought us to Bagni Vignoni, where a sparsity of parking places attested to the weekend crowds who came for baths in the pool. We stopped at the hotel to ask where the springs were, and the young man at the desk informed us that the only place to swim in the warm sulfur water was at the hotel pool, which would open in 20 minutes.
We strolled over to the pool. A sign inside the gate said that bathing caps were required for both men and women. The pool was gorgeous. It was not exactly the place where I wanted to go in in my shorts and tee shirt. Sunbathers on the colorful desk furniture flanking the pool waited for swim time to be announced. Even the children were patient. When the time came to swim, people quietly and decorously entered the water. We found the women's bathing suits quite surprisingly modest.
In a search for the natural spring pond, we explored a bit on paths just outside the hotel grounds. Seeing an area from above that might have been the right one, we went in the car to find it. After driving a little way down on a steep gravel road, we worried that the car wouldn't make it back up, and we turned around and came back.
We drove to Rocca D'Orcia, a fortress whose beginnings dated back to the 9th century. It stood guard alone at the edge of a hill and was an imposing sight silhouetted against the sky. A little roadside refreshment stand on the grounds was tended by a friendly, smiling signor, and his delectable display of local products convinced us it would be a good place for lunch. We ordered bruschetti and watched as he demonstrated how he put slices of tomato (pomidore) on slices of Italian brad, drizzled olive oil over all, peppered it, and then made top layers of sliced cheese. Sliding them into the oven, he broiled them until the cheese melted, and then he served them at our patio table.
We walked around the outside of the fortress and looked down at the green rolling hills, the red poppies, the stone houses with their red clay tile roofs. Italian cypress trees were standing sentinels, measured distances apart. They marched along hilltops, adorning each one with a deep green crown.
We bought some postcards. One of them had a picture of miniature rapids pouring over a rocky streambed, and we asked the stand operator where it was. He replied that it was Bagni San Felipe, and he walked us to a posted map and pointed out our route.
It was about 4:30 when we arrived at San Felipe. A strong sulfur smell filled the air at the parking lot, and a sign pointed to the warm sulfur springs. We set out on a path, stopping people along the way for directions, and everyone was friendly and helpful. When we turned the wrong way, a woman who had given us directions earlier shouted down from above the trail that we should turn the other way. We walked to where we could see a large white rock colored by sulfur, which left a deposit that, looked like snow or foam. Then we forded a narrow stream and continued on. People that we met along the trail warned us that the water wasn't hot, but, wanting to see for ourselves, we kept on going. We reached a natural pool that was fed by a sulfur spring that dripped through a cave and then down the side of a rock to fill the pond below. The water was just a trickle, but the entire rock was striated in whites and light pastels. The water wasn't very warm, so, instead of getting in, we walked into town and looked around before returning to the car and Buon Convento.
We had dinner at the Hotel Roma. Len had spaghetti with a tomato pepperoni sauce, and I had tagliarini with truffle sauce. Howie and Lennie shared starters of croustades with us. There were several kinds on the plate: one with a walnut spread, one with a vegetable spread, and one with liver. All were good. Howie and Lennie had spaghetti with tomato sauce, and we each had a green salad.
After dinner, we walked to the Bar Moderno, crowded with townspeople on a Saturday night outing. Men in the back room were playing cards. Young people were buying ice cream and standing outside chatting. Groups of mixed ages were sitting at outdoor tables, talking and laughing. There was a wonderful feeling of community. We ordered gelato and sorbet, and it was the best we'd ever tasted. Len's strawberry sorbet tasted like fresh, just picked strawberries, and my pear sorbet was like a flavor amplified piece of fruit.
Then it was home to get or laundry done and get to bed early. A myriad of tiny lights flickered in the darkness over the front lawn and it was like entering fairyland. They were fireflies, the first we had ever seen!
Sunday, May 25, 1997
We left at 10:00 for Massa Maritima as our tickets had to be picked up at the museum by noon. Wanting to avoid congestion at Siena, we took an alternate route there, and it was a bad mistake. It was a road with multiple curves. Some cars in front of us crawled, while others went at full speed, passed on curves, and tailgated. We took a wrong turn and landed on a dirt road in a little town. Three children were talking at the side of the road so we stopped and asked if they knew where Massa Maritima was. The oldest, a 9-year-old with rosy cheeks and an adorable smile put down his bicycle and came over to the car. We could see that helping us was a real adventure for him. He hushed his younger sister who wanted to get into the act. A 3rd child, much younger, was curiously peeking into the car window, and only her eyes and forehead were visible. The boy explained the route and even pointed it out on our map, and we went on our way, enchanted.After only one more misstep, we arrived at Massa Maritima at three minutes to twelve. Three minutes to get to the museum before it closed, and we had no idea where it was. Making a lucky guess, Howie let us off at the bottom of a stone staircase, and I ran ahead of Len up about 3 flights of steps to get there before the museum closed. At the top of the stairs, with what little breath remained, I frantically asked someone where the museum was and discovered I was standing in front of it. At one minute to 12:00 I burst in the door, so out of breath I could hardly tell the woman at the counter my name. As Len had the money for the tickets, I begged her to wait while I found him. By then he was not on the steps but had disappeared into the crowd. I ran in and out of the museum looking for him, and, in what seemed like an eternity, he reappeared. As we paid for the tickets, Howie and Lennie arrived, and since the parade and archery were not scheduled until 5:00, we went back down to the car to get the things we left behind. Lennie slipped in nettles by the side of the road and caught herself with her arm, which immediately stung, became partially numb, and blossomed with tiny red blisters. Already feeling rotten from a bad sore throat, she was terribly uncomfortable.
We climbed the steps again and set out to explore the nooks and crannies of the city. The streets were crowded with celebrants and costumed participants. It was hot, and the ice cream parlors were doing a land office business. Strolling through the streets, we again found flowers at every dwelling. From the highest point we could look down on the tile roofs, the fertile valley below, and the hills beyond. We stopped at a sporting goods store run by a very friendly couple, and while I tried on and purchased a bathing suit, they suggested places for us to see when we visited Pienza. They said we must eat at the Luna di Latte, which they characterized as the very best restaurant in Pienza.
We found a trattoria for lunch. Len and I had risotto and a side of sliced tomatoes, and Howie and Lennie had croustades. The swelling on Lennie's arm kept getting worse, and the pharmacy was closed.
We found a place on the street near the starting pint of the parade and watched in fascination as the colorfully costumed participants marched by. Beneath the medieval buildings, and focused on the medieval clothing, it didn't take much imagination to make one feel like an anachronism transported in 20th century dress to the year 1200.
Cheers and fanfares alerted us to the fact that the contest would soon start, so we went to our assigned seats in the bandstand. I asked an usherette to tell me the story behind the festival, and, struggling valiantly with her English, she explained that in the 13th century groups of soldiers from the different neighborhoods of Massa Maritima met to prepare for war. They had a contest with crossbows to see which neighborhood had the best marksmen. This contest between neighborhoods, called the Balestro del Girfalco, has been held on the last Sunday in May and the 2nd Sunday in August ever since, and the neighborhood rivalry is intense.
The pageantry began with the ruling family taking its place in the reviewing stand and the costumed neighborhoods, each with its own banner, marching into the square. After all were announced, to large cheers from their partisans, a large contingent of flag bearers marched in to drum and trumpet fanfares and twirled, swirled, and hurled the flags for about 45 minutes. One man handled 6 flags at a time, throwing some in the air and catching them at the same time he was passing some to his arms from his feet. It was an incredible display.
Then, the contest with the ancient crossbows started. The target was a black wooden circle in a falcon banner, and the marksmanship was amazing. Out of 20 contestants, all but 2 hit that black circle! Cheers rang through the air as each neighborhood favorite sent his arrow deep into the heart of the target. At the end, the official climbed up on a ladder and took the target with its imbedded arrows down to be judged. It was getting late, and we had to leave before the judging.
On the way home, we stopped for dinner at a pizzeria, where a very unpleasant waiter chose to ignore us. We finally got served, but the food was as bad as the waiter.
Monday, May 26, 1997
After a stop in town at the bank and a trip to the post office, we were off to Pienza. What a glorious town. We stopped at a bar to purchase picnic lunches for our hike and then walked through the main street to admire this lovely place. The design of the thick walls of the old stone buildings were fitted together with amazing precision. Flower pots bursting with color sat in the entries and hung from the walls. A group of elderly women, with wonderful Italian faces, sitting in front of a house, visiting, captivated us, and Lennie was fast enough to take their picture when they weren't looking. We loved the little old lady in black.We were fascinated by the tiny shops with their temptingly arranged merchandise, and in a beautiful little cheese shop the saleslady offered us a taste of green olives packed in oil. They were so good that we bought a whole jar for our picnic.
Then, we walked to Luna di Latte, the restaurant recommended to us in Massa Maritima, to make dinner reservations. "Completo," (full up) they told us, and, very disappointed, we went back to the friendly lady in the cheese shop to ask for a recommendation. She suggested La Cocido at the other end of town, and we walked there to make reservations.
By this time we had spent so much time in town, that we decided it would be a good idea just to have our picnic in the park there before setting off on a hike to Monticello. Lunch finished, we started out to walk. Once again the countryside astonished us with its pastoral beauty. Patches of furrowed land were surrounded by green fields with accents of red poppies. Masses of soft yellow scotch broom perfumed the air with an intoxicating scent, and birds were singing a cadence for our marching feet. Under blue skies with white, puffy clouds, we walked on a gravel road, very steep in parts and undulating in others. Each step offered a different aspect of this beautiful land. Occasionally, we passed a stone farmhouse with a yard full of a variety of animals, ducks, roosters, guinea hens, and dogs and cats. Big rolls of harvested hay lay in the fields. The quiet was pervasive and relaxing. There were very few cars, and we met only one group of hikers and one group of cyclists.
As it was getting late, we set our sights on a brilliant mass of red poppies that seemed to be about 1/2 way to Monticello, and that was our turn-around point for the walk back to Pienza. The last 2/3 of a mile was a very steep climb, and Pienza looked awfully good to us when we finally arrived. Most of the tourists had left the streets. Some of them were attending church services with the locals, and we came upon a group of nuns hurrying to be there on time.
We stopped at a phone to call Levanto to confirm our hotel reservation. The same man I had talked to before answered the phone. I asked for Anna, and he replied that he speaks English, and could he help me?
"Anna has reserved 2 rooms for us for the 27th."
"Can you phone back in ten minutes or send me a fax?"
Flabbergasted and frustrated by the idea of trying to send him a fax, I said I'd call back in 10 minutes. Ten minutes later, I called again. His request this time was for us to send him a fax describing the problem.
Exasperated, I replied, "There is no problem. I'm just confirming the reservation!"
"Where are you calling from?"
"Pienza"
"I've never heard of it."
"Is this the Hotel Palace""
"This isn't a hotel. It's a farmhouse!"
"I'm very sorry. I must have the wrong number. Do you, by any chance know the number of the Hotel Palace in Levanto?"
"No, I can't help you."
After apologizing profusely for bothering him, I hung up, and as the humor of the situation hit me, I collapsed with laughter. We decided to go back to the apartment after dinner and check the hotel number on our paper work.
The restaurant was excellent. We were seated at an outdoor table and had mushroom croscetti, riboletta soup, and picci with garlic and tomato sauce. Picci is kind of thick spaghetti that is a specialty of the Pienza area. A wonderful Vino Nobile from Monticello accompanied the food.
We returned to Buon Convento, and found our paper work. The phone number was the one I had been calling, but Howie suggested that I might be using the U.S. access number and that I should try dropping the 1011 and the next 3 numbers. After much trouble getting the phone in the Co-op parking lot to work, we finally got through to Anna at the hotel. She confirmed our reservations and asked us to be there by 8:00 p.m., and we went home to pack and prepare.
Tuesday, May 27, 1997
This was a sensational day in the Cinque Terre. We took the train to Rio Maggiore in the Cinqueterre, our starting point for the hike to the other 4 villages. What a charming little town.Wonderful multi-colored houses, painted in pastels seemed to hold each other up as they climbed up the steep and rocky hillsides. Laundry hung from the windows like colorful banners waving in the wind. Little shops and restaurants lined the lower floors. At the crown of the hill, the buildings gave way to farmland, terraced for access and irrigation.
We had lunch at a little trattoria across the street from the railroad tunnel. Len had a delicious plate of langostino, and I had a seafood salad, which consisted of cooked and raw seafood - shrimps, calamari, and several other varieties served in delicious lemon vinaigrette.
Our hike started on a wide path on a cliff-hugging trail above the clear sparkling green water. It led in and out of tunnels, and we would emerge into the hot sun bouncing off the rocks. Here and there, an amusing metal sculpture was placed to silhouette against the water. From our vantage point we could see people far below, at the foot of the cliffs, sunbathing and one or two swimmers plied their way through the placid sea.
Paralleling the terraced fields, we arrived at Manarola, another technicolored cliffside town. After exploring its narrow winding streets we continued on the trail to Corniglia. It was time for a swim, and we changed to our bathing suits in the tiny toilets on the boardwalk.
The beach was all rocks, and walking was awkward and painful. Somehow, we stumbled into the water. It was delightfully warm, and the swim felt wonderful on our parched bodies. All too soon it was time to get out, change, and board the train for the 3 stops to Levanto.
We walked from the station down Levanto's shady streets to the Hotel Palace at Corso Roma 25, 19015 Levanto (SP). There we met Anna, the lovely lady who was the owner's wife. She conducted us to our rooms - no frills, but clean, comfortable, and spacious with a bathroom and a good shower. It was quite a bargain at only $50.00 a night. Anna suggested we walk to the restaurant La Tumeline at Via Don Emanuele Toso #1 for dinner, and it was a wonderful suggestion. We dined al fresco in the balmy evening air. A darling waitress voluntarily translated everything on the menu, and Howie chose a seafood antipasto, which turned out to be an incredible plate of mixed seafood. This was followed by a plate containing fish, sun dried tomatoes, and roasted potatoes. Lennie had cockles and tortellini with pesto sauce, and Len and I each had salad and risotto with shrimps. This feast, including a bottle of the house wine came to $25.00 a person, and it was the perfect way to end the day.
Wednesday, May 28, 1997
After an ample breakfast at the hotel buffet, we talked for a while with Anna before leaving to continue our hike. The hotel is a family enterprise and Anna works long hours from May through October before closing for the winter.We boarded the train and got off at Monterosa to start our walk. The gravel and sand beach there was the nicest on the route. Beach lounges, umbrellas, and paddleboats sat on the sand waiting to be rented. The village catered to an upscale tourist population and, though it looked inviting, we needed to be on our way. The path soon led to a lovely shady area, and almost immediately, we were confronted by hundreds of stone steps, all of different heights. We thought they'd never stop, but they eventually led to a very narrow path right on the edge of the cliffs, and the cliffs dropped straight down to the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean. There were no railings, and it was definitely no place for acrophobics (like me). I made myself look up rather than down, and I was rewarded by the breathtaking sight of masses of wildflowers that painted the hillside in a rainbow of colors. Further on, terraces were hewn from the hillsides and, amazingly, the rocky soil was made to yield crops by farmers who must have developed the strongest legs and most stamina in all the world. On one farm we saw a small track made to transport a wagon that could carry supplies and crops. We saw rows and rows of grapes, terraces of vegetables, and rows of olive and citrus trees. Here and there a small area had been leveled off for a kitchen garden.
There were many people on the trail. An American woman told us that she had been there 15 years ago, and no one knew about these villages. Now, she told us sadly, it's on the Internet. After about 2 1/2 hours of really rugged hiking, we finally started to descend, and we were greeted by a dazzling view of vernazza. Like the other towns in the Cinque-Terre, multi-colored buildings seem to be carved right into the hillsides. We could see a small sandy beach protected by a breakwater, and colorful boats beached in the Town Square
Our first stop in the village was a lunch stop, and we found an empty table outdoors from a crowded restaurant. Len found a fruit bowl on the dessert list, and, to the astonishment of the waiter, we all ordered it for lunch. It really hit the spot. After lunch we strolled to a nearby geleteria for a delectable gelato dessert. We walked through the colorful town for a while admiring its buildings and floral displays. We dragged our weary legs up several flights of stairs to a castle, but we decided that we'd rather be in the marina. We people-watched at the waterfront for a while, and then it was time to catch the train for home.
It was a 3 hour train trip to Buon Convento with transfers, but no waiting at Enpoli and Pisa. After showering at home, we went out to a fantastic dinner at the Fattoria Pieve a Salti, an agriturismo just outside Buon Convento. Entering the building through the bar, we turned right into the spacious dining room with its high beam ceilings. One wall had large glass doors to the outside. We were able to explore while waiting for a table, and we were very impressed by the lovely swimming pool and the tennis courts.
Dinner was one of the best we have ever had. A huge bowl of soup made of tiny white beans, bouillon, and a rice-like substance was the starter. Then we were served veal in a fantastic sauce, and roasted vegetables. Dessert was sponge cake layered and frosted with heavenly lemon custard. What a finish to a marvelous day!
Thursday, May 29, 1997
We stopped near the bottom of our hill this morning to take a picture of the typical way a line of trees is used in Tuscany for property demarcation. Then we set out on the beautiful drive to the abbey of Monte Oliveto Maggiore. It was a clear, windy day, and we could see for miles. The vast panorama of countryside divided into a mosaic of shapes in tones of green, occasionally interrupted by a rich brown patch of freshly plowed lane. Groves of olive trees grew on the slopes, and the ever-present cypress lined the fields. The road passed several sparkling new towns and many spas offering sulfur baths.We arrived at the monastery and parked the car. Signs asking us to observe silence greeted us as we walked down the long road through groves of Italian Cypress to get to the abbey. The only sounds in this peaceful, serene place were the sounds of cooing pigeons, and the melodious bird songs that filled the air. The abbey, standing silent, was a beautiful building with its tall brick clocktower and its white pebble dome. White robed monks strolled along its paths. A sign on the door of the church announced that it would be closed until 3:00, and, disappointed, we made plans to return some evening at 7:30 to hear the Gregorian chants.
The abbey had a restaurant, and we found a table outside where we enjoyed the sunshine and a delicious lunch. Lennie ordered a bowl of fruit from the dessert list and a plate of mixed cheeses. Howie had seafood salad. Len had proscuitto and melon, and I had tortellini in broth.
Our next stop was Montepulciano, a Renaissance town and the home of Vino Nobile wine. Parking outside the city walls (as no cars are allowed inside), we walked through the streets, admiring the 15th and 16th century churches, palaces and mansions, climbing uphill until we came to the main square at the highest point of the village. Here, the architecture of the buildings was most interesting, as some facades had gothic features though their style was basically Florentine. We followed some signs to a building housing a mosaic school. There, we were allowed to watch as artisans fashioned intricate pictures, and their precise cutting made this difficult process look easy.
Outside once again, we looked down from this high point on the incredible Vistas that lay below us. From our vantage point, we looked down on workmen re-tilling one of the many ancient roofs, green fields, lines of cypress, and the old stone houses that led to this lovely town.
We had been fortunate enough to get dinner reservations tonight for Luna di Latte in Pienza, so we left Montepulciano and got on the autostrada. At the first pay station, Howie pulled into the toll station marked "pronto pagare." Money in hand, while cars lined up behind him and began to honk, he looked for the place to deposit his toll. There was nobody there to collect it and no basket in which to put it. A road barrier wouldn't allow us to go through, and the cars behind us made backing up impossible. The line behind us got longer and noisier, and Howie got more and more nervous. After what seemed an eternity, a voice boomed from a loudspeaker demanding some action we couldn't interpret. Howie threw up his hands, shouted "No capice!" and the voice repeated its command.
"No capice," Howie shouted. "Inglese."
With that, a man appeared, marched to the barrier, opened it and disgustedly motioned us through. It was then that we realized we had chosen the tollbooth that could only be exited by inserting a prepaid ticket.
We drove on to Pienza and walked throug its charming streets once again. Pienza owes much of its charm to Pope Pius I who became pope in 1458. He commissioned the architect, Bernardo Rosselino, to rebuild his native village, Corsignano, (later renamed Pienza) and make it a model of the ideal city. It's a wonderful example of town planning with the little shops on its main street and adjoining side streets and its flower bedecked homes, the fragrant blooms standing in almost every doorway and walkway.
Luna di Latte stood at the end of the main street. We were greeted by a wonderful redheaded waitress who soon was serving us an assortment of delicious dishes. We started with bruschetti with tomatoes and a vegetable timbale and then each of us had tagliarini, and we had different sauces. Two dishes had mushroom sauce, one had meat sauce, and one had tortufi (truffles) in the sauce. We washed it down with Vino Nobile and finished the meal with hazelnut ice cream. The meal came to about $18.00 a person and was thoroughly enjoyed by all.
We had noticed that many of the shops had the word, "Luna," as part of their name, and I wondered why. The shopkeeper in a little ceramic store explained that it was in honor of Pius II who had 5 moons in his coat of arms. Most of the buildings in Pienza date from 1460.
Friday, May 30, 1997
Howie knocked on our door this morning to tell us that Lennie was sick. He thought she had food poisoning because she had been throwing up all night and now had the dry heaves.On his return, Len and I went to Montalcino for the Friday market. The road passed row after row of grapevines, each row with a blooming rosebush adorning the end by the street. The market proved uninteresting. There wasn't much fresh produce, and most of the stands sold clothing and housewares. Finding a stand displaying a roasted pig's body and a severed pig's head, we ordered a porcini sandwich. It was very dry, and we were disappointed in it.
Leaving the market, we walked to the old fortress and went inside its walls. The walls were all that remained of the venerable old building. The ceiling had long since disappeared, and the area inside the walls had been converted to a park. Classical music piped in from a loudspeaker across the way filled the air, and an enoteca, tucked into the small room below the tower, displayed, sold, and served the excellent Brunello wine for which the village is noted. Pannini could also be purchased there, and all could be consumed at tables on a patio facing the park.
We looked over a low wall into the parking lot far below and had a real scare. Our car was not visible, and having parked it in a questionable spot, we were sure it had been towed away. I wanted to go straight to the police, but Len had a better idea. He moved several feet away and looked down again. There was our car. A portion of the wall had hidden it from view.
We walked through the little streets until we came upon a flower shop, and we entered to buy some flowers for Lennie. A delightful woman arranged them for us and special wrapped them, and was so nice that we prevailed upon her to let us take her picture
When we returned to the apartment, Lennie was terribly dizzy and was having cold sweats. Howie went to call the doctor recommended in the Idyll book because he speaks English, but he could only connect with an answering machine, and he couldn't understand the message. Assuming that they had been closed for their afternoon break, he took me, after 4:00, with my limited knowledge of Italian to help him with the phone conversation. Again, he got the answering machine rolling off a message unintelligible to both of us. We drove into town to see if we could find his office, and we stopped at the Shell station to see if they could give us directions. Using what Italian I knew, we managed to communicate our request, and the attendant and his wife (who worked there too) assumed heroic proportions as they volunteered to telephone for us. The answering machine announced that the office was closed for the weekend.
"Why do you want to go there?" asked the attendant. "That doctor is 20 miles away, and we have a doctor in town." They didn't speak a word of English but somehow managed to tell us that the attendant's wife would go in the car with us and guide us there.
We entered the doctor's office. The doctor was due back at 6:00, and the attendant's wife called our attention to a small box on the table, which held numbered wooden tiles. 11 were gone, and she told Howie to take number 12. This meant Lennie would be the 12th to be seen after 6:00 p.m.
We returned to the apartment, and Len and I took a short stroll and then drove into town to gas up the car and go to the bakery. We bought 2 cookies called Ossi da Morte (Bones of the Dead), and they were delicious.
Howie and Lennie went to the doctor. He gave Lennie a shot and a medicine to take at 8:30. Howie said that the 11 people in the waiting room were chatting and visiting with each other when he half-carried Lennie in. She had to lay her head down, and, when the doctor came to the door to call the first patient, everyone motioned them to go ahead! The doctor spoke no English, but, with the help of the dictionary, they were able to communicate, and he refused money for the treatment and medication
We returned to the apartment, and, while Lennie slept, Howie had dinner with us: salad, spaghetti, and cake from the bakery.
Lennie was no better this morning, so Howie called Harriet (Idyll's Italian representative). Harriet said that there is an emergency team, Guardia Medica, that comes to the house on weekends when no doctor is available, and she would call them. We waited for several hours before a car drove up. It wasn't Guardia Medica; it was Laura Cressetti, the next door property owner. Unlike our landlady, Laura spoke English. She had contacted the doctor who had treated Lennie. He advised her that Lennie should be in the hospital, and he told her what he had prescribed. Laura gave Howie and Lennie a paper with this information and directions to the hospital in Siena. They were to drive to the gate marked " Pronto Intervento" and show the paper with its emergency room request on it, and he would let them in. Howie and Lennie took off for Siena.
Len and I went for a 6-mile hike from Buon Convento to the Murlo train station. It was a breathtakingly beautiful walk through rolling hills, fields of wheat and fields of beans, sunflower plants, olive and cypress trees, castles, abandoned farms, and lovely homes. And the flowers! Red poppies, white daisies, yellow dandelions, pink sweet peas, and wild morning glories. With trepidation, we noticed dark clouds coming in as we approached La Beefa and the Murlo train station. We were hot and tired, and it was after 4:00. We'd been walking 4 hours, and the thought of the walk back was daunting. In fact it was overwhelming.
A train schedule was posted in the station, and, to our dismay, there was no mention of Buon Convento on it. This line ran in a different direction. But hope springs eternal. Part of the station was a home, and we spotted an elderly woman and her daughter in the back yard. We leaned over the railing and asked if there was a train to Buon Convento. The jolly woman laughed and said, "No."
"Is there a bus?"
She laughed again, "No."
"A taxi?"
She laughed harder. "No."
In desperation, Len said he'd pay her to drive us there. She answered that it would be impossible for her to do that. At that moment the daughter, who had been out of earshot, returned and said that she would take us back as she lived in Buon Convento. At that moment she looked like the most beautiful woman in the world.
She excused herself to go and get her car keys, and her mother invited us into the yard to sit and wait. Hospitably, she offered us each a beer, but we settled on our water instead. Soon the daughter reappeared, and we were on our way to Buon Convento. Len paid her generously. We thanked her profusely, and we picked up our car at the train station and were back in the apartment by 5:10.
Howie wasn't home yet, so we cleaned up and walked down the hill to the abbey where the group of artists who had come with Idlyll were staying. They were having an exhibition of their work, and we enjoyed seeing the pictures and talking to the painters.
Right after we returned to the apartment, Howie came home. Lennie remained in the hospital for testing. A virus affecting the nerves in her ear was the suspected culprit. Howie had had a bad day. He had parked the car in the handicapped zone because Lennie couldn't walk without support (certainly a handicap), and he took her into the hospital. He stayed to answer questions for her at admitting because it was too much effort for her even to talk, and he saw her to her room. The other 3 beds were occupied by elderly Italian women, all engaged in animated conversation. Lennie was given the fourth bed and was promptly connected to an intravenous feeding apparatus. When Howie left the building and went to get his car, it had been towed away. He had to call a cab and chase his car down, and, when he found it, was assessed an $86.00 fine. He didn't have that much with him and was carrying no travelers' checks, could speak no Italian, and finally, in desperation turned his pockets inside out and said, "That's all I have. Take it or leave it." As he was only a few dollars shy, they took it.
He went downstairs to pack a suitcase for Lennie, put his eyeglass down, and couldn't find them anywhere. Totally frustrated after thoroughly searching, he came up to tell us about it, and we went down and joined the search. They had vanished! Finally, giving up, we all returned to our apartment for salad, spaghetti, and a barbecued rotisserie chicken from the market. Then, it was down to Howie's for another fruitless search. Discouraged, Len and I went back to our place, and, as we were doing the dishes, there was a knock on the door. Howie had found his glasses! They were sitting on the patterned bedspread and made almost invisible by the busy background.
Sunday, June 1, 1997
Early this morning, remembering that European machines take 2 hours for a load of wash, we put our laundry in. We hung it on the line and put another load in when, to our surprise, a light rain began to fall. Hoping it was just a passing shower, Len and I got in the car and drove to Saint Antimo abbey near Montalcino. From the road above, nestled all by itself in a freshly harvested field and surrounded on all sides by farmland and rolling hills, the abbey was a spectacular sight. As we approached, the architectural features of the exterior became clearer, and we stood in awe at the 9th century alabaster columns, the intricate carvings, and the sturdy construction. At the entrance we looked down the center aisle, and there, in front of a huge Jesus bearing crucifix, 2 rows of white clad monks were kneeling and voicing Gregorian chants.Behind the crucifix, plain vaulted windows cast a soft light on the scene. The exquisite simplicity inspired a respectful silence, and a feeling of peace and tranquility stole over us as the chanting continued.
At the conclusion, as the priests silently made their way out of the church, we stepped outside and had to run for cover from a torrential downpour. Rain came down in sheets, thunder reverberated, and lightning crackled. We took refuge in the car and drove up the hill to Castelnuvo dell' Abata, a tiny town with narrow streets and alleys. The stone streets shone in the wet and brave plants in front of houses struggled to keep their heads up despite the torrents of water descending upon them. We parked on a side street and got out to explore the town on foot, but the rain was too much for us, and we reluctantly left.
We started to go to Siena when we spotted an enoteca where people were buying cases of wine. Since Howie had asked us to buy a bottle of wine for the doctor and one for the gas station attendants, we decided that this was the place to shop.
After purchasing the wine, we decided that the weather made a drive to Siena very unappealing, and we headed for home through the torrents. Howie, who had just arrived, met us with the welcome news that Lennie was 80% better and might come home tomorrow. It was dinnertime so we braved the storm and drove into town for dinner at da Marios where we were seated in a tiny room with about 8 other couples. Locals kept arriving and everyone knew everyone else. The da Marios' young grandchildren were there and getting lots of love and attention. The waitress knew everyone, and everyone was talking at once. We ordered wine, tagliaterra, roast veal, roast chicken, and gelato, and dinner was delicious.
The heavens continued to pour, and we drove home through the cloudbursts. It was good to get inside, and we looked at maps and planned a trip to Siena for tomorrow.
Monday, June, 2, 1997
This was a terrible day. The rain had continued all night, so we took our soaking wet laundry off the line, took our washing out of the machine, and stuffed it all in a laundry bag to take with us to Siena in hopes of finding a launderette (lavanderia). With Howie, we drove into Buon Convento to deliver the doctor's bottle of wine. The river was at flood stage, and, as we drove across the bridge, the floodwater was half way up the wheels. The townspeople were all out to see the rising water, and there was much excitement.The doctor's office wasn't open yet when we arrived, but 7 or 8 people were waiting outside for their appointments. We didn't want to wait, as Howie was eager to get to the hospital to see Lennie, so we showed some of the waiting people our gift and its accompanying Italian note (written with blood, sweat, and tears, and an Italian dictionary). We hoped to leave the bottle with one of the patients to hand to the doctor when he arrived, but no one seemed to understand us or our note. Pride in our literacy sure took a fall, but we finally found a young woman who seemed to know what we wanted, and we left the bottle with her.
Howie drove us to Siena, and we stopped at Avis to confirm that someone would be there at 7:30 on Wednesday (they open at 8:30 and were doing us a favor) to receive our cars and drive us to the train station for our trip to Switzerland. From Avis, Howie drove to the ospedale, and we all marched up to Lennie's room. To our great disappointment, she was out for neurological testing, and Howie's face fell as he realized she would probably not be released today. We decided that he would stay at the hospital and Len and I would take care of our errands in Siena and visit the city before picking him up for the return to Buon Convento.
We drove to the railroad station. The revised trip that the Buon Convento stationmaster had planned for us may have been much easier, but it used up almost all the mileage we had purchased on our pre-paid ticket. We showed our ticket to the man behind the counter and asked how much we would have to add for the trip to Switzerland. He said it would cost 159,000 Lira and the schedule had changed. The 8:10 train that we planned to take had been changed to an 8:36 departure. That would have given us only 6 minutes to change trains in Florence, and that would have been an impossibility. He said we must take the 7:04.
We didn't know what we would do about returning our car and decided to go back and talk to Avis about it; however, we got thoroughly lost and drove for about 1/2 hour before we finally found the office. The Avis man said he'd be there at 6:30 for us! Avis really does try harder.
There was a launderette next door to Avis, but they couldn't take us. The people there gave us the address of a launderette in the town center, and we headed there. Parking was impossible, and, after searching fruitlessly for a long time, we finally managed to leave the car in a bus parking lot far outside the city walls. The attendant gave us directions to the laundromat in Italian, and Len hoisted the heavy bag of wet clothes onto his shoulder, and we started the long uphill walk. It was pouring when we finally arrived at the gate to the old city and entered and found the launderette. The attendant said he would have our clothes dry by 3:00, and we made our way out into the downpour again.
Starving, we walked up and down the narrow streets looking for a pizzeria, but we walked and walked before finding one. After lunch it was out into the rain again, and after a stop at a versateller, we looked for a stationary shop that had been recommended. When we found it at last, a sign said it was closed until 3:00 so we walked back to the launderette. Our laundry was dry and folded!
We found the car and drove back to the train station to buy tickets. We caused another long line, and this seller informed us that because we needed 1st class tickets, the cost would bed 284,000 lira! We tried the versateller at the station, and this one rejected our card. We couldn't figure out why. After trying unsuccessfully again and again, we decided to pay with travelers' checks.
This done, we drove back to the hospital. Lennie had been discharged and she and Howie had been waiting in the lobby for 3 hours. The hospital had been quite an experience. The medical care was excellent, but the hospital didn't supply breakfast, clothing, cups and saucers, silver, napkins, towels and washrags, or a toothbrush and toothpaste. Harriet had arrived in the morning with a "Care package," and she supplied all Lennie's needs. She stayed and visited and was really good company. Elisabetta came and spoke to the doctor (he was a skiing buddy), and Lennie got special treatment. Then, when it came time for her discharge. the Business office shrugged off any suggestion of payment and said they would send the bill to Lennie at home to be forwarded to her insurance company.
We drove back to the apartment, and them, the four of us returned to the abbey at Oliveto Maggiore to hear the Gregorian chants. Though there was much more pomp and circumstance here than at Sant Antimo, the music was soothing, and we were glad to be there. Lennie was feeling fine, and we went for a fabulous dinner at Pieve di Salti. We had faro soup with barley, marvelous gnocchi a Romano (semolina flour, eggs, and milk, fried in butter and served in squares), strips of beef in a delicious sauce, spinach steamed and then sautéed with garlic in olive oil, good Chianti, biscotti and Vino Sante for dipping, and fruit salad topped with strawberry gelato. This feast cost $20.00 a person.
Tuesday, June 3, 1997
It was so foggy when we woke up this morning that we couldn't see the hills across the way. Howie and Lennie chose to spend their last day in Italy on a hike, and Len and I decided to go back to Siena and see it this time. The weather cooperated by clearing, and the sun came out. We drove to Siena and didn't get lost - a good omen. Finding a parking place on the street about 4 blocks from the Porta Romana, we walked into the old city. We made our way through crowds of people to the Stamperia, 80 Via Della, a store described to us as the best place to buy gifts to take home. The store stocked beautiful paper goods including exquisite Florentine papers, and we had a hard time deciding.We walked to the huge fan shaped piazza called "The Campo," the site of the Palio, a pageant and horserace held twice a year, which pits the fervor of rival neighborhoods against each other. Horses without riders can win the race, and if the winner happens to be a riderless horse, it is treated just like a human and occupies the seat of honor in the celebration and banquet that follows the contest.
Despite the fact that we hadn't glimpsed it yesterday, it was obvious today that much of the activity in the city takes place in the campo. Crowds of tourists jammed the outdoor cafes at its perimeter; historic buildings ringed the plaza in the center, and souvenir stands were doing a land-office business. We noticed crowds beginning to line up in front of the city hall, and we asked a Dutch couple standing near us if they knew what was about to happen. They told us that a parade of vintage Ferraris was scheduled to take place. Unable to see over the crowd, I found a perch atop a concrete pole, and Len and a bystander boosted me up. The parade started, and the excited crowd pressed in to see. The police tried to hold them back, but they were taking pictures, waving at the drivers and shaking their hands, and cheering. Many of the drivers were also taking pictures with their hand held camcorders and waving back at the spectators. Everyone was happy.
We were standing in front of the city hall, and it also housed a museum, which we decided to visit. The walls were decorated with murals depicting the different eras of Siena's history. Busts of famous citizens looked down at us from their pedestals, and cases held artifacts from Siena's early days. We gazed at the helmet of a medieval warrior and were curious as to why bells were attached to it. The bronze ring of Pope Pius II was displayed next to the gold ring of the chief of soldiers of the city. Another wing was dedicated to the evolution of Sienese painting from its religious beginnings to the beginning of landscape painting.
All too soon it was time to go, and we drove to the train station to find out if tomorrow's trip goes straight through from Florence to Lucern with no transfers. We returned to the apartment to pack and then joined Howie and Lennie for dinner at da Mario's.
Dinner was such fun. Mama took our order. She knew Idyll's schedule and knew we were due to leave tomorrow and that a new group would be arriving. We had a wonderful dinner. Though bruschetta was not on the menu, they made it at our request. We toasted Italy with the house wine, had a starter of tagliarini with olive oil and garlic, and Howie and Lennie had veal, and we feasted on tripe swimming in a really flavorful sauce. The vegetable consisted of beans and tomato pomidore, and three of us had panne cotta for dessert while Len had gelato. All the family was working there and waiting on us. When locals came in the da Marios sat down at their tables and visited with them. At meal's end we said a sad goodbye and returned to the apartment to finish packing for our early start tomorrow.
Wednesday, June 4, 1997
We were up at 4:30 this morning and out by 5:30. We drove to the Siena train station where Lennie and I stayed with the luggage while Howie and Len returned the car to Avis. The nice Avis man did come at 6:30, and he drive the men to the station, came in and shook hands, wished us a wonderful trip, and left. As we stood at the station, we examined our tickets, and, to our dismay, discovered that though we had paid for 1st class, we were ticketed for 2nd class seats. Once again we joined the line at the ticket window. A long argument with the agent en ensued, but nothing could be done because all of the 1st class seats were already reserved. They refunded the 1st class portion we had paid for, and disgruntled, we lugged our heavy luggage to the 7:08 train to Empoli. At Empoli, we transferred ourselves and our luggage to the sleek, swift train that was to take us to our final destination in Switzerland.2nd class compartments were fine, and we settled into ours comfortably. After stowing our luggage in the overhead racks, we made our way into the dining car for lunch. We ordered from the a la carte section of the menu and were informed that, though it was on the menu, a la carte foods were served only in the snack bar! We walked to the snack bar and placed our orders there as the train came to a stop in Milano. The waiter sternly suggested that someone go back to our compartment to watch our luggage, as thieves often come aboard in Milano, remove luggage from empty compartments, and then carry it off the train. Len tore back about 10 cars to our compartment, and I soon followed. The baggage was untouched, and we heaved a sigh of relief.
At the border, a Swiss conductor asked to see our tickets, and we handed him our Swiss rail passes. He sternly scolded us because we hadn't filled out the dates on the pass, so we filled in the blanks. Then, we looked at the directions on the back of the pass, and they said that a railroad agent rather than a conductor must validate it. We summoned the conductor the next time he walked past, and he crossly answered, "You should have had it stamped in Milan." The answer was patently ridiculous as at Italian agent wouldn't presume to validate a Swiss pass.
The rest of the ride was pleasant.